So for those of you who don’t already know, I broke my hand a couple years ago.

(NO, NOT from jerking off!)
(and NO, not from punching a wall which I missed & hit the door beam cause my ex-girlfriend was pissing me the fuck off on some stupid shit!)

Anyways… I know… I know, who still breaks their hand? Well, apparently grown men children still do! Lesson learned!!! (I promise, future wife)

And it was the right hand too! It’s a bigger deal then I realized. First off, remember when a gallon of milk was heavy? Then you got older and stronger and felt like Superman pouring cereal all over the place. Well, guess what? A gallon of milk was heavy again! Makes me feel REAL manly asking my grandma to help me with my Lucky Charms.

But it wasn’t really so much with pain that was the problem…but more importantly with my nightly activities.

Trying to get dressed is bad but tying your shoelaces is the worst. FUGGETABOUTIT! It takes like an hour! I’m like a three year old with a bowl of pasta and no fork.

Then you get to the club and that’s when the REAL fun begins. Half the people are staring at you like, “what the fuck is he doing here? Why is he not home…HEALING?”

The other half wants to know the story behind your accident. “What happened? What happened to your arm?” But you’ve told the story so many times that you’re sick of it. I swear, you’re better off just handing out cards that explain the accident to avoid about 17 minutes of useless conversation. “Just read that so we can enjoy our night. Thanks!”

And the last thing you wanna is do get into a fight.  An eight year old could fuck you up! So you gotta be REALLY nice to everyone, apologizing for everything. Someone bangs into you and spills your drink all ove the floor, you gotta be like,”my fault. I shouldn’t have been stuck in that crowd.” Someone takes your seat, “my bad, I shouldn’t have used the bathroom tonight.”

And women are mean too. I mean, what girl wants to talk to “brokenhand guy?” He can’t even pick up his drink. Gotta hold it with two hands like its a bowl of porridge.

But if you get lucky, you meet a nice, drunk NYU girl. Last thing she feels is self conscious about is YOUR cast. The thing is, you wanna take her home except…mmrightttttt. Yep! just you…her…oh yeah! and you’re large, hard white cast.

Could you imagine? There’s only so much you could do. You better hope she (a) isn’t lazy and/or (b) is really, really freaky!

And if that doesn’t happen and you end up alone, you better have a lot of patience with that left hand.

The only positive of the night comes when you see someone else injured. There’s a silent bond. You look at each other and just nod. It’s like when a black guy goes to an all white party and then he see’s “the other brother.” Anything happens, we got each other’s back, right? Afterall, two handicapped people equal one healthy!


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