I love the consistency of my snot rockets

On days like today, when a light breeze can bring tears to your eyes, the chill climbs up your nose and does some kind of scientific stuff to make you create more boogers. Probably something to do with the body's self-defense system. Inexorably, this accumulation of boogers must be evacuated. Preferably not when I'm riding behind you. That's happened, and let me tell you, I didn't appreciate the consistency of that guy's snot rocket. Loose and unpredictable, like buckshot or a pack of Rutgers sorority girls. Today, however, at least in my case, the rockets were well formed and condensed. A precisely aimed nose bullet to the maw of the Williamsburg bridge. Satisfying.

Here's some crutches, feel better

Science & medicine have not progressed quite as far and quite as dramatically as I might have hoped. I was under the impression that X-rays didn't just show you spooky looking pictures of your bones, but went all *CLUNK* *CLUNK* *CLUNK* and microwaved your ankle sprain back to normal. Apparently, that's not the case. Apparently, the emergency room can't even really give me some high powered pain killers for that time yesterday that Ch0mb0, my teammate, tried to disable me. I can only hope that I took out a few spokes when I threw my mallet at his wheel.

But man, seriously. Where's that box that you stick your arm, or leg, or back into, and it fixes you? You know what? I'll even push back the plans for the slingshot so that Science can make this box. I mean, you've got microwaves that you can push "potato" or "pasta" on, and poof! you've got a plate of pasta. Where's the microwave that says "Irritable Bowel Syndrome" or "Hives"? The future is dissapointing. My cellphone didn't even work in the ER. I had all sorts of hilarious text messages to send out. Like "Thanks for the mallet, Jarrett. It's a good crutch". HAHAHAah HAh. Hah. h. ...

If the fixitall box really existed, I would've been able to avoid the inconvenience of fumbling through the Rite Aid for a box of Advil. Not surprisingly, walking in on crutches doesn't make anyone else in the store less retarded. I'm pretty sure "Excuse me" is well understood by just about anyone, even if English is not your first language. Not in Drug Stores.

I would've missed out on the next hilarious interchange at the coffee shop down the street though. The young barista couldn't help but ask me what happened, as he sees me hobble in with a weird looking mallet sticking out of my bag. "I was playing bike polo, and I had a little spill."

"What? Bike Polo?"

"Oh. Yeah, it's like polo on bikes. Can someone bring me this coffee?"

"Yeah, of course"

A few minutes later, I hear murmurs from the end of the bar.... "Bike Polo? Yeah, Bike Polo. I've never heard of that. Sounds dangerous. Murmur murmur murmur. Well there you go..."

If only I had a giant slingshot

Fuck matter transporters, fuck moving sidewalks and the monorail, fuck short range jets landing in central park. Matter transporters only turn you into flies, and the monorail has all these dudes dressed up in Mouse suits on it, posing for pictures with you & your kids. A few years ago, that line would've read "pictures with you and your mom" but superimportant is getting old, and has to face reality. And the reality is that short range jets won't work either. What we need is a giant slingshot, so we can just launch ourselves to Greenpoint after we're done having dinner in Hell's Kitchen.

This slingshot would either come with complimentary parachutes or complimentary fat suits to pad the landing. To be honest, we haven't really thought out the landing part yet. But how magical would it be to be suddenly flying through the air with your date, watching the sparkling city pass below you. These are precision slingshots, of course. There won't be collisions. It'd use Google maps. Those dudes can pretty much do everything. I mean for god's sake, look: It's the polo court Unbelievable, right? I'm sure google could figure out how to sling you anywhere from anywhere. It's simple math anyway. We figured this out in 11th grade calculus. Totally.