I never wanted to be a prizefighter. No aspirations…whatsoever.

But I should have known there would be no other course for me, but to be forced into that live-bait role…walking less than a block from my apartment on my way to the Laundr-O-Mat. Its just common sense…

“You gotta keep your head up!”

I spit out a spiraling wad of flem and gauze, blood and tissue, “Yeah…thanks Mickey…Mickey? Mickey, you…when did you become an elderly black lady?”

What the fuck…(spitting more blood)…what the fuck happened!? Where the fuck am I?!

Out of a second flash of what was a stronger haze, my mind and its eye are able to grasp the form of two kids running down the street. Two kids….two kids…

Alright…sure…got it. I was walking to the Laundr-O-Mat to transfer my newly unsoiled clothes, when I saw two kids walking in front of [...]

Let’s quickly discuss the above photo. Yes, I have removed large chunks of my meats, once again. Less obvious, though much more problematic than this, I have also destroyed ligaments and bony bits in my right shoulder not unlike the lesser plastic parts in a Sega Genesis controller left to roll around disconcertingly as one painfully ignores their effect on game play. Now removed from my basketball repertoire is the old standard “Running into the ground at full speed, shoulder first and skidding 7 crimson feet”.

All of this aside, the most interesting and unrelated detail of this photo is the mutantly distended lower-left quadrant of my stomach, not caused by the aforementioned basketball play, but rather an eternal pregnancy of what the unborn psychic entities within assure me are very [...]