Can You Name a Worse Job Than Javelin Catcher? – IOTW Report

Can You Name a Worse Job Than Javelin Catcher?

Tuesday, 24 August 2021, 13:15 MJA Uncategorized 30

How About Any Biden Admin Spox.

30 Comments on Can You Name a Worse Job Than Javelin Catcher?

  6. I would say “Biden’s Diaper-Changer” but there’s no public humiliation, the stench can be masked and there’s no surprises at what comes out that end of the guy. Plus you get to keep your job if he has to resign.

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  17. …not sure if you’re talking about REAL or made-up bad jobs, but I have a couple in the REAL catagory.

    I remember reading one time about a branch of forensic science that would pick the bugs out of a corpse, no matter if it was bloated by heat, water, burnt, whatever, and analyze those insects. Because certain insects are found only in certain areas, and because they develop along scientficially established timelines, these postmortem infestations could be used to determine where a body died, how long ago, if it was moved, and whether or not someone who claimed they knew all this was lying.

    Useful stuff, that.

    But you have to pick bugs out of dead bodies.

    …For the longest time I thought THAT was the grossest job I ever heard of.

    Then came “Clyde”.

    “Clyde” is not his real name, but it will do for our purposes.

    …See, Clyde was a biker who had a bit too much to drink one night. Not an uncommon thing, to be sure, but he also had 2 other things going for him.

    He had a bike with generator problems, and a route home that took him along an unlighted section of 4 lane highway with exit and enterance ramps on a very busy stretch.

    It’s not possible to know what Clyde was specifically doing in the era before cell phones, dashboard cams, and all-seeing government eyes, but from what we could figure, he was in that dark stretch on his dying, poorly lit bike and weaved in front of a semi, that repaid the complement by punting him off his bike.

    That probably didn’t kill him, but the half-dozen or so cars that ran over him subsequently certainly did.

    I won’t go into the “death” aspects of this other than to say that at the time there were very few criteria that field medics could call someone inarguably dead under, but being torn into small pieces definitiely qualified. When you’re at the guy’s head and can’t intitiate pulselss CPR protocols because the larger part of his chest is over in the bar ditch on the other side of the highway, that’s pretty definitvely dead.

    Becuase of this, Clyde was basically a hazmat incident, a dead person strewn across a quarter mile of interstate and in part under and in the grilles of multiple vehicles. It was an entertaining evening on the closed off hightway running hither and yon with flashlights to find body bits, on the order of “look, a boot! And there’s still some FOOT in it!”.

    We collected this up into whiffy little bags and took it to the morgue, which was the wrong place because they wouldn’t take him until a DOCTOR called him dead, so we took our sad cargo to the nearby General Hospital where an amused ER doc looked into our odoriforus containers and signed the necessary papers for us to drop our charge off.

    This is NOT the WORST job I’m talking about, though.

    The WORST job stems from that.

    …we found what we could find and felt like we had a pretty complete lad, and left the highway looking like it had a bad case of measles from the spraypaint used to mark the former location of various body parts, and thought that was the end of it.

    Until the morgue called up and said “You didn’t get all of him”.

    The pieces were filled in a little by further bush-beating, but mostly from folks who read about the tragedy or saw it on TV, recalled going through that area, maybe remembered running over “something”, didn’t look human, then turned up by hook or crook for us to remove some additional meat squares from the commodious undercarrages and chrome grilles of the day, adding them to the mound the coroner had. I don’t know if they ultimately got enough to be satisifed or simply decided they had all the bits they needed, but they eventually let us off the hook and declared their charge complete.

    So the WORST job is…

    …SOMEONE spend the wee smalls in the morgue reaching into those vile smelling bags of squelchingly bloody skin, sharp, broken bones, gelatinous organs, and grab-bag of intact fingers and toes, and somehow pieced enough of the fleshy jigsaw puzzle to determine if they had a complete human being, or at least enough of a human being to do the necessary postmortem stuff with, and correctly found us wanting. Someone with no sense of smell, no gag reflex, and infinite patience who would do it for overnight county guy pay (the coroner, an elected official, NEVER did his own work, and doesn’t to this DAY).

    Someone who I’m glad I was NOT.

    …I was quite content to simply pick the bits out of the weeds and cast them in the bag. Maybe they got some erstwhile deer bits and frogs gone to their reward in the process, I don’t know, I didn’t spend a ton of time looking. That was quite enough for ME.

    But SOMEONE had to do the human Jenga job.

    And did. God bless ’em.

    …so if we’re talking about REAL jobs, I’d like to see someone top…eh, “bottom”…THAT.

    Psaki may have a bad job, but she’s equipped with a great lying gland to deal with it, and the complete lack of concious that comes standard with Democrats, so no worries there.

    And it doesn’t stink and pays well.

    …unless there’s some sort of REAL insurretion on the horizon, for a person with no morals or standards, in front of a synchophant press corps, seems like a pretty good job to ME…

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