Lady Miss Banjola is a hurtin’ unit

She broke some bones coming off Jake (her scooter) but is expected to make a full recovery.  Dr Filk has flown to her side to render aid and comfort to the stricken. And make sure she takes her irony supplements – without which, life is completely meaningless, hein?
I am at Planet Bachelor (Paul and Keith’s new digs) for supper, having trundled Keith’s B-day prezzies over here, and we are anxiously awaiting Miss Katie, who’s off work now.

I am still in a very thoughtful mood.  Watching the sun go down yesterday felt really good, and I, like a fool, have commenced the deep thinking that accompanies the start of a new, long poem.

There’s Katie, gotta run.

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Born when atmospheric carbon was 316 PPM. Settled on MST country since 1997. Parent, grandparent.

7 thoughts on “Lady Miss Banjola is a hurtin’ unit”

  1. She was entirely decked out in appropriate gear and lost about one square inch of skin. Also, mom in law being a doctor meant that she had some serious fire power on her side in dealing with the medical profession.

  2. Not even a square inch, more like a spot the size of a matchhead. My leather pants deserve an ode of gratitude to be certain.

  3. SO …. I guess they are NOT the Leather Pants of Evil as mentioned by Nancy Louise Freeman?

    I had to say it, I had to say it….

    So we’ll have to write a song…. Think of a title, madame, and I’ll take it from there.

  4. Oh, no, it’s…. PARODY of a PARODY time. Filk, the last resort of the last resort of recursion. I just wish it was any rhyme but Squee-ville. That’s pushing it

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