Turn Of The Screw

Turn of the screw, as in Epstein starts giving up Clinton state secrets and Comey sings under that good old Horowitz method? We wish, but no, it was all about driving to Waco to get staples out and x-rays on the hip to make sure everything was Trump Train according to plan.

Apparently it was, "Nothing crazy down there," observed an attractive radiologist before sending me upstairs to the staple shop. I grinned back, she was reassuring, and headed out to the next date with destiny.

A bored staple mechanic asked me to "stand over there," so I hopped over to a naugahyde examining couch and stood there, wondering what to do. "Look, I can't take them out if your shorts are in the way." I sorted that out, she set to with a handy pair of pliers and out they popped.

Then another medical professional swung by and gave me the run down. Nothing crazy down there, just three enormous screws holding my bone together. Start putting weight on the leg, exercise the muscles but listen to your body and sure, you can ride again if you're stupid. Do the screws go away? "No, you've bought them, they're yours."

I liked her for that and cleverly didn't say, "Yes, Ma'am, but aren't they a gift from Baylor to the Church?" And that was that. The Recruit wheeled me out of there and taxied us back to the Compound. 

And no, we didn't stop at Waco's fabled Silos. Why? Because they're overpriced rubbish. On a different and happier theme, the youngster ships out to Benning late August.

And that was troublesome to me, hurry up Army! But it's turned out for the best, as it goes. 

Stand firm against Satan's New World Order,

LSP