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From: <GarlooEnt@ao*.co*>
Date: Mon, 10 May 1999 17:13:41 EDT
Subject: Re: Lake Jocassee Incident
To: heyydude@pi*.co*, cobber@ci*.co*, techdiver@aquanaut.com,
     cavers@ca*.co*, Sealass@ao*.co*
CC: captain-phil@ju*.co*, CAPTZEROOO@ao*.co*, PaulGacek@ao*.co*,
     Ussfriel@ao*.co*, Wahoo2001@ao*.co*, wahoo-capt.janet@ju*.co*
kevin 
while i am in agreeement at this point with the intellegence level of the 
diver in 
question.
i am also equally certain that based on the extreme nonsensical waste of 
bandwith-
that your brother should have used you for the part of his anatomy that was 
damaged. it seems to me that you would have made  a perfect replacement part.
hank

In a message dated 5/8/99 9:24:54 PM Eastern Daylight Time, 
heyydude@pi*.co* writes:

<< 
 Jim,
 
 When I was about 7 years old, my brother, who was then 10 years old left
 the house one day to go trade a buddy of his a baseball mitt for a bike.
 
 Not just any bike, mind you, but a 5 Speed Stingray bike - probably the
 coolest thing around in 1965.
 
 We lived at 854 W. 17th Street in San Pedro, which was at the bottom of a
 huge hill, where 17th went all the way up.
 
 So here I am, all of 7 years old, waiting in the front yard for my big
 brother to come home with The Coolest Bike That Ever Was.  Mom didn't want
 me going out with my brother on this particular trip (for reasons that will
 soon be obvious).  But Mom decided to come out and wait with me for Duane
 (my brother) to come home anyway.
 
 Now, picture this:  We're both looking up about 1/2 mile to the top of this
 monstrous hill that was 17th Street, and we see this teeny-tiny dot
 whizzing along over the crest.
 
 As it gets closer, we see that it is indeed my brother Duane, riding The
 Coolest Bike That Ever Was, and going amazingly fast.
 
 Within seconds, Duane is about half way down the hill, and looking like
 he's doing 70 miles per hour.
 
 As he gets about 4 blocks from our house, we notice that he's got this look
 of terror on his face, and his eyes are as big as dinner plates.  Mom puts
 her arm around me and pulls me back from the sidewalk.  Duane is doing
 about 115 miles an hour by now.
 
 As he passes us, we notice 3 things:
 
 1)  Duane is actually going about 200 miles an hour.
 2)  He is screaming.
 3)  The Coolest Bike That Ever Was doesn't have a seat, just a pole
 sticking out of the middle.
 4)  Duane is screaming something like
 "ohmygodIcan'tstop!!!aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!"
 
 We watch Duane pass us by, still screaming, his clothing being ripped off
 by the wind velocity.
 
 Eventually, just before he crosses over Cabrillo Ave into traffic, the
 single brain cell in Duane's head that is not actively involved in making
 him scream decides that enough is enough, and it's time to bail.
 
 Duane crashes the Coolest Bike That Ever Was into the ivy of the last house
 on the block.  Duane goes one way, the bike goes into a telephone pole, and
 breaks into about 5 pieces.
 
 Mom and I start to run down the block, certain to find Duane dead.  By the
 time we get down there, Duane is starting to wake up.
 
 After he wakes up, and Mom gets all the blood off of him, we find out that
 Duane decided to go ahead and RIDE the Coolest Bike That Ever Was DOWN 17th
 Street EVEN THOUGH HE KNEW IT HAD NO BRAKES AND NO SEAT.
 
 He figured that he'd "just use his feet" to stop - HOW he was going to
 accomplish that feat with no seat was something he didn't exactly think
 through...
 
 The bike is destroyed, he's got multiple cuts and lacerations all over,
 including some damage around his bung-hole that he won't talk about TO THIS
 VERY DAY from the seat-shaft, and he's now lost a perfectly good Sandy
 Koufax Signature Baseball Mitt.
 
 
 The point of this story (which, by the way, is entirely true except for the
 actual speeds he was travelling - to a 7 year old, he sure looked like he
 was going 200...), is that some people seem destined to take themselves out
 of the gene pool for whatever reason.
 
 Duane, by the way, was fortunate enough to survive his childhood, and is
 now a Cop in Texas.  I won't comment on the relative intelligence necessary
 for his chosen profession...   ; -)
 
 
 
 The diver you mentioned in your post is also fortunate enough to still be
 with us.  You or anyone else could no more have prevented what happened to
 that particular diver than I could have convinced Duane that riding a bike
 with no seat and no brakes down a giant 1/2 mile hill was a really, really
 dumb idea.
 
 As for me, I learned a valuable lesson too:  Sometimes it's best to stand
 away from the sidewalk and just watch the accident happen - it can
 sometimes make for great material later in life...
 
 ; -)
 
 Kevin.
 
  >>
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