The Earl of Hippity Hop (you want to read this for amusement)

The Earl of Hippity Hop (you want to read this for amusement)

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Good evening (or other local time appropriate greeting for you), I bring you a true story, a tale, a hero’s fable (well… ok maybe not that nearly that fantastical), this ’tis the how and why I broke a bone, the only bone I’ve ever known to break in all these years sloshing about the deck of my titanic life (so far dodging the icebergs somehow, maybe global warming is a friend in port?), so, the first question you may ask (or I may imagine you may ask) or maybe the first question I think you should ask, “hey man, what in the world is a Hippity Hop ?” for those in the know this giant dog chew toy was a wonder of wonder in the youths of those children of the 80’s (of which I am an inducted member, maybe even an elder of same – at this point), but anyway, a hippity hop was a mode of transportation before the segway came about (or that information highway thing I have heard such things about), and like all things such modes of transport evolve, I quite imagine that perhaps they are outlawed now, especially given the story of horror I am to import (at great personal peril to my 10 story pride), but with a quick click through my local yellow pages, ahem, I mean search engine they most certainly do still exist (they did fancy them up a bit from the simple red/blue option I had), so basically you plant your butt on this oversized dodge-ball of a thing, grab the ring and then transmute yourself into some sort of kangaroo hybrid (sans pouch, and tail, at least in my case, that is), so yes, I did not have fruit ninja, or an ipod/pad/phone, all we had was … “i”… (and somehow we managed through the boredom, I suppose it is all relative as if I was born in the 1800s I might have been churning butter for fun…), so anyway, where the hell am I? where the hell was I? so… these lovely bouncing things… sure they were fun, but like their far distant cousin removed three times the lawn dart… there is danger lurking in the ramparts, unseen evil forces that can guide these seemingly harmless rubber rapscallions turning them into destructive ICBMs (individual contact bone missiles), so, maybe you see where I going, I am trying to drive and get my damn map app to work… so bear with me, the setup: I was a young lad once, only once, and my parents imprinted on me (ahem, demanded) that I need to be gainfully employed if I wanted to buy things, with, you know, that money stuff (the nerve of those abusers!), so at a very young age I got what jobs I could, for the scope of this story I will spare you the litany of things I did for money (geez, that sounds really dirty, but thankfully nothing of ill repute ever came upon my petute), so I took a job as a camp counselor at the local YMCA (actually a JCC that became a YMCA, but what’s the difference?), it was a simple lot really, just watch some 7 year olds for a few hours during the summer and make sure they didn’t get hurt or do anything incredibly stupid (because a 14 year old is certainly qualified, obviously), so all was good, the little demons, ahem, I mean angels were so well behaved that Alcatraz would probably not take them, nothing crazy but I lost count of the ripped shirts from the ole “pile on david” game that they so loved, that much I could handle, but then… always insidiously lurking in the shadows, so friendly looking, almost a bouncing emoji (before there were any)… those damn Hippity Hops, plotting, waiting for the moment, the overthrow, the rebellion, to unleash their unholy hell of bouncing rubber asunder upon my innocent frame… I must pause for a moment to gather my thoughts to clearly recount the trauma… one of our (and by our I mean my little brood of monsters) daily activities was hopping about the gym on (you guessed it) Hippity Hops, ok, no harm no foul, been there done that, and then, came the moment when the evil plan was hatched from their nascent idea egg, I was not paying much attention when it happened, I mean who would expect it? through a sheer act of possession one of my minion hopped off her hippity hop and grabbed the ring like some naturally gifted olympic hammer thrower, spinning round like a tempest, no, like a full on F-5 tornado, unleashing a rubber projectile in my direction without notice, in slow motion I watched as it bounded toward me, I thought nothing of it, not knowing the sheer force of evil behind the gentle looking rubber, I recall it bounced once with that signature true sound like when you perfectly kick a kickball in a game, that “thunk” (and the satisfying feel of your foot sinking into the thing as it recoils and explodes outward to the outfield), so I heard that sound briefly, this moment was the calm before the storm, as it were, with pure lion instinct I reached out to grab the until now innocuous bouncy thing of joy, and then… it happened, in that brief moment, the hop bounced in such a way, as if guided by the lord of darkness himself, up to my outstretched hand, and hit, as if in perfect measure and intent, my middle finger, the transfer of energy traveled down, into my palm and there found a home, at the time it did not seem like much, maybe a jammed finger ? which I had endured a thousand times in basketball, but ah hah, the hidden damage, I returned home in discomfort, but not knowing the damage done. fast forward 2 hours, my hand is a balloon, or more really a surgical glove looking appendage that someone pumped air into (too much air), at this point I had to enlist the parents (hey, I was 14, alright?), off to the local hospital type place (well, actual hospital), X-rays and the usual, my hand was broken, my heart was sunken, I was taken out by a hippity hop, a rubbery drive by by a 7 year old. my pride ? broken as well, my answer to those who asked about my cast? “you should’ve seen the other guy”

Moral of the story…  they say the devil is in the details, I disagree, the devil is in the pigtails…


I appreciate all shares, follows, feedback and pies… well actually, I hate pies, my taste profile is bitter, sour and spicy flavors, so I appreciate pies of scorpion peppers and broccoli rabe.. um, ok, that’s gross most likely, I appreciate your eyes, on my words, that much is true, so… thank you.

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