Dear Sir:

I'm writing in response to your request for additional information in Block 3 of the accident report form. I put ‘poor planning’ as the cause of my accident. You asked for a fuller explanation and I trust the following details will be sufficient.

I am a bricklayer by trade. On the day of the accident, I was working alone on the roof of a new six-story building. When I completed my work, I found that I had some bricks left over which, when weighed later were found to be slightly more than 500 pounds. Rather than carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley that was attached to the side of the building on the sixth floor. Securing the rope at the ground level, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it. Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to ensure a slow descent of the bricks. You will note in Block 11 of the accident report form, that I weigh 135 pounds.

Due to my surprise of being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel, which was now proceeding downward at an equal, impressive speed. This explained the fractured skull, minor abrasions, and the broken collarbone, as listed in section three of the accident report form.

Slowed down slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until the fingers on my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley. Fortunately by this time I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold tightly to the rope, in spite of beginning to experience a great deal of pain. At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of bricks hit the ground and the bottom fell out of the barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, the barrel weighed approximately 50 pounds. I refer you again to my weight.

As you can imagine, I began a rapid descent, down the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up. This accounts for the fractured ankles, broken tooth and several lacerations of my legs and lower body. Here my luck began to change slightly. The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks and fortunately, only three vertebrae were cracked. I am sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of bricks, in pain, unable to move, I again lost my composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope and I lay there watching the empty barrel beginning its
journey back down onto me. This explains the two broken legs.

I sincerely hope this answers your inquiry.

Jeff Martin "AJ" Sleepy - 16 years, 6 months, 24 days ago

Griff was at the barbecue and Joel was at the barbecue and I was at the barbecue; three men standing around a barbecue, sipping beer, staring at sausages, rolling them backwards and forwards, never leaving them alone.

We didn't know why we were at the barbecue; we were just drawn there like moths to a flame. The barbecue was a powerful gravitational force, a man-magnet. Joel said the thin ones could use a turn, I said yeah I reckon the thin ones could use a turn, Griff said yeah they really need a turn it was a unanimous turning decision.

Griff was the Tong-Master, a true artist, he gave a couple of practice snaps of his long silver tongs, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, rolling them onto their little backs. A lesser tong-man would've flicked too hard, the sausages
would've gone full circle, back to where they started. Nice, I said. The others went yeah.

Kevin was passing us, he heard the siren-song sizzle of the snags, the barbecue was calling, beckoning, Kevinnnnn ...come. He stuck his head in and said any room? We said yeah and began the barbecue shuffle; Griff shuffled to the left, Joel shuffled to the left, I shuffled to the left, Kevin slipped in beside me, we sipped our beer.

Now there were four of us staring at sausages, and Griff gave me the nod, my cue. I was second-in-command, and I had to take the raw sausages out of the plastic bag and lay them on the barbecue; not too close together, not too far apart, curl them into each other's bodies like lovers -fat ones, thin ones, herbed and continental. The chipolatas were tiny; they could easily slip down between the grill, falling into the molten hot-bead-netherworld below. Carefully I laid them sideways ACROSS the grill, clever thinking.

Griff snapped his tongs with approval; there was no greater barbecue honour.

P.J. came along, he said looking good, looking good- the irresistible lure of the barbecue had pulled him in too. We said yeah and did the shuffle, left, left, left, left, he slipped in beside Kevin, we sipped our beer. Five men, lots of sausages.

Joel was the Fork-pronger; he had the fork that pronged the tough hides of the Bavarian bratwursts and he showed a lot of promise. Stabbing away eagerly, leaving perfect little vampire holes up and down the casing.

P.J. was shaking his head, he said I reckon they cook better if you don't poke them. There was a long silence, you could have heard a chipolata drop, and this newcomer was a rabble-rouser, bringing in his crazy ideas from outside. He didn't understand the hierarchy; first the Tong-master, then the Sausage-layer, then the Fork-pronger - and everyone below was just a watcher. Maybe eventually they'll move up the ladder, but for now - don't rock the Weber.

Dianne popped her head in; hmmm, smells good, she said. She was trying to jostle into the circle; we closed ranks, pulling our heads down and our shoulders in, mumbling yeah, yeah, yeah, but making no room for her. She was keen, going round to the far side of the barbecue, heading for the only available space... the gap in the circle where all the smoke and ashes blew. Nobody could survive the gap; Dianne was going to try. She stood there stubbornly, smoke blinding her eyes, ashes filling her nostrils, sausage fat spattering all over her arms and face. Until she couldn't take it anymore, she gave up, backed off.

Kevin waited till she was gone and sipped his beer. We sipped our beer, yeah. Griff handed me his tongs. I looked at him and he nodded. I knew what was happening, I'd waited a long time for this moment - the abdication. The tongs weighed heavy in my hands, firm in my grip - was I ready for the responsibility? Yes, I was. I held them up high and they glinted in the sun. Don't forget to turn the thin ones Griff said as he walked away from the barbecue, disappearing toward the house. Yeah I called back, I will, I will. I snapped them twice, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of my wrist, rolling them back onto their little
bellies. I was a natural; I was the TONG-MASTER.

But only until Griff got back from the toilet.

Jeff Martin "AJ" Sleepy - 16 years, 6 months, 24 days ago

The Ten Commandments of Rugby

1. Thou shalt not hesitate at the breakdown, but be mighty to get your rightful ball;
for though it is written that the meek shall inherit the earth: it was a poor translation.
The meek shall be trampled into the dirt.

2. Thou shalt not speak profanely of the Whistler, nor question the purity of his birth,
even though he be blind to transgressions by devils on the other team at ruck and maul,
and whistles them not.

3. Thou shalt not smite an opponent with a clenched fist, yea, even in retaliation;
for it is written that the Whistler and the Flag Waver shall assuredly miss the cowardly first punch and see the avenging second. Believeth that what goeth around shall surely cometh, and verily, evil men will be found at the bottom of rucks.

4. Thou should not kiss thy teammate on the mouth when he scores, for such is an abomination unto God, especially kisses in tongues, unless you play football with the round white ball, and thus it is expected.

5. Thou shalt not take the Word of the Coach in vain, for blessed is the Word of the Coach. Instead, wonder at his mighty wisdom and sticketh to His Game Plan, lest the Coach acquaint you with his disciples coaching in the lower grades.

6. Thou shalt not chip nor kick for touch if thou be a Prop, or if thou wear any jersey number below that of 7; for this is an abomination unto the Coach, and surely you will be His at training, perhaps everlasting.

7. Thou shalt not run across the field with ball in hand but runneth straight;
for it is written that the touchline is the best defender.

8. Thou shalt not kick the ball to thine enemies unless it bounceth; for the Spirit of the Bounce of the Ball may cause confusion unto them, and if thy heart be pure,
make it bounceth back unto you.

9. Thou shalt not pass the ball to a teammate about to be smashed by the mighty enemy
unless he owes you money, or has rodgered someone dear to your heart,
in which case all is forgiven.

10. Thou shalt not vomit on thy teammates after the game,
for this is unmanly and they could do it unto you.

AMEN.

Jeff Martin "AJ" Sleepy - 16 years, 6 months, 24 days ago

Did surprisingly well at paintballing. Unlike most of the people I went with, I didn't have any red welts . Few grazes, but nothing really to report.
Umm, did cause a few of those welts on others though. If any should read this, then *Sorry*, but hey; should have ducked behind those tyres...
Jeff Martin "AJ" Sleepy - 16 years, 6 months, 24 days ago

Luckily for me, I have a name that not many outside of my profession know about!
Before anyone asks, has nothing to do with my actual name...
Jeff Martin "AJ" Sleepy - 16 years, 6 months, 29 days ago