A Broken Hand Should Not Mean Broken Dreams

A Broad a semester7 years ago

Well, I broke my hand. Let me open this up by saying: I am a hero.

Perhaps I don’t need any preferential treatment, but I need people to notice. When Larry David had his penis bitten by a dog, we said nothing. When Michael Scott burned his foot on a George Foreman grill, no one noticed. When Buster Bluth lost a hand, no one batted an eyelash. It’s time for that to STOP.

This is the first time I’ve broken a bone, and what a crucial bone it is — I’m a righty, and I broke my precious right hand. I wasn’t born disabled like our left-handed brethren (lefties, your quarrel isn’t with me — it’s with God), but I am now forced into a left-handed, ONE-HANDED lifestyle nonetheless.

Class has obviously become infinitely more difficult. I used to actually take notes, but now? Nope. My professors have noticed the shift, too. I go to class and just sit there. My professor was like, “Why aren’t you taking notes?” I just raised my right hand. No words were exchanged. She glanced at my cast for about half a second then kept right on going, not once pausing to acknowledge how heroic I was for attending class in my current state.

We cheer when unmanned rockets take off successfully, but I break my hand losing a fight and I can’t even get a standing ovation when I walk into class? Absolutely disgusting. SMH at the current state of our once great nation. No one even thought to film a video of our frat hound greeting me when I returned home from my 45-minute trip to the urgent care clinic.

To reiterate, this is the first time I’ve broken a bone. At this point, I naturally assumed that I was impervious to physical harm. It has never happened, before so why would it happen now? This paradigm shift is starting to make me question my previous determinations about my immortality as well. It may sound crazy… but I now think it may be possible that I die one day. Maybe I’m talking nonsense; I don’t know. I’m going through a lot.

I’ve been a victim my whole life, and now that people can plainly see it I believe the world should change around me. If the government does not start supplementing my income soon, I will starve to death in a pool of my own waste as a sign of protest. Like a gentleman. It’s technically philanthropy. I’m a martyr. It’ll do more for the world than tweeting Ts and Ps ever will.

What are some of the real world struggles I face? Great question! I can’t wipe my ass correctly anymore. I have to take 9 runs at it minimum just to avoid walking around with poopy butt all day. I can’t brush my teeth correctly anymore. I have a total lack of left-handed fine motor skills, so I just pack a lip instead of brushing; I figure if it’s mint flavored that handles the problem. No more daps. I can’t handshake for shit, so my social clout is out the window. Why did I climb to the mountaintop if the proverbial weather was going to knock me back down? And I know what you’re all really wondering about: can he still jack it? Not really! Can’t flick my bean for shit! Don’t get me wrong — I still do, but it’s not the same. I have built a lifelong relationship with my right hand, and you can’t fake that kind of chemistry. I’m not a switch hitter; never have been. “What does it feel like?” you ask? Fine, I’ll tell ya: remember the first time you got a handjob? It’s exactly like that. Very exciting to have another hand fondling your dick, but what a strange disappointment it is. I can’t stop, though, so I bang it lefty (awkwardly).

All in all, I’m learning a lot about myself from this. Typing this column was a nightmare; three hours later and here I am. You got what you wanted. The heroic performer returns to the stage.

Are people still signing casts? Because uhhhh no one’s ever offered..

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