Aloe

I just scorched my ring finger on the toaster oven and, surprisingly enough, I had a jar of aloe extract handy, so to speak.

It seems to have mollified the pain somewhat.

Owie.

No photos this time though. It is not as glamorous as the mercy denied me by my very own bread knife. An incredible poem of simplicity in Germanic steel, that loaf splitting monster, I will repost some of that gore, for the amusement of all:

If you search the term "blood" on this blog you are returned several pages, and that is without the old blog's material.

Is that a good or a bad sign?

Update: Uh oh. Now I am eating some kind of Bratwurst red hot thingie and I have confused napkins. One has the aleviating properties of the cactus God has given us for the horrors of burns, and the other has a mix of Chinese leftovers. Little packets of cheap mustard and duck sauce from the bottom of the old "everything else" drawer that every kitchen contains.

I can never not eff up all I touch, shaking my head now in appreciation of my idiocy. Ugh, why must I be such a dumb idiot jerk face?

Now the blogger page is refusing to spell check this post on the finer points of my monsterous idiocity.

I fear I may eat a finger because I won't recognize when to stop munching so long as there is duck sauce.