(Hurt)
Some stupid people like to declare there’s no such thing as a stupid question. They’re plain wrong – wrong as leopards having zebra stripes, tigers having spots, the sun being Siberia cold, a politicians keeping monetary promises, and ice cream trucks ringing their beckoning bells Omaha in January.
“Does it hurt?” is a stupid question. Anyone who says it isn’t stupid is stupid – stupid as skin without pores, surgeons without scalpels, gardeners without spades, tightrope walkers without balance poles, and bananas without skins.
The kid’s bawling like a recently weaned calf, there’s blood gushing in torrents from her knee, a tiny bone is partially protruding, her arm is bent crooked like a fine bonsai oak, and her friends, even the boys, are hopelessly crying sympathetically. The girls in her clique have mostly all left the scene, so horrible it was. Then you, the dimwitted, hopelessly unaware adult comes along and says, “Does it hurt?”
Yes, of course it does! Did you think she was playing some magical new game of playground make-believe? Did you think she was rehearsing for the school play based on some obscure writing by Edgar Allen Poe? Maybe she’s a tree loving, double-jointed, wee thing who bleeds easily. Maybe she’s not a kid at all, but some alien, where bawling it their language. Perhaps it’s the day before Halloween, and her loving Mother, some skilled Hollywood make-up artist who can’t remember what day it is, is playing a sordid trick. Then again, maybe she’s hurt. Maybe. But don’t ask again. No point adding to the already obvious stupidity.
If that isn’t stupid, then what in Hades is?
It’s as obvious as no turns in a straight road, lines on lined paper, roses on a rosebush, that M standing for McDonald’s and stink from a diesel truck.
