Sometimes, the two bones click together.
I’m not talking about the gay porn I rented the other night.
(“Hammer Time, Part 2”)
I’m talking about my shoulder.
A few of you concerned citizens have asked how I’ve been feeling since my shoulder surgery.
In a nutshell, it’s been pretty good.
I only had to wear ice on my shoulder for a couple of days, as compared to my testicle mutilation where I had to wear ice for, like, a f*cking week while my nuts turned several shades of violet.
When you wear ice on your balls, two things happen:
1) Your balls get really, really cold
2) Because of #1, your balls disappear somewhere into the depths of your midsection...
...making your penis (which has also retreated) look like a thimble with no friends.
Although my shoulder also got cold, it remained on the top of my arm and didn’t retreat into my body to find warmth…
…leaving me to look like the bad guy from the movie, "The Fugitive".
It’s a bit sore, and probably will remain sore for a few weeks…
…like Pam Anderson after her marriage to Tommy Lee.
That poor, poor vagina.
The doctor actually gave me some before and after photos of my shoulder.
A warning to the timid:
These are graphic photos and not for those with a weak stomach.
My shoulder was a serious mess inside.
It was dissheveled, mangled, and barely unrecognizable as part of the human anatomy.
Here is the BEFORE photo:
Here is the actual BEFORE photo:
Yeah. I have no idea what I'm looking at, either.
When I first saw them, I thought the doctor had taken a picture of his pastrami sandwich he brought for lunch.
HOWEVER, you can tell it looks much better AFTER the surgery.
Here is the AFTER photo:
Every so often, my family will “forget” about my shoulder and do sh*t like:
1) rub it or WHAP me on it (wife)
2) climb on me (kids)
3) stab me in it (neighbor and father-in-law)
It’s then that I’m reminded that I’ve actually had surgery.
My wife has been awesome, and – because I couldn’t extend my arm over my head for a while – bought me my first pair of “Old Man Jammies.”
These are the ones that come in a pack, with pants and a button-down shirt.
I believe I’m gay now…
…either that, or I need to start being photographed as a Walmart Jammies model.
I walked downstairs last night in them, and my son looked at me and said:
Son: “Daddy. Why are you in a suit?”
Me: “It’s not a suit, it’s jammies.”
(looking down at his ultra-cool "Transformers" jammies...then back at my "Ward Cleaver" ensemble)
Son: “They don’t look like jammies.”
Daughter (chiming in): “They look silly.”
(my wife, realizing that she’s the only one not sh*tting on me, hits me on the shoulder)
Thanks to those of you for asking.
It's feeling fine.
Luckily, it’s my non-masturbating arm that was operated on.
Otherwise, “Hammer Time, Part 2” would have been a total waste of money.