I’m a broken man with a broken back.  The brokenness has spread all the way down to my legs.  It’s all so broken, that last night I had to pee sitting down.  The indignity has forced me to take drastic action – a visit to the doctor.  I’ve been doctor free for some months now.  I hate doctors.  Their questions annoy me, and it never seems like they’re REALLY listening.  I fired my last doctor, mostly because he wore a fanny pack.  How am I supposed to take a man seriously who wears a fanny pack?  Fanny packs are so gay that even gay men won’t wear them.  (Back me up on this Scottie.)  Oh, and my ex-doctor is 40 years old, and claims to be a baby boomer rather than a gen-x.  WTF?  I’ve half a mind to gather up a posse of fellow slackers and give the man a good drubbing.

As luck would have it, last week a different brand of quackery opened up across the street from my house – a chiropractic office.  One of my old college roommates was a back cracker, so I’m familiar with this sort of operation.  He was always trying to get me to ingest pig pancreas pills, and whatnot.  Let me tell you, those pills weren’t too cheap either.  In a state of desperation, this morning I let those chiro’s have their way with me.  They seem to think I’ll be peeing on my feet by weeks end.  So I’ve got that going for me.