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I Survived! – True Stories of Human Survival Vol. 3

May 21, 2010

Last spotted in the wild on May 6th, but now enjoying a full recovery, it’s… I Survived! Vol. 3. Be sure and check out Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 if you haven’t already. They’re worth every minute of your time and contained brutal portraits of severely lost hipsters and extreme sportsmen. 

Case/IH issues a recall after the disastrous addition of a new "Invert" gear.

Ronald Hofer
On an early spring morning, Ronald Hofer plows his acreage in preparation for planting. As he negotiates a wide turn, a sudden tense change upsets the tractor, severed his arm and pinned both legs below the cab. 

The initial pain had subsided, which allowed Hofer to take stock of his situation. As he gazed at his pinned legs, he sensed that the outcome had already been decided and there was nothing to do but wait and see where this led. Hofer dialled back his already limited movement to “imperceptible” and conserved his energy. 

Ronald gazes intently at the cab and his pinned legs, filling with the sense that the outcome has suddenly shifted into “cloudy,” and that he should act quickly before the moment passes. He fishes in his overturned cab for his makeshift saw, which he hopes to use as a makeshift saw. Ronald knows that if he is going to have any shot at surviving this, the legs will have to go. 

“I knew that if I was going to have any shot at surviving this, the legs would have to go,” Hofer said. “Who knew how long the present tense would last? I just couldn’t take those chances.” 

As Hofer struggled against the odds, his surprisingly dense bones and the constantly shifting time, he was spotted by a passing cropduster and its third-person perspective. The pilot began a slow bank, having spotted what he thought was a crippled or mutated calf. 

“I heard the plane and began waving wildly with my one good arm, while bleeding profusely from the other,” said/says Hofer. 

Within minutes, Hofer was being flown to the nearest hospital where a crack team of surgeons was standing by. 

Hofer has retired from farming and now lives in Florida where he spends most of his waking hours staring at the clock suspiciously. 

Officer Lochman cites the motorist for being "unresponsive to police harassment."

Kingston Miles
While watching a Food Network cooking show and simultaneously preparing himself a light Ty Cobb Salad*, Miles becomes momentarily distracted by Giada’s plunging neckline and severs his right index finger. 

Horrified by the sudden spurt of blood across his former “Fruit/Veggies Only” cutting board, Miles’ innate analness deserts him, leading to a series of profoundly bad decisions. Faced with a myriad of options in a city full of modern conveniences, Miles chooses “none of the above” and slips into full panic mode. 

Rushing to his Boxster, leaving behind his keys, wallet and freshly-cut finger, Miles finds himself locked out of his own vehicle. He swiftly makes a bloody return to the kitchen, grabbing his keys. After a quick switchover, he starts the car and attempts to call up directions to the nearest ER on his GPS. 

Finding himself short one (1) “GPS Finger,” Miles unwisely decides (for the first time in his life) to “wing it,” and heads violently off in the wrong direction, ignoring his increasingly plaintive GPS. 

Miles momentarily regains his bearings while bleeding profusely at an overlong stoplight. Attempting to correct his course, Miles makes an illegal u-turn, which attracts the attention of a lightly-dozing patrolman, who is suddenly forced to slam on his brakes to avoid the arcing vehicle. 

After a brief pursuit, Miles is finally pulled over. He tells the police officer that he has severed a finger and needs to get to the hospital. The officer asks if he would like a ride, which Miles responds to by lapsing into unconsciousness. 

Realizing he would need assistance to move Miles’ unconscious body, the patrolman (Officer Lochman) decides to retire to the local coffee shop and contemplate his next move. Upon returning to the vehicle, Lochman is surprised to find it empty. A quick search of the scene reveals that Miles has indeed vacated the vehicle, a fact confirmed by the discovery of his passed-out body in a nearby ditch. 

Officer Lochman revives Kingston Miles and cites him for “leaving the scene of an accident,” “driving without a license” and “wasting law enforcement time.” Lochman also notes that Miles seems to be “irrational, severely disoriented and bleeding profusely.” He deposits Miles at the nearest ER for a quick psych eval. 

Unfortunately, Miles remains untreated, thanks to his lack of photo ID, valid insurance and general coherence. Unable to contact his wife, he languishes for several long (and expensive) hours in the ER, his pain only occasionally interrupted by various ER staffers who berate him for tying up their resources with what is obviously a “pre-existing” wound. 

Miles is finally treated (and reunited with his wife) after a Missing Persons report falls into the hands of Officer Lochman, who states that he did see somebody matching that description “stumbling around in a nearby ditch.” The local ER also claims a match, stating that they turfed the “malcontent” to the closest VD clinic so the “faker” could learn “a whole lot about being honest.” 

*Ty Cobb Salad
1 Head Lettuce, sliced violently
1 Bunch Watercress, hurled into bowl
6 Slices Bacon, beaten to bits
2 Avocados, pitted and scarred
1 Tomato, stabbed and seeded
2 Hard-Boiled Eggs, use whites only. Beat yolk senseless and toss into nearest alley.
2 Tbsp. Chives, chopped and blocked
1/3 cup Red Wine Vinegar (consume wine and allow bitterness to seep in over the years)
1 Tbsp. Dijon Mustard (hold in mouth briefly before spitting into nearest available eye)
2/3 Olive Oil (virginity not essential)
1/2 Cup Roquefort, grated across sharpened cleats
 

Mix all ingredients in glass bowl. Stir harshly. Rest briefly before throwing bowl through nearest window. Serves 1 broken home. 

-CLT

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16 comments

  1. Damn! The finger thang is weird. This afternoon a radio DJ said that Jeff Beck recently cut off part of a fret finger while fixing dinner in his kitchen, and had to do his recent release (Emotion and Commotion) using only three fingers. – http://www.contactmusic.com/news.nsf/story/beck-finished-new-album-with-three-fingers-after-kitchen-accident_1143321

    Now that’s one cool customer!


    • That is weird… God bless opposable thumbs, or we’d never get anything done after kitchen catastrophes/shop class accidents/Yakuza run-ins.

      That is an amazing story, Dan. It holds up much better than Miles and his panic room that’s apparently as big as the great outdoors.

      Great to see you again, Dan. Thanks for the visit.


  2. Week after week, you churn out the most consistently entertaining stories. I don’t remember ever reading a bad post. And who knew you were a whiz at creating recipes (hope to see more of these!!). The Ty Cobb salad recipe reminded me of a booze-and-rage fueled steak au poivre I once made for my second husband. I don’t think I have ever cooked so angry. Strangely, the dish came out PERFECT and our guest said it rivaled the steak au poivre at the Four Seasons (where his son was a chef).

    I would have been sorely tempted to share my most recent “I Survived!” story, but I think I did that (and in excruciating detail) in the last post. When it gets down to knives, blood-flicking, Satanic worship and “off his meds” I guess anything could have happened, but it didn’t and I am here to relish another CLT masterpiece.


    • Thanks for the compliments, e3h and for entertaining us with yet another horrifying page from your life, both in the threads of the previous post as well as this one.

      As everyone is probably aware, the Four Seasons is known for their spectacularly angry chefs. This all stems from their crew going Defcon 4 after Michelin stripped them of a single star based on a particulary bad batch of oysters. Of course, the loss of the star only made things worse, and soon they were out the other one.

      People still agree they make a hell of a steak. They’ve also warned that your meal may be delivered via “angry hurling,” so be prepared to duck and order a la carte.


  3. This is the second time this week that wordpress apparently ate my comment. I leave one, wait until it’s up on the site, leave, and when I come back…nada. WTF?

    All of Ronald’s surgeons were on Crack? Must have been all the job stress.

    And I can not possibly tell you how many times I have responded to police questioning by lapsing into unconsciousness. I wish that I were joking.

    All I can say is this; I love this series and I hope it survives forever. Or at least as long as you survive. Then afterwards maybe you could tell us all what happens when people don’t survive…?


    • Awesome work, WordPress. Must be “improving” something or working on that glitch that got Zodiblog “freshly pressed” despite its inclusion of no fewer than 77 “fucks.”

      Still, congratulations on that, Scott. Now I’ve seen what a busy blog looks like and I’m both irrationally jealous (so many readers!)and secretly thankful (Jesus, look at the size of that comment thread. And they all want answers!).

      I plan to keep this series on “intermittent resuscitation” for the time being, Scott. I’d like to be more comforting than that, but as you all are only too aware, my attention span tends to milpool……


    • Is what B did down there what those Brits call ‘taking the piss?’ I know it sounds implausible or hallucinogenic or even like the conscious-less deceits of a murderous sociopath but I swear to God I had a comment on the screen. Then it was gone. And it happened on B’s site too.

      The freshly pressed was cool. For two days. But I don’t care about stats unless I am selling something, which I may try soon on a .com. (we’ll talk) I only care about quality comments, that’s where the fun lies. And maybe I’ll get 5 more out of the deal but I doubt it.

      There are maybe 5 commenters that I can NOT live without and you know who you are.

      17 fucks is the perfect amount of fucks, just ask Ron Jeremy or (young) Eddie Murphy.

      Carry on with the pissing then….-did I say that right?


    • I don’t thin she’s “taking the piss,” Scott, and if she was, it would be so Britishly done that we could never be sure.

      I actually believe you. I’ve had long, windy comments go completely deleted when, after hitting “Submit,” I’m greeted with the phrase “You need to enter a name and email address.” And it’s not like WordPress will return you to your latest commentary masterpiece either. It’s just discarded, like yesterday’s crack baby.

      You say 17. I say 77. Either way, “Freshly Pressed” looks pretty good on you.


  4. CLT,

    I tried commenting last night, but for some strange reason as soon as I hit the submit button, my comment was erased.

    Despondent, I went to the kitchen, searching for something edible to fill the devastating, word-laden void I felt. But unfortunately, because I’m currently in “Pre-Swimsuit Season” mode, all I could find was a few freeze-dried tape worms (just add stomach acid!) and half a paper-towel roll.

    I knew I had no choice but to take stock of this situation. So I called Pizza 73, and after ordering two large hawaiian with a side of crazy bread, I went over and sat on the couch, turning the channels on the remote slowly so as to conserve energy.

    “I knew that if I was going to have any shot at re-writing this comment, Hofer’s legs would have to go,” I later said, gnawing on the last piece of crazy bread like…well, like a crazy person.

    (I have no idea why I said that, but it might have something to do with my cheese allergy…)

    Anyway, it goes without saying that your stories of Human Survival (not to mention creative recipes!) are beyond compare, CLT. Truly a cut (and a few detached limbs) above the rest.


    • Hey, bschooled. Did you hear about Scott? Yeah, apparently the karmic gods are punishing him for promising to comment everywhere by deleting his comments as soon as he’s typed them. That sucks.

      I don’t know what that has to do with you, but welocome. And sorry about the comment deletion. Not that I’m responsible, but I know the feeling of attempting to rebuild that perfectly edged comment with only some of the pieces and a brainful of WTF-laden frustration.

      Your rebuilt comment is a thing of beauty, bschooled. I’m glad you were able to separate yourself from the two large Hawaiians and retype it. Did they give you much elbow room or did you have to distract them with something shiny and inappropriate?

      Neither here nor there, bschooled. Just ignore it. I’d hate to have you rushing to your own defense multiple times.

      Thanks for all the compliments, bschooled. Hofer’s legs will have to go. It’s unanimous. And enjoy that recipe. It’s best served unexpectedly.


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  6. I read the first one euphemistically [ahem — “plows his acreage”?? I am only human]. The extra effort was totally worth it.

    Euphemistic or not, I love these entries.


    • You can’t be blamed for that, Lisa. Everything about farming sounds dirty:

      – Planting your seed.
      – Mowing the back 40.
      – Rearing the livestock.
      – Milking the cow. (Put “cow” in quotes for maximum effect.)
      – Saddling the horse.
      – Cashing the subsidy.

      It’s all one big sexathon.

      Thanks for the comment, Lisa.


  7. The Kingston Miles tale was especially impressive, so very imaginative and vivid – fingerless, blood spurting man, driving wildly off in wrong direction etc – and yet, so very grounded and true to life – cops being assholes and health care sucking shit….
    Great writing


  8. Thanks very much, Ruby. It’s that solid “could have happened” grounding that keeps it from being one of those unbelievable “Drama in Real Life” pieces you find in Reader’s Digest.


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