This particular Spew will be typed far slower than normal, though no less spectacularly, as I have a incurred a badly mangled thumb. Not from a hitchhiking mishap or experiencing sudden trouble dislodging it from up my ass, you know, the usual injuries, but instead from a goddamn makeshift hammer experiment that went horribly awry. Allow me to set the scene:
In my basement there’s a big-ass empty filing cabinet that was left over from the insurance agency that used to occupy the residence. By the way, all those insurance cards you may have filled out over the years are apparently worthless, because there’s a shitload of ’em crammed in some other cabinet somewhere. Hope they’re not important. Regardless, for reasons that now elude me, having angrily used a nearby five-pound weight as a bludgeon moments before, with highly satisfying denting effects, I realized the top corner of the filing cabinet was now bent in such a way that the top draw would no longer close.
Now even more irritated, I nevertheless cleverly decided that since smashing things got me into this mess, smashing more things would clearly get me out. I had my right thumb idiotically along the edge of the top of the filing cabinet and after several awkward left-handed swipes to fix the dent, of course missed and smashed my fuckin thumb to smithereens.
At first I was like, “Oh fuck!” but for some reason there was no pain. Could it be? Did I somehow hit a magical spot where there were no nerve endings? It literally took two full seconds before my thumb even reacted. I think the little guy was in shock. Then reality set in with a vengeance and the entire digit went tingly before going completely numb.
“Oh fuck indeed,” I reiterated to myself, as I sprinted upstairs to grab a giant hunk of ice. Before I had even made it to the top step, my thumb had ballooned to the point where I felt like it might actually burst my skin. The pressure was fuckin unreal. I held my left hand with a plastic shopping bag full of ice to my right and swathed my thumb in frozen goodness. Then I went about the rest of my day.
It was unsurprisingly uneventful, although it felt like a scorpion stinging my thumb if I so much as grazed it against my shirt. The only real dilemma was how the fuck was I gonna light my trusty little water bowl. My right thumb was a bloated purple mess and I can’t bat lefty. Instead I improvised. It turns out that if you hold the lighter just right, your pointer finger will work in a pinch. Good thing I didn’t smash that finger too or things really could have been serious.