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The Mystery Bruise

I have a bruise on my ass. It’s not a little one. It’s one of those scary “Tupac black” bruises that leaves pasty white people like me wondering if we have leukemia. It’s large and black, and in the shape of Texas.

I have no idea where it came from. Did I mess with Texas? I’ve heard that you just ‘don’t mess with Texas.’ I’d never do that.

…it’s not nice to pick on retards.

(Sorry Alejandro, I just couldn’t let that joke go unsaid. If it makes you feel any better, you’re the least Texan Texan I know.)

Anywho, this mystery has been bothering me all day. Here’s the thing. I’m a bit flakier in real life than I come off online. Like flaky in the “I nearly put wart remover in my eye because I thought it was eye drops” kind of way. Like flaky in the “I found my cell phone in the freezer this morning” kind of way.

So I am no stranger to mystery bruises. I get them all the time. The minor ones I just brush off as general clumsiness, but the major ones always leave me wondering.

Because the major ones always have a story.

The worst one I can remember happened several years ago. It was the day after Saint Patrick’s Day when I woke up with a pain in my foot. It wasn’t a little pain. It was a broiling, bleeding, blistered “holy shit do I have foot cancer?” pain.

And I had no idea how it happened.  Try as I might, my drunken, hazy memory would not release the story of this horrible injury. So I simply assumed that it was far too traumatic to remember. Then, I made up my own story.

A bus filled with puppies and orphans was careening towards a cliff. I was the only one around and the only one who could save the day. With only courage and determination as my fortitude I ran towards that damned bus. Using my MacGyver-like skills, I quickly created a system of pullies and ropes (that just happened to be laying around) and lassoed the bus, keeping all of the puppies and orphans from plummeting to their certain deaths.

While this was happening, the rope caught on my foot and I got rope burn.

Satisfied with my story, I went on about my day. I had to wear flip flops, but at least all those puppies and orphans were safe.

Then my friend Mike called.

“How’s your foot?”

I gave a long suffering sigh, having fully convinced myself of my foot martyr status. “It’s ok. I’m just glad no one was hurt.”

“Why would anyone get hurt? I still can’t believe you did that.”

My illusions were about to be destroyed. “What did I do?”

“You said you were so drunk you couldn’t feel your legs. Then, you bet me $5 that I could put my cigarette out on your foot without you screaming.”

“Why the fuck would you agree to that?” I was outraged.

“That’s exactly what you screamed at me when I did it!”

Illusions destroyed, my serious injury that I got while being a selfless angel became a simple drunken bet that I’d lost. I lose a lot of drunken bets.

I imagine my last words will be “Hold my beer. I bet I can do this.”

So I’m not sure I really want to know where this bruise came from. In fact, I know I don’t, because I already know how I got it.

See, there was this busload of puppies and orphans, careening towards a cliff….

6 thoughts on “The Mystery Bruise

  1. Hypothetical situation here: There’s a writer who has offended Jesus (pronouncing it “JAY-ZUZ!!” in my head for some reason) by writing spanking fiction instead of spending her time watching the Duggars (“483 Little Rat-bastards and Counting”), so Je-sus has decided to mark her with a, a sort of, “scarlet-letter-thingy” on her ass, . Just hypothetical.

    • Ok, seriously, get out of my head. No joke, for a bit, I had the same exact thought! I was like “now is this karma, or is this karma?” Also, I do indeed pronounce Jesus just the way you imagine it in your head.

      I am a Floridian, after all. I’m practically required to.

      As for the Duggars, if Jim Bob can not only get away with fondling his sisters, but actually get rewarded for it (wouldn’t have found Jesus if not for molestation…wouldn’t have show on TLC because of wacky religion) I have to say, I don’t imagine Jayzuz is paying much attention. Luckily, karma got him. Karma always comes back. 😉

  2. No offense taken! I discovered a bruise on my left arm the other day and couldn’t remember if I strained it when I had to move an end table to vacuum the carpet, or if a marathon masturbation session went on longer than necessary. I’d like to say I got hurt from struggling to keep Ted Cruz in the trunk of a 1988 Oldsmobile, but I just can’t. I’d hate to impugn the reputation of such a fine car.

    I once put Anbesol in my left eye, thinking it was eye gel I’ve been using to treat dry-eye syndrome. We writers are a weird lot. But, if we don’t entertain ourselves, who will?

    • Just so you know, “marathon masturbation sessions’ never go on longer than necessary. My record is 20 times in one 24-hour-period.

    • While I do appreciate the drunken bump, it should probably be noted that you can’t bump a post on a private website. I’m the only one here. There’s no one else to bump. 😉

      Much love anyway.

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