I'm still alive, although I did think I was about to die when I received a laceration on my hand on Monday night. I was opening a can (pizza sauce, if you must know) and while pulling up the lid, my hand slipped and I ended up with a gash across two fingers and a visit to the emergency room of the local hospital.
My stay there was another story of the wanton neglect and outright disrespect men - especially fit young men - receive at the hands of jaded RNs and admissions ladies, but that's a different story for another day. At the end I was made to wait six hours for a simple cut that took the doctor literally two minutes to see and glue together - which he promptly fucked up by not following the instructions on the glue (Dermabond) and which has landed me with one finger that refuses to heal.
Oh well, the male role is to soldier on - we ain't called the disposable sex for nothing!
Soldier on, mighty knight! Such lashes become scars which will produce fairy tales of you slaying the can dragon with a can opener and results in you scoring with "wimmin"!
ReplyDelete"Yeah, right," I can hear you say. You might want to get that cut get checked out more thoroughly. Ever heard of "affirmative action"? One guy via that route got into a medical school, graduated, and screwed up a lot of people which actually killed some people... and to think that a cut can kill you? You never know... people in the middle ages died of a toothache back then.... better go find a competent male doctor, quick! Hahaha.
Hehe, making up stories about scars is half the fun. :-D
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