It's Emanuelle Bitches
As my better half explicated, I have a bit of a boo boo, and by a bit I mean a broken pelvis and a few broken ribs. It sounds worse than it is, or maybe the pain killers I'm on are fucking incredible, I don't know for sure.
I suppose everyone wants to know what happened to me. It's really less interesting than you're thinking, and no it had nothing to do with road head. It actually has to do with me borrowing my brothers motorcycle and becoming target practice for a Land Rover. It was my moment to show off my acrobatic abilities, and, new to flying through the air, I buggerd the landing. So, off to the hospital I went where pins and rods have ventured to places not even dicks and dildos have dared to go, and I became disturbingly obsessive with the amount of liquid my catheter would yield daily. I'm fucked up in the head, what more is there to say?
So that's that. I'm home now, I walk at a pace that would make a snail feel like a speed demon, I have to intravenously dose myself with an antibiotic twice daily, and I've experienced quite the role reversal with my beloved wolf-hybrid Alex. It seems he is now the caretaker and I am the baby. Since I've come home he hasn't left my side, not even to eat. I guess that means he really, really loves me, ay? As for Avery, he's been the picture of amazing in dealing with all this, he even stayed the night in the hospital with me the first two nights I was there. I suppose he really, really loves me too!
I will say there is nothing more depressing than spending two weeks in a hospital room. You'd think they'd at least offer you full cable and not just a menu of 25 channels to entertain yourself, but no, and to add insult to my very lovely injuries the TV's they have don't even have adapters to hook up a DVD player or a video game console. Least my father let me use his PSP while there, because I shit you not I would have gone nearly as bat shit crazy as my mother naturally is just sitting there, bed ridden, with nothing to do but stare at whatever bullocks show basic cable was televising. Lucky me did get to watch the train wreck most commonly referred to as the VMA's, and I bore witness to the end of musics most fabricated creation: Britney Spears. Honestly, I don't understand the buzz concerning her being fat. Should she have worn that? No. Is she fat? I'd say most women would want to look like that period, let alone after machine gun child births and whilst eating as much junk food and crap as she does.
Right. That's the update, and Mrs. Dangerdoll I will try to get you good scar pictures but I'm not sure that's possible unless the shots are rated X.
I suppose everyone wants to know what happened to me. It's really less interesting than you're thinking, and no it had nothing to do with road head. It actually has to do with me borrowing my brothers motorcycle and becoming target practice for a Land Rover. It was my moment to show off my acrobatic abilities, and, new to flying through the air, I buggerd the landing. So, off to the hospital I went where pins and rods have ventured to places not even dicks and dildos have dared to go, and I became disturbingly obsessive with the amount of liquid my catheter would yield daily. I'm fucked up in the head, what more is there to say?
So that's that. I'm home now, I walk at a pace that would make a snail feel like a speed demon, I have to intravenously dose myself with an antibiotic twice daily, and I've experienced quite the role reversal with my beloved wolf-hybrid Alex. It seems he is now the caretaker and I am the baby. Since I've come home he hasn't left my side, not even to eat. I guess that means he really, really loves me, ay? As for Avery, he's been the picture of amazing in dealing with all this, he even stayed the night in the hospital with me the first two nights I was there. I suppose he really, really loves me too!
I will say there is nothing more depressing than spending two weeks in a hospital room. You'd think they'd at least offer you full cable and not just a menu of 25 channels to entertain yourself, but no, and to add insult to my very lovely injuries the TV's they have don't even have adapters to hook up a DVD player or a video game console. Least my father let me use his PSP while there, because I shit you not I would have gone nearly as bat shit crazy as my mother naturally is just sitting there, bed ridden, with nothing to do but stare at whatever bullocks show basic cable was televising. Lucky me did get to watch the train wreck most commonly referred to as the VMA's, and I bore witness to the end of musics most fabricated creation: Britney Spears. Honestly, I don't understand the buzz concerning her being fat. Should she have worn that? No. Is she fat? I'd say most women would want to look like that period, let alone after machine gun child births and whilst eating as much junk food and crap as she does.
Right. That's the update, and Mrs. Dangerdoll I will try to get you good scar pictures but I'm not sure that's possible unless the shots are rated X.
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