Tuesday, October 24, 2006

A Few Moments Ago, I Almost Died

A few moments ago, I almost died. 15 minutes ago, to be exact. I don’t really want to write about this because of the subject of my last post. Some might begin to think I am morbid. However, I feel the need to write about this because, well uh, I don’t have anything else to write about right now. I was going to write about something, but I can’t remember it as I sit here. I have a small amount of memory loss. I think I do anyway. It is hard to be certain about the memory loss because I can’t remember if there was something I have forgotten. Maybe I didn’t have anything to write about, and I didn’t really forget - I just think I forgot. Great! I am now a fucking rambling and babbling idiot. The pain is killing me. It is intense. It is hard to type because I keep having to hold a rag to my forehead to curtail the bleeding. Fuck - why am I typing this? Why do I have a blog again? It is not funny, no one reads it, the people who do read it don’t really like it, it is not getting me laid, I haven’t received one e-mailed photo with a naked woman in it, and no woman has said she will blow me because of this blog. (Note: notice I said “no woman” - To the guy from Waynesboro, Georgia and the guy from Elkhart, Kansas I sincerely appreciate the offers, but 1) I don’t even own a sex swing, 2) I don’t see how that is anatomically possible, and 3) I am not really all that gay.

What was I saying? Oh, I hurt myself. I nearly killed myself. I may have a small concussion. I was in a supply closet. I dropped a box of staples. I bent down to pick them up and hit my head on a filing cabinet. Blinding fucking pain. Seriously! I hit it hard enough that I saw stars and split my head open. Blood running down my forehead right in the middle of my office. All of the “motherly” women in the office immediately began to care for me in my weakened state. The bad part is that none of the non-motherly types wanted to care for me. They looked disgusted at the blood and slunk away making comments like “Sorry Garrett, that sucks” and “that must have hurt” and “fucking asshole, serves you right”

Now I am sitting at my desk in pain. I am starting to feel nauseated, and I can’t stop the bleeding. I am actually starting to feel a little light headed talking about it. I am going to stop this post for now. If you don’t ever hear from me again, I love you all. I think of you as my family (except for my female readers - I think about you in naughty ways).


A Lover and a Fighter said...

Cry a little. The ladies will come running.

Garrett Reid said...

You think so? I was trying to look tough. Not a good strategy? I guess, though, that it is hard to look tough when you are sitting in your chair, looking pale, with a damp washcloth on your forehead.

A Lover and a Fighter said...

Trust me. Cry. Say things like "Wow, this hurts even more than those burns I got when I saved that litter of puppies from that fire...if that was even possible."

Seriously. It will work.

Anne said...

yeah..no..no crying. Thats not a good idea. Better to act tough about it.

You dont want them to act all nice to your face and then go in the bathroom and laugh about the sissy-boy.

Garrett Reid said...

Oh God, now I am getting conflicting advise. What if I act tough and still work in the story about saving puppies? I can say it hurts, but just not cry. I sure don't want to be a "sissy-boy." However, I want to do what I can to maximize my chances of picking up women through the deceptive use of sympathy. Such conflict! What do I do?

Suuuurda said...

Hahaha, I was randomly searching the internet and found your blog. Your awesome and hilarious. I even postponed my wank to midget porn, which brought me here, to read a few of the posts >_>.