Bleeding, Sucking Chest Wound

No, not another Mongrel medical emergency.

I was at a party hosted by an old friend and his family a while back. His oldest daughter had been playing with her agressive younger sister (you know, younguns compensating for their youth, perceived injustices and all that) and had been whacked on the arm with a piece of sporting equipment. She came crying to the door, seeking asylum from the fanatical youngling and appealled to the Secretary General of the House only to hear "If it's not a bleeding, sucking chest wound, I don't want to hear about it."

Bless her heart! <- and that's a story for different day

Ah, such love. Reminds me of the relationship with me and my children, or me and my parents. Warms my heart it does.

Well, we members of the Adult Politburo went back to our important duties of Gossip Intelligence, Chili Consumption and Gridiron Grousing when I spy through the glass portal, a freshly wounded oldest daughter, approaching our gates and wearing a face worthy of an Oscar. I'd just glimpsed the tail end of the affront, the previously mentioned bit of sports equipment had apparently come to a sudden stop upon the crown of her head.

I thus shout out to my familiar host, "Hear comes your bleeding, sucking chest wound." Not quite, but be careful what you ask for. :P