A safety tip for city folk: Cow-tipping isn’t a thing. Seriously. If you run across a field to build up enough momentum and somehow manage to surprise a cow (good luck, they are more attentive than you’d think) when you hit the side of the large, heavy animal, you will bounce off of it and it won’t feel good. Then you have several hundred pounds of ambulatory beef and leather’s full attention. By the way, cattle can run.
Believe it or not there have been scientific studies on the subject, and from these come estimates that it would take about six full-grown males hitting a cow broadside to possibly stand a chance. To do that you’re have to find a very inattentive and solitary cow, because they tend to group up, herd mentality at it’s purest, just to watch out for things like predators and drunk humans looking to knock them on their asses.
No, I’ve never tried to tip a cow, watched a few try it. Didn’t go well for them. Especially the guys that found out bulls can be territorial as all hell and chased them back across a fence before they got halfway to the cows. I’ve been in cow pens for various legitimate reasons, and on one occasion I had a cow stand on my foot while I was reading numbers on ear tags to find one that needed to be tested for something or another. Pushing said critter did not shift it an inch, it just turned and looked at me and made a loud protesting call that wouldn’t be confused with the traditional ‘moo.’ I managed to get my foot out but my foot hurt like hell for a few days.
I have managed to jump on a couple for very short rides, two ran away and I came off, nothing to hold on to, the third, a young-ish bull, chased my young dumb ass all the way to the nearest fence and butted me over the fence just as I was starting a jump to hurdle it. I cleared the fence and landed in an undignified lump a good 15′ or so on the other side. Alcohol may have been involved >.>
So, no cow-tipping. Doesn’t work, you want to play with beef, get some hamburger and make patties.
Me: “So why are you pissed off?”
Him: “somebody is giving shit for blowing off a freebie shoot.”
Me: “Why did you blow off a freebie shoot?”
Him: “wasn’t feeling it.”
Me: “Which means what in grownup?”
Him: “it didn’t pay and I didn’t feel like going.”
Me: “I see. So, check me on this. You promised someone a shoot, then blew it off because you weren’t ‘feeling it.’
Him: “so you’re going to give me shit too?”
Me: “Probably not, you’re defensive about it so you already know you screwed up, you just don’t feel like admitting it.”
Him: “yuou’ve never blown off a shoot?”
Me: “None that I can remember. I’ve gone ahead with shoots in bad weather, with migraines, swollen knees, and a times with a blown back that I recall, but I can’t remember ever experiencing anything as debilitating as ‘not feeling it.’ I mean hell, you tell somebody that you didn’t ‘feel’ it and they should go out of their way to forgive you for blowing them off.”
Him: “it was a freebie shoot, no big deal”
Me: “Except to the ones waiting on you, wait, did you warn them or did you just not show up?”
Him: “Done talking about this”
Me: “Answered that question anyway. Here’s the big deal, reputation. If you get a reputation for blowing off shoots then you get a reputation of being unreliable, unreliable is code for ‘do not give this peckerwood money because he isn’t trustworthy,’ so yeah, it’s more of a big deal than you seem to realize. How do you ‘feel’ about being broke and out of business.”
Him: “your a prick “feel” that?”
Me: “There isn’t enough liquor in the world to convince me to let you ‘feel’ that.
The only thing stupider than injecting religion into science is injecting science into religion. I came to this when I watched a documentary that reported that many scientists were rethinking the Big Bang theory, and as I listened to the reasons given, their disagreement stemmed from the fact that TBBT read too much like Genesis. Admit it, that’s a stupid reason to rethink a theory; its simple, either disprove the science behind the theory or admit that there are similarities and move along.
The major problems with science and religion is the practice of both by humans. Otherwise how would we have peer-reviewed research supporting both sides of global warming? This is where science and religion are so similar, human nature and money have a huge bearing on the “truths” they reveal.
Trying to substitute science for religion is to try to reduce facts and laws to beliefs; it doesn’t work, and that’s why its stupider to substitute science for religion than to contaminate science with religion; because, people claiming to follow science should possess the rudimentary intelligence required to differentiate between a belief system and physical laws. Something that evangelical atheism needs to take to heart.
This amused me greatly, apparently the standards pushed by the First Lady are falling flat, especially among athletes and those that only get one decent meal a day…aka…school lunches. So, everybody that really needs a filling meal, they get an hours d’oeurve. Enjoy the video, made by kids to let their feeling be known.
Justice is an interesting thing, I came across this case and had to boil down everything I read into this simple synopsis:
US Army Master Sgt Timothy Hennis was convicted in 1986 of murdering his wife and her two daughters in a North Carolina state court. This conviction was overturned because of weak evidence and improper statements by the prosecution, he was acquitted unanimously at his 1989 retrial, returned to the army and retired in 2004. Case closed right?
Evidence from the crime scene was preserved and screened when DNA testing became available, and strongly indicated that Hennis really was guilty of the murders. Double jeopardy, (oft quoted but little understood,) prevented a new trial in a North Carolina court; but, Hennis was returned to active duty from his retired status and tried by court martial under military law. He was found guilty and is now back on death row 20 years after his acquittal.
The separate legal systems, state and military in this case, allow a retrial even if the accused is acquitted in state court. (Similar to what happened to the cops in the Rodney King Case, state versus federal jurisdictions and statutes.)
He had been listed on the Death Penalty Information Center’s list of prisoners from death row later found to be innocent. Interesting thing though, the Death Penalty Information Center carefully omits that the victims were his wife and her young daughters, just calling them three people. Another site refers to the victims as a woman and her daughters.
Interesting side note, a TV movie was made about his case in the 90s with the tagline “It Could Happen to You,” I guess the tagline for the follow-up could be “Karma’s a Bitch.” Speaking of movies, if anyone saw “Double Jeopardy”, she really could be tried for killing the same guy twice, even if he faked his death the first time.
So there I sat at the computer and contemplated how far behind I was in everything, I owe an review of an independent movie made about the youth of Aragorn, son of Arathorn called Born of Hope to my fantasy Guild, I owe two articles about world building to my gamer’s site, and I’m horrendously far behind on my Good News Wednesday articles. Since I can look in the mirror and tell my editor on the other two sites to kiss off I put them on the back burner. Good News Wednesday and pieces about fibromyalgia are pretty much the only guaranteed enjoyment I have left at Newsvine, so I’d feel like a real ass if I didn’t support those endeavors. The FM piece is in the books, so that leaves my GNW thoughts.
But, the silly screen stayed blank. I hate it when that happens. So I did what I always do when I need to let my mind free-form ramble to look for inspiration. The Insane Clown Posse didn’t do anything for me, Abney Park gave me an idea for a Stem Punk Article, Celtic Woman gave me a few thoughts for a poem but nothing that fleshed all the way out. Then a tune performed by Asleep at the Wheel hit the shuffle, Big Balls in Cowtown, and a memory danced before my caffeine-deprived eyes, so I cranked the volume and dashed to the kitchen to toss some coffee together in the French press. Speaking of which, I need more, so here’s my inspiration for you to contemplate while I java up.
Returning again to the early 80s we find me in a football game against the neighboring town and a good friend of mine played across from me in the same two basic positions, cornerback on defense and wide receiver for offense. At the time I was under 5’6” and the program listed me at 100 pounds because to put my weight in the 90s would throw the column alignment off. He was a tall sumbitch, about 6’1” and around 180. Luck would have it he lined up across from me on both sides of the ball and he was working my last nerve on long passes because he could get over me and break them up. I was working his last nerve because his quarterback got flushed out of the pocket and I picked off a low pass. He drilled me hard that play and we shared a few friendly smart-assed comments, and since he was ruining my deep game I was getting crossing patterns, which is the perfect place to have your limbs rearranged. Sure enough, I caught one and had two linebackers right in front of me, so I spun and started to reverse my direction and my own old buddy old pal clothes-lined me.
That really hurt, it was right before the half and when I decided to answer nature’s call I was passing blood when I peed. Before anyone panics, it was nothing really, just a bruised kidney; but, it hurt and brought out my more evil impulses as the trainer strapped extra padding over my lower back and told me to try not to get hit there again.
Easy for him to say!
So, a few plays into the second half his QB lobbed one deep, high and into traffic and seeing my old buddy old pal stretched way up for the ball I ran full steam into his legs, wrapped him up tight and spun his ass into the turf. It was a beautiful hit, I heard the air rush out of him and things rattle and pop. I came back to my feet and saw his eyes rolled back in his head and thought for a moment that I’d killed him, which worried me. First of all that might cause at least a game ejection, it would make his sister not want to go out with me anymore, and he was a pretty nice guy off the field and I didn’t want to see him dead. Pain was fine though, give him character. So, they stuck smelling salts under his nose and finally got him to his feet and he saw two of me and flipped both of us off and called us dickheads and missed a game or two with a concussion.
We continued to hang out and I swung by to see how he (and his sister) were doing to find him getting ready for rodeo. He rode bulls and I thought that was the silliest thing ever, I don’t think its good manners to play with your food and as far as I’ve ever been concerned cows are good for nothing but beef. Well, leather too, gotta have boots and belts. He was explaining the process to me, and demonstrating how you jerk your curved arm back over your head and I mentioned it looks suspiciously close to ballet.
“I ain’t never seen no bally-reenie last no eight seconds on the cyclone deck!” He scoffed with a broadly exaggerated accent that I can still hear in my head, he was selling it though, visions of revenge dancing in his head.
It shames me to admit that he convinced me to try it for myself. Well, not too much shame, I’d actually always wanted to try it just once. I’ve always been like that, I like to try things that scare the crap out of me, and I like to try everything (within reason) at least once. So I was tied in, the rope wrapped tightly around my hand and turning down the cowboy hat. I rarely wore them, in fact the only picture of me as a teenager wearing a cowboy hat is not publishable. Well, in these days it might be, but I ain’t a-gonna do it, nope, nope, nope.
So, arm curled like a prima ballerina over my head I gave the nod for them to open the gate, the gate flew open and this big bold bull trotted out like a horse at a canter. I was here to ride a bull but dammit man, this was embarrassing! So, he whistled to his sister and pantomimed tossing a dirt clod, and she used her softball pitching eye to boresight a shot that screamed along at major league speed to connect with the bull’s hangie-downs. It was a fine shot that rang his bells and he went from zero to insanely pissed off instantaneously.
First we recall that I weighted about a hundred pounds, I’ll give myself a little credit and guess the bull weighed ten times more than I did, and so when he performed some psychotic bucking-spinning-hyper-twist motion I wound up stretched from the rope that didn’t give a bit, up across his shoulders for a horn to graze my butt cheek as I draped over his face. This irked him and he tossed his head back and I landed sort of on his back and he spun again and I have no idea what I was going, I was spinning and changing directions so many times I couldn’t identify which was my head and which was my ass with any certainty. But after several bounces I felt something large and solid make a firm, make that completely solid impact with my very personal region. Apparently I came around to the side as the bull turned again to charge the fence and his foot was the irresistible force that connected with my very movable objects.
Fortunately they got my hand free at that point, and all of the bone in my body had transformed to over-boiled spaghetti and I was an oozing mass that tried to will myself to flow to the fence and out of this silly place, but that wasn’t to happen. First things first, my boys were expanding at a shocking rate, but lucky me, his dad had this happen to him a few times so he knew what to do. Yes, I said a few times, apparently bull riders aren’t the sharpest axes in the shed. Also working in my favor was the presence of a vet, he was out treating horses and hustled over and between all of them they managed to cut off my jeans and free my poor purple buddies from their crushing confinement.
Ah the memories, his mom looking them over and deciding I needed to see the doctor, riding in the back of a pickup down gravel roads, bare-assed with my head in his sister’s lap and his mom holding a big ice bag over my overstretched minions of mirth. Then the blessed painkillers, the anti-inflammitories and not being able remember any of the procedures that were involved in putting things back into come semblance of order. I do remember waking up back at his house and his mom presenting me a little cup with a lid on it and telling me that in a few days, when I was up to it, I needed to put a sample in the cup and take it in so they could make sure my tadpoles still swam. I think that was a little revenge on her part for suspicions she had about me and her daughter.
Yeah, that’s as good of a place as any to wrap this up, purple parts and a mother’s evil cackle, but if its any comfort to you, gentle reader, everything did return to normal, and I did much better on my second and last ride.