O, Recently Canonized Father Damien! Where are you when I need you? Specifically, when my kankles need you. Because here's what they look like now, after two daze of "healing":
I should be on the corner begging alms of people because I seemingly have leprosy of the kankles, which is the worst kind of leprosy (excluding leprosy of the ... you know).
I think lepers should have groupies. I never thought so before, but now I do.
I totally did not feel like running this morning, but I knew I'd have to suck it up and run, so I did, weeping kankle sores and all. Pre-run, I was already sweating, at 4:30 in the morning, from doing my leg stretches and shoulder exercises (the latter for the dislocation) - neither of which are very taxing. But I tend to sweat like George Costanza after eating spicy Chinese food under the best of circumstances, and today's circumstances, I could tell already, were not going to be the best; because it was already humid and hot.
I finally got outside to run at around 5:15 and it was hot and humid. Plus, I was already tired from not enough sleep, so I wasn't exactly moving my legs in the most coordinated (or swiftest) fashion. And, as a result, I ended up kicking myself in the left kankle like three times during the run.
Fucking right foot! YOU THINK THAT'S FUNNY or something?!1!?
So I deliberately kicked it in its kankle-wound!
That should teach it.
Anyroad, the run was as bad as it sound: 6.8 miles at a 9:30 pace.
So Ian found a perfectly good aluminum bat in the neighbor's garbage yesterday1 and so we played a bit of hardball in the field behind our house. The bat was a bit heavy for Ian, so he couldn't swing it that well, even when he choked up on it, but I wanted him to get a feel for hitting a hardball as opposed to a softball or whiffleball. Nothing beats hitting a real hardball, and I don't think Ian ever had till yesterday.
Also, it was nice just to play with simple toys. All of Ian's toys, it seems, are made with sophistimacated computer chips and such, and I know all you zygotes out there probably think that's normal. But back when I was a kid, know what we played with?
A fucking sofa spring! Well, more or less. It would have to have come from the world's smooshiest sofa, but all it was was a spring, is all.
It was called a "Slinky" and we actually paid money for them. (Our parents might have been slightly fucktarded, I think.)
It even had its own catchy theme song:
For fun it's the best of the toys!
The favorite of girls and boys!
(And also hermaphrodites!)
Tragically, the Slinky never really did catch on with hermaphrodites2 and so that last line was excised from the jingle after like the first few airings of that commercial. But if you have a copy of the commercial that includes that line, hang on to it! Some Baby Boomer fucktard will probably pay you good money for it.
Because playing with pointless and boring toys like Slinkies made all of us Baby Boomers slightly fucktarded and caused us to idealize our childhoods, which were essentially excruciatingly boring and pointless.
1 Yes, all you Judgey McJudgeypantses, I not only let my son root through garbage, I encourage it. There's gold in thet thar garbage and how else will he learn the value of garbage if I do all of his trash-picking for him?
2 I'm not really sure how it fared with trannies ... RBR, did you have one as a kid?