If It Worked For Ted Bundy....

So how was your Thanksgiving? Good? Great. I fell off my bike and broke my hand. Yay. Typing is hard, and since I just finished typing a too long email to a friend (and since I only use this blog to share my own emails that amuse me), instead of spending a half hour doing it again, I’ll copy and paste the pertinent part of the email:

Working with one hand is difficult but doable - sort of like typing this. [redacted] I’m practicing my pained wince.

Luckily:

-it is my right hand and I’m left handed.
-even though my hand is swollen to the size of a bowling ball and makes me think of Hellboy, it actually doesn’t hurt too badly.
-it is a simple, uncomplicated fracture.
-the emergency room I went to coincidentally happened to be attached to the hospital with the world’s #1 hand clinic. [which probably doesn’t really matter as the break should be simple enough that a Caribbean trained monkey doctor would be qualified to fix it]. But, the specialist I’m scheduled to see has degrees from Hopkins and Harvard and shit -so I guess that is good.

Unfortunately:

-the fucking hand clinic is apparently so goddamned special I have to wait until friday to get in, so I have to wear a giant ER splint for a week.
-yesterday, a tiny little bug that looked like an albino baby earwig crawled out of my splint. Probably just a single bug that happened to be roaming around, but in my imagination I’m convinced that something laid eggs in there and soon hundreds will crawl out. HUNDREDS! After they eat all my fingers and I’m left with bloody, boney finger stumps of course. Mr. Special Specialist who won’t see me until friday will be sorry then.
-the ER doc was hot and I wasn’t thinking clearly... so when she asked me if I wanted any pain killers the moron horny part of my brain didn’t want me to seem like a pussy and I said “Nah.” DUMBASS! I could have gotten Percocet! Granted, it really doesn’t hurt that badly, but I looooooooooove Percocet. That would come in especially handy when the bugs started consuming my hand. Oh well.

Hopefully:

-I won’t need any nuts, bolts, screws or surgery. According to Dr. Google-Search, I probably won’t. If I’m reaaally lucky, I *might* not even need a cast and just use a low profile splint. Although I doubt that Dr. Special-Specialist would be thrilled to hear my diagnosis derived from my own internet searches. Still, I’m praying this is the case because for some reason for this particular fracture Doctors like to cast from the elbow to the end of the pinky.
-if I do need a cast, I’m hoping that some chicks dig that sort of thing - and I’ll be able to exploit this for some nurturing pity sex - or something. Here is my plan: when some hot dumb young girl in my building is doing laundry, I’ll put on my sling and pretend to be all clumsy and helpless and incapable of holding the laundry basket. With this ploy I will coarse them into carrying my laundry to my apartment. Hey, if it worked for Ted Bundy...

His reply:

I was thinking of Silence of the Lambs when you mentioned the cast. The part where he's trying to get the sofa into the moving van. I think that movie alone will probably kill the pity that you would have otherwise gotten. Maybe if it had been your foot.

My reply reply:

Yeah, Silence of the Lambs got that from Ted Bundy. That was his M.O. But then again, Ted Bundy was a lot better looking than me also, so..... the hot chicks would probably just roll their eyes and ignore me... as per usual.