I am much relieved that the Russian space probe, Phobos-Ground, has made its grand exit from the sky. No matter how you spell it, in Russian or in English, Fobos-Grunt literally means fear of ground. Uh huh. I guess in this case, not so much. Because it came crashing down on terra firma this afternoon, reuniting with the ground like hillbilly kissin' cousins reuniting out behind the barn while the adults whittle and smoke their corncob pipes on the front porch of Granny's cabin.
Now I can stop obsessing about that hunk of cosmic junk falling from above, possibly denting my noggin, and get back to worrying about all the other stuff that could come hurtling down to hurt me. Including, but not limited to:
*that blob of airline poo that Joe Dirt named "Meteor" and used as a surface to hold the ketchup he swiped his french fries through
*Wile E. Coyote discovering that yet another ACME product did not live up to its hype
*a globe tossed by Harry Connick Jr. off the roof of a frat house, but not caught by Fred the Genius in Little Man Tate
*a large flock of dead birds mistaking Missouri for Arkansas
*a hail of rocks when Carrie White is upset
*a penny tossed from the top of the Empire State Building toward the west, by a person with a really, really good arm
*a tarpon, Asian carp, sturgeon, shark, dolphin, or other liquid-dwelling creature that objects to the passage of my boat through their waters
*a wasp nest when I'm distributing canned death around the perimeter of my porch
*free-range organic fertilizer when I'm walking under the giant cedar our chickens prefer for roosting
*Maxwell, the Geico wee wee wee pig, in the event of a zip-line malfunction
*the "sky" that loudmouth Chicken Little keeps harping about
*slow drips of blood from the bunk above me at Camp Crystal Lake
*a roasted marshmallow flung by Dennis the Menace
*a rock wielded by Tom Chaney as I am trying to rescue Mattie Ross from a snakepit
*pieces of worm and hook while fishing beside an inexperienced angler
*bars of soap in pillowcases while I'm trying to sleep in my barracks bunk in Full Metal Jacket
*a cannonball fired by the MythBusters crew
How about you? Any incoming cephalo- phobias? Things you fear might crash into your cranium? Do tell.
3 comments:
I'm worried I won't be fortified with chocolate when a comet hits the Earth.
Now, it will let me leave a comment...
What I worry about most is a bladder full of oil dropping out of an apartment window. Not only would I be covered in oil, but an odd voice would rain down on me as well.
Stephen,
You'd best get crackin', buddy! It's already 2012. December's not that far off. I suggest you begin the fortifying forthwith.
**************
Sioux,
Apparently, my blog is a naughty little minx while I'm away. I wouldn't be surprised if she was planning a strange, erotic journey from Milan to Minsk.
You are safe from the bladder of oil under an apartment window. All you need to worry about there is a man's fur coat, or a loose air conditioner. If your are walking along the offices of Play Now, however, you should beware of oil-filled bladders, and a greeting of "Helllloooooooo" from a guy who's thin and single and neat.
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