Point: Not Breaking Bones

Call me “average” if you wish, but if that means that I manage not to do extraordinarily stupid things to break myself, then I suppose I accept the derogatory nomenclature as fact.

As an “average” person, here is a sampling of the crazy things that I’ve done in my life, all of which I’ve executed without breaking a single bone or even spraining something (knock on wood, or heaven’s door):

I’ve traveled around Europe. Cooped up in a plane on a trans-Atlantic flight; on a non-English-speaking bus; within a car driving on skinny, curvy mountain roads; drunken on a ferry boat; drunken on bike; drunken on foot; and on a train being conduct by travel workers who just recently ended their “You, imperialist swine, don’t pay us enough” strike. Moreover, some angry, uppity, French po-po’s almost arrested my friend Jeff because his last name is French and they just so happened to be looking for some runaway serial killer or something on our redline train ride. We were seconds away from being thrown in the slammer with him, had he been chosen as the scapegoat, which was frightening because foreign prisons are not places you want to go into, as you usually come out of them with at least a broken rib or two… if you’re lucky. “Innocent until proven guilty” only counts in America, my friends.

I’ve worked as a deckhand on a 50-foot fishing boat in the Gulf of Mexico for 8 summers.  In all that time, the worst that I’ve ever done was the bruise my thumb in a sliding door, but I chalk that one up to a combination of exhaustion and rocky seas. Image growing up around Steve Irwin-slaying stingrays, a couple of flailing baby Jaws, and a whole bunch of other nasty, water-dwelling shit that wants to get up close and personal with you. I have shaken hands with many a sneaky crab, but I have never injured or killed myself while working at literally the most dangerous job on the planet. Out there, you find yourself quite happy that “gloves hinder love,” as you probably don’t want what those sea creatures have to offer.

I’ve skied the slopes of Denver, Colorado (those being Vail, Breckenridge, Beaver Creek, etc.). Though I damn near busted my head open on an ash tree while glade skiing, almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, as the old adage goes, and since my brother and I weren’t occupying innocent countries or tossing u-shaped pieces of metal at a stick (by the way, this is quite a stupid sport), I like to think that I made it safe to the home base (also a stupid sport).

I’ve won multiple shopping cart races in the Wal-Mart parking lots of many cities, all without a helmet, because they ruin the natural aerodynamics of my sexy, full-bodied hair.

I’ve scaled quite a few public statues and have defiled them for long enough to have also the photographic evidence of doing so. Now, instead of the founders of countries or religions, they serve as the founders of my humor.

I’ve gotten schwasted in public in multiple cities, the most recent and epic of which almost resulted in a in a fight at Mardi Gras with an overly angry-drunk and territorial tourist frat boy. Remember, spilled drinks can be your friend, as long as they end up on the other, disliked person.

I’ve grown up having sword fights with my older brother. We gradually advanced from empty paper towel rolls to huge, empty wrapping paper rolls to fallen tree sticks to wooden, Japanese bokken swords, and finally, to wielding cheap metal swords and tinking them together until they were dented to oblivion. Never was an ocular nerve damaged or a hand severed in the intense battles of our imaginations.

So, appropriately, after listing what I’ve been able to do without needing some sort of medical attention, I have a few questions for you more mended folk out there:

Were you just looking for attention?

Was it all just a cry for help?

You’re not really that dumb or that fragile, are you?

Are you really unlucky, or just really stupid?

Do you still need kiddie gates in your room at the age of 20-something?

Most importantly, if “I break your face” rises above the level of threat and results in actualized, full trampoline pwnage, I think it’s time for you to fold your cards. We can’t all be as glass-faced as 50 Cent, who received his from a friendly drive-by. Otherwise, he might lose just his cool.