Near Death Experiences
Last time I crashed my bike, as I flew through the air towards the car in front of me not much went through my head apart from "You idiot". No tunnels, no lights to stay away from, no smiling family members beckoning to me.
Surely you've had a better near-death experience?
( , Thu 25 Nov 2004, 11:35)
Last time I crashed my bike, as I flew through the air towards the car in front of me not much went through my head apart from "You idiot". No tunnels, no lights to stay away from, no smiling family members beckoning to me.
Surely you've had a better near-death experience?
( , Thu 25 Nov 2004, 11:35)
« Go Back
Electric personality
My father worked as a mechanic at our local bus company. Occasionally he would let me accompany him to work on Sundays (he worked one weekend out four), where I would pretend to drive buses, and check out the girlie magazines in the lunchroom.
I discovered a spark plug conditioning machine in one of the workshops. You’d insert a plug into a hole and press a button. The end of the plug would be sandblasted. Press another button and compressed air would remove all of the crap. Press another button and a mighty spark would bridge the gap, assuring you that it was ready to reuse.
It didn’t take long before I stuck my finger in the hole and pressed button #3.
I woke up on the other side of the room with a small blackened area at the end of my finger.
I repeated the process on all of my subsequent visits, but of course I had to screw up my courage.
In later years I had to content myself with exchanging ungrounded electric guitars with my band mates. I think that’s what killed Keith Relf, isn’t it?
( , Wed 1 Dec 2004, 21:18, Reply)
My father worked as a mechanic at our local bus company. Occasionally he would let me accompany him to work on Sundays (he worked one weekend out four), where I would pretend to drive buses, and check out the girlie magazines in the lunchroom.
I discovered a spark plug conditioning machine in one of the workshops. You’d insert a plug into a hole and press a button. The end of the plug would be sandblasted. Press another button and compressed air would remove all of the crap. Press another button and a mighty spark would bridge the gap, assuring you that it was ready to reuse.
It didn’t take long before I stuck my finger in the hole and pressed button #3.
I woke up on the other side of the room with a small blackened area at the end of my finger.
I repeated the process on all of my subsequent visits, but of course I had to screw up my courage.
In later years I had to content myself with exchanging ungrounded electric guitars with my band mates. I think that’s what killed Keith Relf, isn’t it?
( , Wed 1 Dec 2004, 21:18, Reply)
« Go Back