Any exposure’s inherently bad. The asbestos fibers lodge in your lungs and are never expelled. The fibers cause scarring that can cause mesothelioma. While repeated exposure’s worse, even one exposure’s a thing to be avoided at all costs.
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Yep, unlike many other things that can get repaired or expelled or neutralized, asbestos will sit there in your lung, being fucking evil, until the day you die.
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You know, I think I’ll pass on that, but thank you all the same.
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Whelp, I’m boned.
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The new guest bedroom
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You should be fine, relatively speaking. Asbestos isn’t a hazard as long as it remains undisturbed
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Best to avoid talking politics with it.
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I’m the kid that poked things with a stick.
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But i really wanted to discuss Clinton’s emails with it.
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Mesothelioma. Same difference. There is no telling which individual fiber will cause a problem, so not inhaling ANY is a sound goal.
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Well, Winston Churchill famously smoked and drank far too much and died of neither, so you never know, I guess.
I dunno if people better informed than I am would recommend screenings of your lungs every once in a while?
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Steel’s cheaper than copper, but I see plastic plumbing pipes used a lot, it’s cheapest of all. 3" PVC DWV pipe will hold a surprising amount of weight.
I use 1" black iron pipe on sheets of plywood to move anything over 5 tons 
Well, it’s the best heat and flame insulation I know of. Beats hell out of fibrefrax. And it’s not a health hazard if it can’t shed fibers.
Yeah, I would totally do whole lung bronchopulmonary lavage if I could afford it. But my insurance doesn’t cover lung enemas.
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#I prefer a lung enema:
“That’s quite a good step, quite good,” Dr. Mirabi encouraged. “Of course, that infection was only the crisis symptom of your syndrome. The next stage of your cure” -he examined the notepad-“is the chronic mucus congestion! We must deal with that chronic mucus, Alex. It might have been protective mucus at first, but now is your metabolic burden. Once the chronic mucus is gone, and the tubercles are entirely cleansed-cleaned…” He paused. “Is it ‘cleaned,’ or ‘cleansed’?”
“Either one works,” Alex said.
“Thank you,” the doctor said. “Once the chronic mucus is scrubbed away from the lung surfaces, then we can treat the membranes directly. There is membrane damage in your lungs, of course, deep cellular damage, but we cannot get to the damaged surfaces until the mucus is removed.” He looked at Alex seriously, over his glasses. “Your chronic mucus is full of many contaminations, you know’ Years of bad gases and particles you have inhaled. Environmental pollutions, allergic pollens, smoke particles, virus, and bacteria. They have all adhered to the chronic mucus. When your lungs are scrubbed clean with the enema, the lungs will be as the lungs of a newborn child!” He smiled. (source)
[…]
“Then you know that sensation when you swallow water down the wrong pipe,” said the doctor, nodding triumphantly. “That choking reflex. You see, Alex, the reason Mother Nature makes you choke on water, is because there is no proper oxygen in water for your lungs. The enema liquid, though, which will be filling your lungs, is not water, Alex. It is a dense silicone fluid. It carries much oxygen dissolved inside it, plenty of oxygen.” Dr. Mirabi chuckled. “If you lie still without breathing, you can live half an hour on the oxygen in a single lungful of enema fluid! It has so much oxygen that at first you will feel hyperventilated.”
(source)
Something was dripping. Thick oily dripping, down at floor level. It was coming from the big trouser-press contraption. Jane stepped toward the machine and played her light across the floor. Some kind of bedpan there.
Jane half knelt. It was a white ceramic pot, half-full of a dark nasty liquid, some kind of dense chemical oil. Grainy stuff like fine coffee grounds had sunk to the bottom, with a nasty white organic scum threading the top, just like a vile egg-drop soup. As Jane watched, a sudden thin -drool of the stuff plummeted into the pot.
Her light went up. It discovered two racks of white human teeth. A human mouth there, with tight-drawn white lips and a stiff blue tongue. The head was swaddled in bandages, a thick padded strap at the forehead. Some kind of soft rubber harness bar was jammed into the gaping jaws. .
They had him strapped to a rack, head down. Both his shoulders strapped, both his wrists cuffed at his sides, his chest strapped down against the padded surface. His knees were bound, his ankles cuffed. The whole rack was tilted skyward on a set of chromed springs and hinges. Up at the very top, his pale bare feet were like two skinned animals. Down at the bottom, his strap-swaddled head was just above the floor.
They were draining him.
(source)
For the full experience, click through to the Russian pirate-lit source, and witness the supporting ads in all of their tepid glory:
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That’s exactly the book I was thinking of!
But I’d prefer the saline spray kind, where they anesthetize you and do one lung at a time. My lungs are scarred from old punctures and I don’t want them heaving against a heavy fluid.
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My buddy and I…reclaimed a generator out from under an old radio tower, and we used that same type of iron pipe to roll it out the door and onto the trailer. Crushed one end of one of the pipes b/c holy hell that thing was heavy–what started as a mosquito-infested debacle was not helped by exceptional heat, too much beer, and no sleep.
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Well, and and you have to get out of there before everyone notices the radio station has gone off air 
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My buddy bought the generator off of some sort of auction site, so we were pretty sure that particular transmission tower had already been deactivated.
…Pretty sure…
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“Was it KABC or KBCA that we were supposed to take the transformer from?”
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“Just send us the money and we’ll send you the location where you can find a generator, er, I mean find the generator you totally legitimately bought from us.”
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Rapidly moving OT here, but at the same time, I was moving my household from Florida to the northeast–everything I owned (motorcycle included) was in a moving truck that we parked at a nearby gas station (we were in southern Georgia) while we worked on getting that damned generator out of the building and onto the trailer. Finished up with the trailer, and went back for the moving van…but the moving van was…gone.
Lots of cursing and telephone calls later, it appears the van was towed for reasons mostly related to allowing the tow-truck driver to fleece me for $600 to get it off the impound lot. Then the generator’s trailer blew out a tire at midnight as we “caravanned” north through S. Carolina (that was surprisingly hard to replace).
Oh, and this was happening on a Friday afternoon, and I was starting a new job in DC on Monday. I do not look fondly on that particular weekend.
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