Paul,

Didn't your vet give you a pair of claw nippers?

Those little scissor-looking things with only about a quarter inch of blade
past the pivot, with a sharp concave indent in the blade?  They come right
off with almost no effort at all because of the massive leverage and the
razor sharp cutting surface (the indent).  Saved our arms many a time.

I first learned of this as a young child, when my mother told me "Go to the
vet and get some claw nippers."  So I went to the vet I knew and he told me
what I really needed was a genuine K-Bar Fighting Knife and some camo face
paint.  So I bought them and took them home to my mother and she's like,
"Not a goddamned Vietnam vet, shithead, a veterinarian!"

So I'm all embarrassed and ashamed, and I go to the veterinarian, and it
turns out he's a Vietnam vet, too.  And as luck would have it, his assistant
is the other Vietnam vet I got the knife and camo paint from.

So I told them what my mom said and we all laughed about it real hard and
then sat in the dark with a red filter military flashlight making plans to
kill her.  We agreed that I would distract her with the claw nippers (that I
finally got from him) while Doc came up behind her with a string garrote and
a K-Bar.  "Why the string garrote, Doc?" I asked him.  "We want this
quiet-like.  Close off her throat.  Bleed her slow," he explained.  "Oh."

Then it dawned on me, so I asked him: "Why are we killing my mother?"
"She's Charlie, son," he said.  I was only seven, so I didn't really
understand.

Anyway, long story short, he chokes her with the string garrote and I have a
change of heart, so I use the claw nippers to snip the garrote and free my
mom.  Doc stands there, K-Bar in hand, looking at me with death in his eyes.
"You...!" he hisses before he charges.

So I side-step his thrust and hook him on his right ear with the claw
nippers, spinning him around like a whirling dervish.  I pick up my Tonka
truck and smash him on the bridge of his nose again and again until it sinks
into a bloody hole in his skull.  He falls to the kitchen floor, and I'm on
him like a duck on a junebug, pummeling his throat until he can't breathe.
Just before he dies, I use his K-Bar to take my well-deserved trophy: his
right ear; the one I hooked with the claw nippers.

That day I learned about the importance of claw nippers.  Learned how they
can save you from heartache and a whole lot of pain.  Learned about the men
behind that pain.  Learned about life.

And Fluffy didn't scratch me later that night when I gave her a flea dip.

So get yourself a pair of claw nippers, Paul.

I did.

Respectfully,

Adam Phillip Churvis

Get advanced intensive Master-level training in
C# & ASP.NET 2.0 for ColdFusion Developers at
ProductivityEnhancement.com

-----Original Message-----
From: Paul Ihrig [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] 
Sent: Wednesday, August 08, 2007 2:46 PM
To: CF-Community
Subject: damb cat.. bath time..

just gave my damb cat a bath
every 3 years or so.
now have puncher wounds on my arm...
look like a heroin addict..
man..




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