My bicep tendon is registered as a deadly weapon

I was working out in the gym a few weeks ago when I heard and felt a little 'pop' in my right bicep.

Please note this is the right arm, and not the left arm where I had to have my bicep surgically repaired.

I am beginning to think I am made entirely out of balsa wood.

Regardless, knowing what the 'pop' potentially meant, I immediately went to get an MRI.

Getting an MRI for your arm is an extremely comfortable process, and by 'extremely comfortable' I mean 'not comfortable at all.'

I had to lie down on the table, right arm fully extended over my head, face down into a pillow and lie completely still for 40 minutes.

It was like that time I went to the New York sex club.

Different post.

Regardless, after it was over, they gave me the CD to bring home which I immediately looked at and began to see images in.

This is not the first time this has happened. And, sadly, probably won't be the last.

But here's the image that struck me and explains why I'm so good at karate:

YES.

I have a turtle Kung-Fu master living in my right arm.

It's either that, or a really distressed ET getting bonked on the head with a bone.

That actually makes more sense, because:

"Ouuuuuuuuch."

Leg Day

Back when I cared what I actually looked like (read: before I got married and gave up), I went to the gym 4 or 5 times a week for about 2 hours at a time.

Obviously, this was also before I had anything better to do and Internet porn had not yet been invented to fill up the remaining voids.

The gym I went to was on the corner of a great big strip mall and now I'm thinking having a strip mall made of nothing but strip joints is the best. idea. ever. and AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS EVER THOUGHT OF THIS?!

Sorry. "Strip" is one of my trigger words.

To get into the gym from the parking lot required you to either (a) use steps on the end of the sidewalk or (b) take the shortcut route of stepping up the 12-inch high curb just in front of the door.

I'm lazy. I always did the curb thing. Walking around to the steps seemed like a lot of work at the time and even though I'd spend 2 hours in the gym, I'm the kind of person who doesn't even like walking to his car.

So exhausting.

One day, I decided to do a very heavy 'leg' day. Just ALL leg work for 2 hours straight.

If you've ever done this, you know that the end result of a heavy leg day is that your lower limbs become the consistency of jelly but with far much less stability and slightly more hair.

Unfortunately, my car was also a stick-shift so after some such "leg days" sitting at a light while trying to depress the clutch resulted in me looking like I was attempting an Elvis impression from the driver's seat.

Regardless, I had finished my leg workout, showered and headed out the door.

I stood on the curb for a moment, deciding whether or not I should take the stairs or risk stepping down the curb.

As I looked up, a car approached and stopped to let me go across. My decision was made for me. Off the curb it was.

I waved 'thanks' to the driver and stepped off the curb into the parking lot just in front of him.

My foot hit the pavement.

Uh-oh.

I could feel my jelly landing leg rippling as my leg completely buckled out from under me and my tiny but muscly little body fell forward, gym bag flying through the air, arms flailing, face contorted in a "WHOA" grimace as I crumpled to the pavement...landing right in front of the car that was letting me go.

I looked up from the pavement. My face beet red from embarrassment.

The driver of the car was just kind of staring at me with his mouth slightly agape, like, 'Um...okay.'

Ah. Thanks for your concern, fellow citizen.

I pushed myself up and got to my legs, completely aware that I looked like a baby horse trying to stand for the first time.

Brushing myself off, I staggered across to my car like a man with polio and no braces. Luckily, my gym back flung forward about 20-feet during this display, landing right next to my car, so I was able to just hop in and reach down through my open door and grab it. No fucking way was I bending down to get it.

I closed the door and started my car.

Ah, yes.

Stick-shift.

Motherfucker.

Scar Wars - Episode VI: Return of the Stupid Pooh Bear Mug SONOFABITCH

So on Monday I started describing all my physical deformations, elephantitis of the wiggly not withstanding.

When we last left off, I was in the middle of describing my approximately 4,000 deformations caused from surgeries and brittleness and just generally being old as fuck.

Let's continue.



The Scars:

13) I used to cook at a raquetball club and - one day - I was slicing some turkey on the deli slicer when the turkey went "flooop!" off the back side of the slicer.

So, being the brain surgeon I was/am, I reached to get it.

That's when the STILL SPINNING BLADE on the deli slicer went nicely into my pinky..splattering blood on the wall and giving me a 1-inch scar.

I hate turkey.

14) I was about 20 and spending the week at the beach - which meant I was hammered pretty much constantly.

I hopped off my motorcycle while wearing shorts and promptly seared my naked calf against my exhaust pipe leaving a nice round area on my leg that won't grow hair.

Looks so cool.

15) Back before I was married I was living with my soon-to-be-wife in an apartment when one day she broke a Disney Winnie-the-Pooh mug.

Thinking nothing of it, I threw the mug - unwrapped - into the trash.

That is what we call 'foreshadowing,' people.

A short time later I pulled the bag out of the barrel.

I could hear the mug roll from the top of the trash, along the inside of the bag, and heard it tear through the bottom of the bag just before the jagged end of the mug dug into my bare foot.

This has the effect of dropping me flat on my ass with a 1-inch gash in my foot.

I wanted to put a bandaid on it, but my then-girlfriend insisted we go to the emergency room for stitches.

It was while I was on the table trying not to kick the doctor in the face for STICKING A NEEDLE IN MY FOOT that he ran his finger along the inside of my arch.

No feeling.

I had severed a nerve.

To this day? NO feeling in that foot from the inside of my arch up to my big toe.

I wonder if it's too late to sue Disney.

Scar Wars - Episode V: The Scalpel Strikes Back

When we last left off, I was in the middle of describing my approximately 4,000 deformations caused from surgeries and brittleness and just generally being old as fuck.

Let's continue.



The Scars:

7) This little ditty was from my herniated disc surgery that I needed because it ruptured causing sciatica SO BAD that I had no choice but to write a post that included stick pictures of me trying to go poop.

You're welcome.

8) This scar is BY FAR my favorite and the direct result from surgery needed after tearing my bicep while curling the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders.

I wish.

This is the scar I am most proud of because it's huge and ginormous and basically gave me enough fodder for these blog posts:

- My MRI pictures resemble..well...just read it. It's messed up. Duh.

- You might want to sit down for this.

- Some creative tattoo ideas I came up with to cover my 8-inch long scar.

Also? It's wicked gross looking. So there's that.

9) This little 1/4" scar came from sitting down in my friend's chair at his house when one of those little hobby-type X-Acto knives came shooting down, stabbing me right in the fat of my thumb.

Shit like that happens to me all the time. It's why I can't have nice things.

10 & 11) I got a vasectomy a while ago and if you look really really closely you can see two little scars right there on my nutsack.

Closer.

Clooooooooser.

Clooooooooooooooser.

Meh. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.

12) I totally shattered my hand during karate. TWICE.

It's shit like this that makes me wonder why I try to do anything physical AT ALL.

********************

Next Episode: Scar Wars - Episode VI: Return of the Stupid Pooh Bear Mug SONOFABITCH

Scar Wars - Episode IV: A New Gash

As I recently turned the magical age of 44 recently, I began contemplating my body during one of my 15 trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night and I should probably have my prostate checked now that I'm thinking about that.

Sorry. At this age your mind wanders.

Regardless, I was thinking about all the goddamn surgeries I've had since my body started to reject itself on or around the age of 40.

And? HOLY SHITBALLS.

To make this easier for you to digest, I've taken the liberty of cataloging all my visible scars with a little synopsis (or link to the story I wrote about) of each one.

You may notice in the diagram a bit of an exaggeration.

I don't have that much hair in real life.



The Scars:

1) Eye'm stupid

This little ditty is about about 1/2" long and directly above my eye.

I got it when I was in the gym doing tricep pushdowns from an overhead pulley, and just completely released the bar for no reason other than I'm a fucking moron. The weight attached to the cable shot down, flinging the metal v-shaped bar straight up into my head narrowly missing my amazingly green sexy eyes by a mere fraction of an inch.

And then I stumbled away bleeding like stuck pig.

Not embarrassing AT ALL.

2) Earring divot

You can read about my awesome earring adventure here, which happened - oh - way back in like 1989 but I still have the little hole in my ear that makes people look at me and, go..

"Um. Dude. Do you have an EARRING?"

3) And the thyroglossal duct cyst said, "Got any grapes?"

When I was little I had a lump in my throat and my crack pediatrician told my mother it was just my Adam's Apple.

Upon second opinion, the lump actually ended up being a cyst that eventually would have choked me to death..probably saving me from a life of further scarring, now that I think of it.

Back then, there was no such thing as a 'malpractice suit' otherwise my butler would be typing this shit out for me.

4/5) The Cold Shoulder

After years of getting cortisone shots in my shoulder for a calcium deposit I decided to just have the doctor go in and clean that sucker out.

I listed this as '4/5' because I have scars on both the front and back of my shoulder from this surgery and also having a total of 15 scars seems pretty badass.

One of the last things I remember him saying is, "Someday we will probably have to do this for the other shoulder."

My other shoulder clicks now.

SONOFABITCH.

6) WTF

I had this weird pink dot growing on my bicep.

Me: "What is it?"
Doc: "I have no idea. Let's remove it and send it to the lab."

Thus, the scar from the removal and subsequent butchering of the incision.

Doc: "We have the results back from the lab."
Me: "Give it to me straight, doc. What is it?"
Doc: "They have NO idea."

The lab had no idea. None.

I'm guessing conjoined twin. At least that's what I've been putting on my resume.

**********************
Next Episode:

Scar Wars - Episode V: The Scalpel Strikes Back

Fire-Breathing Double-headed Pain - Part 3

When we last left our hero (me), the decision to have a tattoo that would incorporate my kids' initials of "C" and "P" was in full swing.

If you read the last chapter then you know I started heading the way of incorporating my kids "C" and "P" initials into some sort of dragon tattoo but still the concept of what I was looking for escaped me...until...

I took a shower.

I do a large number of things while I'm taking a steamy shower - some of which surprisingly do not include bodily fluids. One of these things I tend to do is draw and doodle on the shower doors or mirror when it's all steamed up.

Typically this just involves me drawing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and flying saucers and Ninja Turtles in flying saucers and sometimes Kama Sutra stuff (or a combo of all 3 things which gets REALLY freaky) but this time my thoughts turned to my tattoo and I somehow came up with this:


BAM.

You can see the left dragon head and flame curling up making the "C" for "Cameron," and the body and right side of the dragon (and flame) making a "P" for "Payton."

Also? A two-headed fire-breathing dragon pretty much sums up my two children perfectly.

I sent this off to my tattoo witch, Lisa, over at Good Mojo Tattoos and she gussied it up and added color and, well:



So, yeah. As I'm writing this, we're making the appointment to get this guy needled into my delicate yet manly skin within the next week or so.

By the time you read it, it will probably already be done and this may be a posthumous blog article you're reading because I'm a giant pussy and will probably die during the thing.

At least I'll have a cool tattoo on my corpse, though.

**********************
UPDATE:

IT'S DONE.

I somehow survived. But it was not pretty. Me = giant wuss.

I have pics of the process and the final result up on my Facebook page... but will have a new post ready tomorrow that may or may not include a caption contest.

Also? It came out AWESOME.

Also also?

Ow.

**********************

If you want a tattoo done by some wicked talented people and you're in the Massachusetts area, make sure you check out Good Mojo Tattoos and tell them the Midget Man sent ya:

Fire-breathing Double-headed Pain - Part 2

When we last left our hero (me) in Part 1 of this series, the decision to have a tattoo that would incorporate my kids' initials of "C" and "P" was in full swing.

Sadly, the sketches I was coming up with looked more like rejects from the "Draw Scruffy" arts program that you'd find on matchbooks back in the day so I turned to my friend, witch (no shit) and amazing tattoo artist, Lisa from Good Mojo Tattoos in Salem, MA to give me some other ideas using her flair for actually being able to draw shit.

Here's what Lisa sent me:

Design sketch #1: "VINE"


Lisa titled this one 'vine'.

Pros: You can clearly make out the "C" and "P" and it's obvious that Lisa is adding some flair to the concept. Also, this is pretty accurate as my kids are clingy and like to climb on shit.

Cons: My back is kind of freckly and I fear this will end up looking like a bunch of dead grapes.

*******************
Design sketch #2: Stars and Moon


Um.

When I was thinking of writing this post, I mentioned it to Lisa on Facebook:

Me: "Hey..I was thinking of doing a post about my tattoo..showing all the sketches and stuff. Also, as would be custom for me, some of them may or may not be subjected to slight ridicule. Like the moon and stars one where you apparently forgot I'm not an 8-year old girl."

Lisa: "You mean you're NOT an 8-year-old girl?"

Touche'.

****************
INTERMISSION


END OF INTERMISSION

****************
Design sketch #3: Fire and Water


OOH.

This was the first one that I went, "Ah. I think we're on to something."

Pros: Looks cool. Love the fire vs. water concept.

Cons: Both my kids are actually fire. Like a blazing San Diego wildfire type thing. As in when my kids show up, you want to dig a ditch separating you from them and then head for high ground.

But I really really liked the fire...and this got me thinking:

DRAGONS BREATHE FIRE!

Me: "Lisa...I like the fire but Payton will NOT want to be water..so how about a dragon breathing fire?"

Lisa: "You're a pain in my ass."

Actually, Lisa didn't say that because she's not mean to people for no reason like I am but she DID send me back this:


Okay okay..BUT..

*if you listen closely, you can hear Lisa swearing at me under her breath

Let's make it a little more badassish.

So I sent Lisa this sketch of a serpent/dragon thingy wrapped around a sword breathing an arc of fire:


..because the "C" is the fire and the "P" is both the dragon and the sword. See? See?!

Lisa took the sketch and came up with this:


NOW WE'RE COOKIN!

But we weren't done yet because I showed it to my kids who thought it was cool but Cam was a little bummed because his sister was this cool serpent thingy wrapped around a sword and he was basically just her bad breath and that pretty much put the kibosh on this design.

FML.

That and the fact that when I posted it on my Facebook page people were, like, "Dude..snakes don't breathe fire."

Oh. Oh yeah. But what if they have bad breath? Dammit. Nevermind.

And thus? I changed it ONE MORE TIME.

To what, you ask? Well for that, you'll have to stay tuned for the next post.

ENTER THE DRAGON...

(to be continued...)


**********************

If you want a tattoo done by some wicked talented people and you're in the Massachusetts area, make sure you check out Good Mojo Tattoos and tell them the Midget Man sent ya:

Fire-breathing double-headed pain - Part 1

No, I'm not talking about the Kardashians.

I'm getting a new tattoo.

For those who know me and my love of needles and getting tattooed the first time where I thought I was going to effing die, this should make you go:

"Why, Rodney? Why subject that nearly perfectly-sculpted body to such hedonistic torture? WHY MESS WITH PERFECTION? You are an Adonis!"

To which I say, "Thanks, mom."

But the answer, to put it bluntly, is "my kids."

You see, I've always wanted to have my kids' names or initials of "C" and "P" tattooed on my body somewhere.

Because someday, when I'm old and dying, the people caring for me will look at my tattoo and go, "so what does this stand for?" and I'll reply "What have you done with my Korean maid? I like pudding and muscle magazines! Yo Gabba Gabba!" because in this scenario I'm 96 and have no clue where I am.

To begin this adventure I enlisted the help of my friend and - literally - witch, Lisa 'InkWitch' Ainsworth over at Good Mojo Tattoos to help me with the design.

To start, I sent her a couple of sketches of my own on how I wanted the "C" and "P" to look. Please note that I didn't go with a "P" and "C" ordering because I'd hate for someone to think that meant 'Politically Correct' because HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA OMG I shouldn't have to explain that AT ALL.

Design sketch #1:


I did this one obviously myself using my skills honed over many many years in Microsoft Paint.

I actually kind of liked this one because it was ying-yangish but then I stood back and realized that it looked like a lollipop.

How many licks does it take to get to the center of Rodney's back? The world may never know.

Design sketches #2 and #3:


I drew these thinking I could kind of smush the letters together to form some kind of cool design but basically all I came up with was a little game of Tetris and a logo I could sell for upwards of $10 to a company with the initials, "CP."

Design sketch #3:

Taking the smushed initial idea of #2 a little further, I decided to make it more swoopy like this:

Then I realized I actually just drew the head of a mosquito.



It was, at this point, becoming painfully obvious that if the design was left up to me, this was going to be the worst tramp stamp ever.

I mean, um, "shoulder tattoo."

*spits

As such, in stepped Lisa with some sketches of her own to save the day.

Or at least try to. I'm kind of anal about things.

At least that's what my tramp stamp says.

(to be continued...)


**********************

If you want a tattoo done by some wicked talented people and you're in the Massachusetts area, make sure you check out Good Mojo Tattoos and tell them the Midget Man sent ya:

The Spider that Almost Cut a Bitch

I hate spiders.

Remember that line. There will be a quiz later.

Continue.

So this past summer I had the great idea of piling into a minivan with 6 other people (5 of them children) and driving 11 hours to Virginia where it was 107 degrees in the friggin shade for a "vacation."

Smart be me not best of my characteristics, yo.


The place we stayed in had a jacuzzi room right off the living room and master bedroom. The jacuzzi was basically monopolized by said children so by the time my girlfriend and I had time to actually get into the damn thing, we were too exhausted because we had been scolding/chasing/yelling at the kids since, like, 6 am each morning and OHMYGOD WILL YOU STOP TOUCHING YOUR SISTER YOU ARE MAKING HER SCREAM AND JESUS CHRIST YOU'RE 10 YEARS OLD GET YOUR OWN GODDAMN CEREAL.

So that was fun.


On our very last night, though, the GF and I managed to grab some beers and hop into the thing for a few minutes. We did what adults in a jacuzzi are supposed to do...which is watch our bathing suits fill up with bubbles and then squish them really fast and make giant bathing suit farts with them and then laugh uncontrollably because we're 8.

Good times. Good times.


After that fun was over, I climbed out of the thing and was about to step onto the floor when I saw it.

TARANTULA..ZILLA.

About two feet in front of me was a spider and it was not the run-of-the-mill Ruben Studdard Ninja spider that I wrote about before, NO.

This one was BIGGER.

OH. Remember that thing I mentioned earlier?

I hate spiders.

Give yourself 5 points if you remembered that little tidbit.

But this spider wasn't an ordinary spider, NO! This spider was wearing Nike Pumps and a track suit and I'm pretty sure had gold teeth and was curling a fairly large rock while kissing his 6 biceps one at a time.

Fine. So it wasn't EXACTLY a tarantula but it was, like, the size of a dinner plate as long as we're talking about dinner plates for Barbie.


So of course I did what anyone would do in this situation which was scream like a little bitch and immediately jump 6 feet into the air and back onto the jacuzzi.

Please note that in the picture above, my 'helpless girlfriend' is actually 'hysterically laughing girlfriend' because I'm basically running around with my vagina completely out.

Regardless, the sound of my high pitch yodeling apparently sent the spider into some sort of frenzy because I watched - in sheer horror - as he back-flipped and roundhouse-kicked his way over to the far wall and then just hung out as he lit up a Marlboro.

Not a Marlboro Light, either. In fact, it was probably an unfiltered Camel.


The timing was right as this spacing allowed me to run past him - and by run I mean OHMYGODOHMYGOD RUN RUN RUN LIKE THE WIND - and grab approximately 400 pieces of toilet paper in which to try to smush him if, you know, I could get the balls to actually try to do it.


After a few minutes of psyching myself up in the mirror and touching my nipples, I gathered my composure and came back into the room.

He bolted.

This spider movement, of course, prompted me to immediately piss myself.

Undaunted in killing this beast, however, I approached him..ignoring my own whimpers and trickling urine...as he moved toward the sliding glass door and went UNDER THE BLINDS ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, GIANT SPIDER?! UNDER. THE. BLINDS?!?

I sense an ambush coming.

Not from me. HIM.


So I kind of barely touch the blinds to see where he is and BAM off goes that giant motherfucker running across the room with his 8 legs flailing like he's juggling flies and now my girlfriend is actually crying laughing hysterically at my ABSOLUTE TERROR but the joke is actually on her because I'm totally making her clean up the pile of shit I just dropped on the floor.

At this point I see, out of the corner of my eye, a second tool to use in my arsenal:

Beer bottle.

With 16 pounds of toilet paper in one hand and an empty bottle of Sam Adams Summer Ale in the other (the preceding is not a paid endorsement..sadly) I somehow manage the intestinal fortitude to leap at the spider and mash a giant wad of shit paper on it.

With it now covered in toilet paper with no obvious escape except to eat it's way out I begin beating that motherfucker with the beer bottle like he's Rodney King violating a traffic law.


After about ten minutes of this I stand back, amazed that this bottle is actually still in tact because, seriously, I was really hammering on that thing like I was trying to push it to China.

**************
Sidebar:

On a related note, if I was on a deserted island and could eat one food forever, I would choose beef teriyaki.

Sorry. The China thing made me think of teriyaki.

End sidebar.
**************


With extreme caution I flip the giant wad of mashed paper over fully expecting a scene out of Alien where it jumps up and attaches to my face but, nope...

DEAD.

*insert 5 minutes of Irish step-dancing here*

I then flushed the spider and the 6 trees it was wrapped in down the toilet.

Then I did it again..you know, just to be safe.

Maybe one more.

What if he's still there? Crawling up the pipes like a zombie spider seeking revenge?!

One more flush.

I flushed that mother four frigging times..just to be safe.

Then I used the other bathroom the rest of the night when I had to go.

Can never ever be too safe.

I hate spiders.

Not sure I mentioned that.

Scarred for Life....or...Am I???

If you come here often (wink) then you know that I had to have bicep surgery that left my arm looking like this when the doctor took my cast off:


After I recovered from passing out in the doctor's office, I was told that it would take 12 weeks for this friggin' thing to heal.

Well, it's been 9 weeks since the surgery as I write this, and my arm currently looks like this:


Gah.

I mean, it's better than the other look with all the stitches in it and blood and

*passes out*

I was at karate and one of the guys there goes:

"You should get a tattoo there. Cover it up."

Yes. Because I love getting tattooed SO MUCH THE FIRST TIME.

(sarcasm)

Regardless, his suggestion for my tattoo?


Yes. A centipede.

He figured since the scar looked like one it just made sense but I kind of poo-poo'd the idea because all I can see is looking down every 5 minutes and trying to GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!!

Not cool.

So I started thinking of some other ideas for tattoos that I could hide the scar in.

Like:


Then I rethought this again because, you know..

IT'S STILL BUGS.

Ooh! Got one!


That's Oogie Boogie from "Nightmare Before Christmas" and I ended up having to do this as some ying-yang upside-down thing because my scar is, like, 8 inches long and to get this to scale right I'd have to be Popeye.

Still, this is kind of kick-ass.

Then I remembered the scene in the movie where the maggots come out and, you know, BUGS so screw that.

Maybe a bit of a collage?


The only problem with this is that I think I'd have to get the rights to use these images but I've only made $10 from my Cafepress store and my only paid advertiser on my sidebar over there is Ron fucking Paul so that's out.

Plus the guy with the scar kind of freaks me out.

How about this one?


Weird. It just started thundering.

Maybe I'll just leave it alone.

Moog out.

You might want to sit down for this...

If you're a friend of mine on Facebook or follow me on Twitter, you probably know that I tore my left bicep TWICE in 8 months and decided to have surgery to repair it last Friday.

On the bright side, I GOT LOTS OF VICODIN!!

You win some, and you lose some...but only because of the happy singing Leprechauns making me toast.

So, with my arm in a giant post-op cast, I went back to have the next cast put on - at which point I got a great big look at what "Distal Bicep Repair" surgery looks like.

So I did what everyone else would do and took a picture and posted it on Facebook with this title:

"THIS WAS NO BOATING ACCIDENT!"


GAH.

Of course the comments started rolling in..

So I've taken the liberty of compiling the best of the so far. Three of them are from me, but whatever.

Enjoy.


God, I love you guys.

Now..if you could tell the Leprechauns to hurry up with the toast, I'd appreciate it.

Moog out.

My bicep is free of Carrot Tops and Epsteins!!

As you read this, I'm under anesthesia.

Sadly, "Anesthesia" is not the name of a Playboy bunny.



I tore my left bicep for the second time in 8 months so I figured I'd just keep adding to the frequent-surgical-candidate 'rewards' points I get from my orthopedist from my shoulder surgery and hand reconstruction and, someday, hope to get myself a nice tote bag.

Which I'll probably have to carry in my right arm because, you know, my left arm SUCKS.

Just like when I had my ruptured disc repaired, they had to take MRI's.

On a side note: OMG DID ANYONE SAVE THE RECEIPT WHEN THE BOUGHT ME BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE TO RETURN THIS BODY FOR A SURGERY-FREE MODEL

Seriously. WTF.

Regardless, just like they did for my back MRI they give you the CD of all the pictures at which point I decide to look through them and then I SEE THINGS and it turns out I should probably get a labotomy.

Here are some things I saw in my bicep MRI images:


I guess that explains why when I bend my arm the wrong way I go, "Ouuuuuuuch."

Why he isn't healing the damn thing with his magic finger, though, I have no idea.

Weirder still, one of the hospitals I had the choice of doing the surgery was named 'The Elliot.'

Spooky.


GAH.

It's like Batman's enemy, 'Two-Face' except instead of a 'hopeful politician turned evil villain' it's 'standard distal bicep MRI.'

So, you know, nothing like Two-Face AT ALL.

Please note that before I saw the scared guy I actually drew this as an angry mime with his chapeau draped over his face.

I know. Sometimes I even want to run from myself, too.


I know that the Cowardly Lion is a bit of a stretch here but in my defense I'm pretty lazy.

Ok..one more..

..um..


...which prompted this Tweet:


I added in the finger for visual clarification.

It's called 'professionalism,' people.

Or..you know..my arm-vagina is starting to mess with my head.

See you on the other side.

Moog out.