My Head Exploded

It happened today, sometime around noon. I was reading first hand accounts of what happened on January 30, 1972 in Derry, Ireland; the event known as Bloody Sunday. I read about how British Paratroopers opened fire on a peaceful Civil Rights march. I read about how the march was patterned after Martin Luther King, Jr's marches in America, about how people from all demoninations and nations gathered to march in Derry to bring attention to the terrible injustices brought against the Irish Catholics by English Protestants. I read about how, even though the march was deemed illegal by the government, the people decided to march anyway because they thought the cause was worth marching for. I read about how, despite the fact that there is not a single shred of evidence to suggest anyone in the Civil Rights March was armed, the British Paratroopers still opened fire on the peaceful marchers. I read about how they shot 28 people, killing 14. I read about how Bernard McGuigan was shot and killed, despite the fact that he was waving a white hankerchief and was trying to help Patrick Doherty(also killed).

I read about how all of the British Paratroopers, their commanders, and the Prime Minister were exonerated, despite the fact that none of the people killed were armed and forensic tests showed that none of them had gun powder on their hands. I read about how one British Paratrooper went up to a man he already shot and wounded, and proceeded to shoot him several more times in the back as the man was already dying on the ground.

Since I've been to Derry and I've seen where this all happened, my head exploded and fragments of my skull went flying through the UVU english departments window, sprinkling shards of glass over the students who like to sleep underneath the window. Pieces of my brain were flung all over the place. A rather large chunk landed in the hair of some girl who just happened to be walking to her next class. She was texting someone at the time so she didn't a piece of brain was now lodged into her hair. My boss walked in just after my head exploded because she heard me say "I can't believe this, I can't believe this," followed by a large bang and a crash. It was obvious she was upset at me by the way she grabbed me by my arm and pulled me into her office. I don't know what she was saying because my ears were somewhere in the hall of the L.A. building. I don't blame her for being upset though because this isn't the first time my head has exploded from reading Bloody Sunday stuff.

Now I have to wait for my head to grow back, which is painfully slow. It usually takes a day or two. So if you see a headless person stumbling into walls and falling down stairs, help a fella out.

At least I don't have to live with the injuries and the nightmares that have effected the 14 survivors of Bloody Sunday and all the families involved, God bless them.