Well, I'm getting better now. In fact, I might be back in the shoe and walking by the end of the month. This, of course, is my own personal assessment, because I've stopped listening to my doctor. And I'm just not getting anything in the way of sympathy dates. I don't get it! I've even got a cute little blue dog humping my crutch. I must not look pathetic enough or something. Or maybe I'm just too cute that I'm unapproachable. It's probably one of those two things. So before I get completely better, I need to squeeze in all the material I've stocked up about me being injured while I'm still injured. For example...
I went to go get my antibiotics at Giant a few weeks back. I knew we were out of milk and other things, and I had to wait half an hour for my medication anyway. Apparently, taking 30 pills from a big bottle and putting them into a little bottle isn't as easy as I thought. So anyway, I needed to get some stuff. I would normally carry one of those hand baskets around and pile all the crap in there. This is not so easy when you need your hands to walk. So I thought I could just stick my bad foot on the push cart and use it like a skateboard. But because I couldn't put any weight on my left foot, I put all my weight on my arms, which were leaning on the handle of the cart when I pushed off with my good foot. This caused the cart to flip over backwards in not so subtle a way, which in addition to embarrassing the hell out of me, caused me a lot of pain. I was in a really bad position here and I had definitely lost my chance with any chicks in the relative vicinity. If Tony wasn't away for the week, I'm sure there would already be milk and other eating products in the fridge anyway. But relying on Russ to buy food for the apartment would mean I would eat smack ramen noodles and Natural Light until I died or Tony came home. That's when I saw the riding cart...
It seriously took me about 20 minutes to figure out how to use it. I had to take the advice of a 12-yr-old kid who helped his grandpa operate one once, and I'm still not kidding. And I didn't expect them to be like little racing go-carts, but I could have crawled along the floor, pushing my 12 items or less to the cashier a little bit faster. Having suffered enough embarrassment, I opted not to crawl. Though it was embarrassing enough driving around with my milk and Froot Loops in my cart, getting passed by two-legged walking people. I started "accidentally" running into the bastards. And I ran into some cute little freshman chick at the check out line who had seen me fall and asked if I was OK and wanted to know if I needed help carrying my Froot Loops to my car. So I told her to fuck off and to go patronize somebody who gave a damn. I have another theory on why I don't get any sympathy dates.
Well, today is the two month anniversary of that fateful fucking game. I was able to walk just two months ago today. If I hadn't won so many damn games in a row, I wouldn't have still been playing. So indirectly, it was my superior athletic ability that did me in. And one of the questions that most people asked me was if I won the game. I actually didn't know. I remember it was really close and really close to the end. I ran into a guy that I was playing with a few weeks later and asked him if we won...
"Well, everybody kinda stopped playing when you went down... But we was up."
-Chuck (one of the fuckers responsible for this)
Excellent! I did not rupture in vain!
Going out a winner,
Achilles X.
Still Stranded Right Here...
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