I Tell You What, OW

Over the weekend I slept on my neck wrong - I guess 42 years of practice just isn't enough - so to turn my head I had to move like Michael Keaton's Batman, lurching my whole torso around.

Me, stiffly staring 3 feet to the left of where John is standing: "Could you please move 3 feet to the right."

After 2 days of this, I went to stretch a little while talking to John... and threw out my upper back.

I swear this never happens to me.

I was supposed to be writing posts at the time, so John loaded me up on hot packs and smelly tingle creams* and pain meds, but no matter how I tried to sit I ended up looking like this:

"ow ow ow ow owowoowowowow"

[* "Smelly Tingle Creams" is the title of my Jake Peralta cover band]

[Also that joke has many layers to keep it family-friendly. You're welcome.]

Eventually all that stuff kicked in, though, and here I am, happy as a bruised hard-boiled egg being thrown in a puddle:

No wait, happy as a panicked Ernie from Sesame Street... being thrown in a puddle:

No wait, happy as a crab who's just realized life is a never-ending quagmire of moral ambiguity and socially dissociative experiences interspersed with physical pains... but at least we still have brownies.

... in a puddle.

Dang, this smelly tingle cream is good stuff.

Thanks to Anony M., Elizabeth A., Megan H., Kristy L., Beth S., & Caroline H. for letting me work out my crabbiness.

And from my other blog, Epbot: