foe toe.

that's a bruised, used, and abused footlong foot.

i know all about the bam-bam bat i inherited as a BIG balance digit.

what worries me is the third one in from either side;

yep,

i broke my middle toe.

on my ass-kickin' foot, at that.

'this little piggie had roast beef...'
figures that my vegan sensibilities would let the wreck rain down on that guy...

it used to slant about twenty degrees to the right.

now, of course,

every single step i take brings the thunder down.

it's awesome.

did i break that sumb!tch off in a sucka's A-hole?

did i kick the ever-loving livin' sh!t outta something?

did i give 'em the boot and sustain battle-damage whilst booting?

nope.

i didn't jump from on high,

i didn't twist it in a cliff-face crevasse;

so how, exactly, did i grape-ape my toe knuckle?

i got up to grab the phone,

and heard an audible crunching crush as i shuffle-stepped into a chair.

F* my A*, ya'll.

right off my body an' that.

happily, my lung capacity is top-notch,

and my vocal chords are functioning just fine, thanks.

i spat the hottest fire and swore the dirtiest dirt-dog doo-doo butter,

up, down, sideways, and diagonally.

none of that made it feel any better.

i got beat up by a chair.

and i wasn't professionally wrestling, either.

hell, it's a flippin' antique, my ninjas.

damn,

i can't even get hurt all manly style.

F-.

i'm treading lightly,

like it or not,

but i absolutely refuse to watch my step.

never quiet, never soft.....