I hadn’t felt like writing today, but last night (when I WASN’T EVEN DRUNK), I fell down the stairs at Graham’s house and bruised my ass bone.  This happened a few years ago, also at Graham’s house, albeit a different one from the one he’s in now.  That time there was invisible ice on the stairs outside, this time I was walking down carpeted stairs in well-worn Chuck Taylors.

And jesus it hurts.  Laughing and coughing hurt the most, so apparently my sphincter muscle is vital to both actions.  Graham says something funny and it’s like an attack of the butthole.  I can’t move around all that much so I’m stuck here on the couch watching The Wedding Singer.

BTW, my favorite part of The Wedding Singer, even though the sound quality in the video isn’t great, but I had to pick it because of Jon Lovitz’s line at the end of the scene:

And I can’t stop laughing at it, which is problematic because my ass is dying.  It hurts so bad.  I can’t even shift positions to ease the pain.  I’m hoping that it won’t trigger the damage the last fall did.  I don’t have the health insurance for the co-pays I’d need to get mauled by a PA (who was much better than the weirdo chiropractor I went to, and I’m not seeing my dad because even thought he’s a massage therapist, him touching me at all is creepy, so I can’t imagine him touching me anywhere near my butt).

Right, so I’m sitting here, mostly unable to move, thinking about all of the things I could be writing about but deciding that my ass injury is by far the most important.