So I finally got my temporary handicap sticker. It was rather exciting. Like a coming of age. I finally made the big time injury circuit. Me, Vinny Testeverde and Dan Marino all sit around sharing stories and mocking Joey Galloway, Micheal Westbrook and Evil Joe with their little piddly ACL injuries. But anyway, I was thankful to get it, even though I had to park like 3/4 of a mile away in an abandoned and partially fenced in, out-of-business Levitt’s parking lot. But I finally got it. And I drove to school and turned into the upper deck of the parking lot all proud and ready to whip it out and… ALL THE FUCKING HANDICAPPED SPOTS WERE TAKEN!!! What the hell? Where’s a handicapped guy gotta park nowadays? So I had to park by the soccer fields again and crutch just as far to work as usual, but now I have a useless piece of red cardboard to prove that I shouldn’t have to do that. Stupid UMBC.

There’s this guy I work with named Geoff. Most of you have heard about him or know him. He’s a pretty quick thinker on his feet. Having said that, I’m probably going to ruin your perception of him by screwing this up, but here goes… I was talking about the bills I’ve been getting recently from my surgeon, anesthesiologist, and hospital. When I told him the price of the hospital one, he asked if that was from the OR Room. Which, as I pointed out to him is redundant. OR Room would stand for Operating Room Room. It’s either OR or O Room. And I don’t think anybody calls it the O Room. That would just sound funny to doctors who don’t need to be laughing for some stupid reason like that in the middle of an incision. So anyway, I told him he was wrong. But he refuses to be wrong and justifies his answer…

“Actually, it is the OR Room. The Oper… Rating… Room.”

G-Off.

I didn’t even bring up GMI Institute of Technology.

Crutch fucked by the man,

Gimpy Daddy D.

Still Stranded Right Here…