Sunday, May 3, 2015
An age-old, unasked question which I am certain any number of women would like to know the answer to.
Women think men are just big, snotty babies when the guy is clutching his junk and displaying terrible posture while she's saying, "I barely tapped them!"
Correct. Now, to understand precisely how that felt, let your boyfriend flick your eyeball. The same way you would flick a fly off of a table.
Why are you holding your eye and walking all hunched over like that? "I barely flicked it!"
That is PRECISELY what it feels like. That ache? How it lingers and feels like it goes all the way to the back of your head?
Only now imagine what it would be like to take a "line drive up the middle"? A ninety mile-an-hour baseball smashing into your eyeballs. Both of them. And they're hanging outside your body protected only by a little bag of elbow skin. Right? That'll keep them safe.
Now, from the moment you felt your pelvis be protected from injury, by your soft, squishy eyeballs? You've got about twenty seconds to get it together before the game re-starts and you are expected to perform flawlessly. No one will cut you any slack for still being in agony. Not even in half an hour when your head still feels like it's going to make you throw up.
But at least now you know exactly what it feels like to get kicked in the balls.
Knowledge is power.
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Philip Johnson could no longer scream.
He could no longer beg or plead. The poison had spread too far. Although it wasn’t too late to save him, the list of those who might was now vanishingly small.
He could no longer swallow since the poison had washed down his throat, melting the dendrites at the end of his nerves which allowed such luxuries. But he also couldn't prevent himself from swallowing.
When Catherine’s bodyguard tipped his head back, the man seemed almost gentle as he poured the remaining poison down his throat.