My cousin laid his bike down trying to avoid a kid who'd dashed from between two parked cars in front of him; only reason he survived was the brain bucket. Which is good, since he'd already enlisted in the Marines and had not been authorized to die at that point.
For every one story of a guy who's walked away from a wreck without a helmet, there are twenty stories of guys who wouldn't have had they not been wearing one.
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At Fiddler’s Green, where seamen true
When here they’ve done their duty
The bowl of grog shall still renew
And pledge to love and beauty.
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