My buddy had to bow out of playing in a baseball game this weekend due to a foot injury. It happens. Perhaps he dropped a heavy object or twisted it while chasing a criminal? No. He hurt it fucking.
Now, I’m old and brittle. Sure, I injure myself more often. There are more aches, pains, and increased stiffness nowadays. But, can’t say I’ve ever been benched by a boinking bruise, let alone admitted it to a bunch of baseball buddies.
Come to think of it, I did topple off the funky frame-lit bed at the Vegas SLS Hotel in May. I smacked my skull on the sofa frame. It hurt, but I was under Tito’s vodka sedation, and a boner somehow numbs me. There was a lump in the morning. Still, I can’t imagine weeping to the coach about it.
“Coach, I need to ride the pine today.”
“What? You’re on the hill!”
“Nah. Can’t do it. Sorry.”
“Hurt my brain. Was fucking little miss thang over there, got in a little over my head, tried some ill-advised maneuvers, and cracked my melon.”
“You dumb ass.”
“I know. Sorry, Skipper. Maybe I can keep score.”
“Here, son. I have just the thing for you.”
“A can of MAN-THE-FUCK-UP! Now get out there and throw strikes.”
These sex injuries must be limited to men. I can’t imagine a woman bruising a labia or anything. Maybe a toe cramp. My buddy’s injury was caused by getting his foot stuck between the mattress and headboard.
“What were your feet doing up there?”
“No, I don’t know. I’ve never slept with you.”
“We were in a certain position.”
“Do you need a fucking helmet and boots? Literally?”
“Man, I was in a groove, literally. I wasn’t about to call time out. I had to finish and assess the injury during clean-up.”
“Good man. You are pardoned.”
I wonder if his wife mentioned his foot-pas to her girlies? Nah. Women are decent and respect privacy, right? She kept it to herself. Naturally, that won’t stop me. Decency isn’t something I relate to. I’ll be sure to lecture her.
“Hey, Rousey. Take it easy on ole cracker bones, will ya? Stick to missionary.”
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