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A few months ago I woke up in the middle of the night with the feeling that I was going to be sick. Since it was flu season, I wasn't exactly surprised, but I wasn't sure how my illness was going to present itself. Just to be safe, I sat on the throne holding a bucket. Apparently, I passed out. I came to to hear my wife pounding on the bathroom door. I reached up and unlocked the door, and she came in. She helped me up and then said "Omigod, you're bleeding," while looking at a senstive area. Concerned that I might need stitches and because my stomach was now experiencing waves of shooting pains, we went to the e.r. The doctor gave me something to settle my stomach and said that I "tore" myself. He said I didn't need stitches, that I should just put antibiotic ointment on it. The best I can figure out, I was securely "tucked in" before I passed out, and my rapid descent took me past the stretching point. Oh well, if I am ever killed in a disfiguring accident, my wife will still be able to identify me in the morgue.
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That's right - I'm a guy in a suit eating a Blizzard. F U.
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