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May 06, 2009

A few years back, I was seeing this flight attendant that I met on a flight back to Los Angeles. And let me preface this story with two important facts. First, I'm kinda like a sexual Forrest Gump. From time to time, I somehow manage to stumble my way into sexual situations with girls waaaay out of my league, much like Forrest Gump would stumble his way into situations with world leaders and pop cultural icons. Second, the flight attendant wasn't working the night I met her. She was just a passenger on the plane, but still impressive for a highly functioning autistic person like myself.

Anyway, few months later the flight attendant was in town and driving out to Hollywood on booty call assignment while I was having a few cocktails at my place in preparation. Now, I'm a bit of a one-hump-chump, meaning as soon as I see a naked boob I tend to jizz myself. So whenever I know I'm gonna get laid, I like to rub one out ahead of time because it can give you a little more lasting power. However, when you rub one out you sometimes risk the chance of satisfying your sexual urge, thus making you regret scheduling a booty call in the first place. And that's what happened to me.

I had some writing I wanted to do, and I really didn't wanna deal with a chick sleeping over my place, so I called the flight attendant and made up some bullshit excuse about needing to go to work early the next morning. I'm not sure if she was upset or not, but that's probably because I didn't really listen to anything else she said after, "okay, I'm going home then."

Since I was gonna do a little writing I decided to take a bong rip beforehand. And when I take bong rips, I sometimes like to do this thing I call a skull crusher. And skull crushers are when you take gigantic bong rips and hold them in for as long as you can -- usually thirty to forty seconds. See image:

And sometimes I'll stand up when I take a skull crusher because it makes you feel a little more loopy. And that's what I did that night.

Now I don't know if it was because I had a couple cocktails, but that skull crusher was so skull-crushing that I passed out for about three seconds. And I say three seconds because that's how long it took for me to be woken up by the force of my face slamming into my wall. And not just my wall mind you -- I also slammed my face into the wooden mail holder I mounted next to my front door. You know, the kind with hooks to hang your key chains on and stuff? Yeah, my face hit that, too. Keys and all.

I looked in the mirror and saw a big chunk of flesh, including the top half of my left eyebrow, hanging to the side with blood gushing everywhere. I knew I had to go to the hospital, but I was too much in shock to get behind the wheel of a car, so I did the only natural thing I could do. I dialed 9-11.

When the 9-11 dispatcher answered, I made it perfectly clear that this wasn't an emergency, per se, but that I still needed medical attention. She told me to sit tight and that an ambulance was on the way.

As soon as I hung up, I immediately began hiding weed and wafting pot smoke -- which is very hard when your head is bleeding profusely. And to make matters worse, I was watching a Breaking Bonaduce marathon on vh1, and all I could hear was Gretchen and Dr. Garry yelling at Danny about what a mess his life was.

Just as I finished hiding my drug paraphernalia, I heard the sound of several fire trucks and ambulances driving down my street. It sounded like the emergency response team sent to deal with 9/11. I paused for a second. All that can't be for me, can it?? It was. In the same amount of time it took me to smash my face, two firefighters and three paramedics came barging through my door. And let me be perfectly clear, these paramedics weren't really concerned with my health as much as they were concerned with being complete assholes to me because I ruined their potluck dinner, or Sunday night poker game, or whatever.

One of the firefighters took a deep breath as soon as he walked in and said, "smells like someone's been smoking in here..." I tend to be an honest person, so I admitted that I might have taken a little hit.  A paramedic looked around the apartment and said, "alright, where are your friends?" Who?? "Your friends who roughed you up??" That was probably the funniest part of the night. He actually thought that my friends had beaten me up and I was protecting them like a battered housewife.

Next they sat me down and started examining my face. I asked if I needed stitches and one of the paramedics said to me, in the most patronizing way possible, "yeah, you wouldn't want to hurt your pretty little face..." I couldn't really argue with him. As ugly as I am, I don't need to do anything else to make it any worse. And that's exactly what I told them.

At that moment, all of the paramedics and firefighters exploded in laughter and they went from hating me to being my best friends. I told them the whole story about the flight attendant, and the skull crusher, and Danny Bonaduce, and they all started joking about how I should use the weed in my freezer to keep my head injury on ice. They busted my balls about how I could of gotten laid if I wasn't such an idiot. They even invited me down to the station for a beer.

And those guys did the best thing they could. They told me to take a cab. And they were absolutely right. An ambulance ride would have cost an extra $1,500.

So the paramedics and firefighters left and I took a cab to the hospital. After four hours and thirteen stitches, this is what I looked like:

Those paramedics and firefighters had a good point. If I wasn't such an idiot, I could have gotten laid instead of spending half my night in an emergency room. And maybe what happened to me was karma for the way I treated the flight attendant. Whatever the reason, after that night I made a life changing decision. I now always sit down whenever I take skull crushers. That way when I pass out, my face falls into a pillow. Much better.