You may recall I injured my shin Labor Day weekend in the swimming pool. It’s recovering nicely. Thank you (I’m sure you would have asked if we were chatting).
It should have been a warning sign to keep out of the water. Last week, I was at the beach in Corolla, N.C. That’s when I sustained a new injury.
I was riding the waves and crashed. I went from bodysurfing to body slamming. A huge wave came and tried to murder me. It smashed me into the ground, sea floor or sandy bottom. Major ouch! I hit the shoulder first, tumbled upside down and hit my head, ass over tea kettle. Luckily, I did not hurt my thick skull.
They took X-rays of my head and found nothing. Ba-dum Tshh!
However, I wrecked my shoulder.
I didn’t break anything, but I’m walking around with my arm folded onto my chest like a chicken wing. When I reach for a cold beverage with my right hand, I don’t extend my arm past my elbow. If you see me from the right side, I look like a Tyrannosaurus Rex reaching for a glass of iced tea. I’m fairly certain dinosaurs did not drink tea. They are coffee drinkers.
With these mounting monthly injuries, I should, at least, have a contract with the Steelers. Since the newspaper does not have an injured reserve list, I’m unable to collect from the bench. I’m typing this column with one hand. I can type with two hands if I pull the keyboard in tight; T-Rex on a laptop. Once again, I feel the need to point out you’d be hard-pressed to find even a velociraptor that can type more than 40 words per minute.
If anyone asks a group of people a question, I have to rudely blurt out the answer, as I currently can’t raise my hand above my head. I can only make the MCA of dancing to the Village People. Think about that for a second. It’s what professional comedians call a slow-burner.
I have another problem. I am unable to say no to people.
A few days after my shoulder was personally introduced to sand and sea shells, a friend asked me to help him carry stuff from his car. Everything in the trunk of his car was heavy.
I hoisted a bunch of items with my good arm and, since neither of us wanted to make a second trip, I carried a case of beer with my bad one. I remember telling everyone to drink up. I was terrified I’d have to carry the case of beer again. If you were with me Saturday night and got wasted, it’s on me. Sorry about that.
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Mike Buzzelli is a stand up comedian and a sit down author. His book, "Below Average Genius," a collection of humor columns culled from the Observer-Reporter, can be purchased here.