Okay, that was a mistake.
Doc Steinbrau’s been on me for months about getting into shape. Says a third heart attack is inevitable if I don’t change my diet and start exercising. Given that the former’s out of the question, I decided to partially humor him by picking up some kind of physical activity. I went with rollerblading, thinking it’d be a good way to meet chicks.
Yeah, well, like mother would say: Think in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first. Only she would actually make me do it.
But I digress. Long story short, I didn’t meet any chicks. In fact, I didn’t make it more than three wobbly feet before crashing on my ass, much to the delight of some neighborhood children playing across the street. And let me tell you, a man as large as me doesn’t fall softly; it’s going to take a city work crew to fill the crack I made.
So now I’m back at the hospital, being tended to by a team of skilled doctors and attractive nurses for what amounts to a busted ass. On the plus side, it means plenty of complimentary sponge baths. Without having to pay any whores.