My back really hurts.
It feels like I was giving 400-meter piggy-back rides to the Sasquatch.
It feels like the dinner table was accidentally placed atop my spine, and then a 6-course meal was served.
It feels like my spine has been worked over by rowdy goats.
It feels like I was forced to work in an undersized munchkin factory for 14-hour days breathing in the hot, muggy coal dust, causing me to get black munchkin-lung.
It feels like I sat on Satan’s anal pike.
It feels like truant teens filled my spinal column with fire ants.
It feels like the NBA draft lottery was held using my vertibrae instead of ping-pong balls.
It feels like if I cracked my back, it would pop into dust and my torso would flop backward unnaturally.
So yeah, my back really hurts…
Pobrecito. When I get down on my back, I ingest ungodly amounts of methamphetamines to relieve it.
Damn those rowdy goats.
if only the dinner would have been 5 courses instead of 6! i’m sorry for ordering post dessert irish coffee!
Now would be a fabulous opportunity to delve into the world of prescription drug addiction.
I think Peter’s already delved into the world of prescription drug addiction based on his posts of late.
Crack your back! Crack your back!
This reminds me of the time we went over to Joe’s and huffed Syphillis.
Kevin,
I don’t think I even want to know…..