Shit Balls and Sharpie

I left work early today after a phone call from my doctor. I made some calls myself to a few people. As per usual, Zach came in clutch.

Me: I mean… Yikes.

Zach: That’s a nice way of putting it. This might warrant a “holy fucking shit balls,” Jess.

Me: Thanks, asshole.

Zach: Eh, some things change. You and me? We’re constants. I’ll Sharpie your face in every bathroom stall to keep you around. I can look at you while I shit, and it don’t get much realer than that, sweetness. Now dry your eyeballs. You might look cute when you’re pissed, but you look damned pathetic when you’re belly achin’… stop that shit.

He turned away to look out the bar’s window.

I’m pretty sure I saw tears welling in his eyes. Fuck, this shit is getting to real.

I ordered two more shots. They took the edge off and put a fire back in my belly. And then I went home from the bar to cry some more and write this post.

Shot, Stabbed, and Poisoned

I think I’ve had my fair share of near death experiences and pain. Here are a few.

I’ve been shot in the shins with bird shot. Most of it ricocheted off a road sign and some beer cans, so the pellets didn’t go very deep. We couldn’t go to the hospital because the docs have to report all gunshot wounds to the police, so I was thrown into the back of a pickup truck and taken to my friend’s house where her parents laid me out on the kitchen table, plucked out the bits of metal, and dressed my wounds while her brother apologized profusely for shooting me. Asshole.

A buddy of mine from Tampa stabbed me in the shoulder with his Swiss Army Knife during an argument. I don’t even remember what we were fighting about. I just remember I screamed loudly, and then he screamed, and then I yelled, “Why the fuck are YOU hollerin’?!” “I don’t know; I’m scared! I just shanked you! Don’t tell!” We went to the hospital, I got four stitches, we drank some beer, I hit my buddy with a golf club and called it even.

I once got into a bar brawl because my friend Josh kissed the wrong guy’s girlfriend. The bar keeper didn’t like how we fucked up his tables, stools, glasses, etc… so he pulled a shotgun out from behind the bar and waved it in all of our faces. I broke two ribs when someone literally threw me into the bar and then ran into me, crushing my side into worn wood, but I still hauled ass out of that place. One of my bros carried me when I started dry heaving from the pain in my side. I didn’t feel much better with him jostling me around, but we got the hell out of dodge a lot faster that way.

A drug dealer also had his gun in my face because he wanted a refrigerator full of cocaine and Afghan eight balls. I can’t talk about that too much because of statute of limitations shit.

I wouldn’t consider this a poisoning, but I was tranquilized for being a dumb ass and wandering around some place I had no business. I’m lucky I wasn’t tased or shot on sight. I was in custody for about 26 hours (unconscious for about four of those) and missed two days’ worth of classes because I was MIA for one day and then I needed a mental break after that shit show. Moral of the story: don’t fuck around on military bases.

Bonus round: I took some Rufilin to see what it was like. It’s just like the movies, kids: I couldn’t remember dick. I also became incredibly sick. I threw up neon orange shit and felt like dog poo that had been stepped on. Don’t worry; I experimented in a controlled environment.