tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20119470.post2497188211465533709..comments2023-08-20T15:59:58.293+05:00Comments on Dope City Free Press: Give Me the SkullMr. Beer N. Hockeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07184518909716677938noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20119470.post-8836650374145434972008-10-02T06:37:00.000+06:002008-10-02T06:37:00.000+06:00Offhand, I like "Apocalypse Now"'s look into where...Offhand, I like "Apocalypse Now"'s look into where post traumatic stress can take a man. Just about everybody has a memorable encounter with a bloody mess they toy with from time to time.Mr. Beer N. Hockeyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07184518909716677938noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20119470.post-47101393059576868182008-10-01T23:30:00.000+06:002008-10-01T23:30:00.000+06:00Well, not that I was enquiring as to what post tra...Well, not that I was enquiring as to what post traumatic stress IS, precisely. More of a case of, the more you see the more it affects, inevitably. One either becomes inured or not.<BR/><BR/>I was intrigued by these deleted comments too.<BR/><BR/>This whole post was interesting. As a primary school age kid - age nine - on the way back home on the bus we came across an accident where a car had crashed head on into a bank. The driver and passenger were clearly dead in the concertinaed wreckage. It was similar to the episode you describe, but turned down a notch or two. No screaming shock casualty holding a bleeding skull aloft.<BR/><BR/>But. As a busload of snot-nosed faces pressed up against the windows of the halted bus, we witnessed a severed dog's head rolling down the street. Presumably, the car had swerved in an attempt to avoid the dog. Several kids guffawed and stuck their fingers in their mouths. Some of it was nervous laughter; some of it was genuine mirth. Sick. Some kids inevitably started crying. A couple grew hysterical. I remember being straight-faced, but quite solemn. Not unaffected, but unsure how to react. The spectacle of the head rolling under the bus and out the other side was strangely amusing.<BR/><BR/>I'm glad it wasn't human.ibhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08788986697776895039noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20119470.post-59832676824603628162008-10-01T07:32:00.000+06:002008-10-01T07:32:00.000+06:00There was a little personal information in the las...There was a little personal information in the last few comments that I thought I better edit. It makes it a lot easier to write when you do so from the perspective of an alter ego like Beer instead of the fucker I have to look at in the mirror every day. <BR/><BR/>Paramedics get to see all kinds of bloody messes. That's why more than a few of them go nuts.Mr. Beer N. Hockeyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07184518909716677938noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20119470.post-20509524976297189312008-09-30T10:07:00.000+06:002008-09-30T10:07:00.000+06:00Well, I have to wonder what those deleted comments...Well, I have to wonder what those deleted comments were about. Personally, had I witnessed that event, I don't think I'd have made a good paramedic. I mean, every time I saw blood, I'd end up having screaming skull decapitation flashbacks. Ib was asking me what post traumatic stress disorder is. It is when you have screaming skull decapitation flashbacks, sort of. It sucks.Your driverhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06406948739451124566noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20119470.post-26582499041062484422008-09-30T08:21:00.000+06:002008-09-30T08:21:00.000+06:00This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20119470.post-86905240589093605682008-09-30T07:17:00.000+06:002008-09-30T07:17:00.000+06:00This comment has been removed by the author.Mr. Beer N. Hockeyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07184518909716677938noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20119470.post-63134641118051732792008-09-30T06:49:00.000+06:002008-09-30T06:49:00.000+06:00This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com