No Kellogg’s Here *This* Week, Dears…(Flakety, Flake Flake!)

August 28, 2009 by Clint Catalyst 

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Instead of clacking out details of the same tragic tale over and over in countless renditions, I could have/should have written a single blog and referred people to it.  “Please see [URL LISTED HERE]“; “Actually, what happened was [AGAIN, URL LISTING]“; “Sincere apologies over my absence at your Beauty Pageant/Bat Mitzvah/Birthday Shin-Dig/Rice Pudding Tasting Party, but I [URL, URL, URL].”   Sheet, I could have cheated and rocked a bit of “Cut & Paste” action, even!   (Don’t you love busting friends who’ve hastily applied Ye Olde Command + C/Command + V without bothering to ixnay the sentiments of “Congrats On Your Graduation!!! Delta Vo-Tech’s Nothin’ To Sneeze At, Man,” “Be Sure & Tell Buck-Shot I’m Gonna Whoop His Ass At Pool Next Weekend,” and “Give Ernestine A Big Ol’ Wet One With Some Tongue…I Don’t Care What Anyone Says: Ain’t Nothin’ Wrong With Second Cousins, So Long As It’s Love!”

But who am I to do something sensible like–gasp!–make things easier for myself?  It’s so much more fun clarifying tidbits of info “Re-Tweeted,” or elaborating on the “Heard-About-It-From-Blankety Blankerson-Who-Read-It-In-A-Bulletin-Post” of it all.  Hell, it’s amusing in a “Gossip, v 2.0″ kind of way: rife with spontaneity…a sociological study, even!

Uh-huh.  Right.

So here’s the deal: Monday morning I was in an automobile accident.  Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t behind the wheel; I was a passenger.

How the accident occurred is “tl;dr.”  Yes, I’ve worn myself out on the topic–and no, I won’t explain abbreviations that a quick cruise by google or urbandictionary.com will decipher from Millennial Newspeak, sorry.

What transpired in the wreck is why I’ve been out-of-commish.  Despite the fact I was wearing my seatbelt, after it restrained me upon impact with the curb (hence the cracked rib and toxic Mountain Dew-yellow bruise outlining its position on my chest), that mandatory-by-law device “released” me for the coup de grace: namely, each vehicle reducing the other into the territory of Total Loss.

Hard-headed I may be, but the crack of my noggin that shattered the windshield?

Ripped out large chunks of my hair somethin’ fierce…and I don’t mean that exhausted sense of the phrase all too often accompanied by a snap!

Hrmm. Am I forgetting anything?

Looks Like A Party, Huh?  And This Was After I Was “Cleaned-Up…”

Oh yeah: Lots of blood lost, a neck brace, my first ride in an ambulance (whee!), X-Rays, an MRI, abrasions everywhere from the center of my forehead to my ankles, and an on-going “phenomenon” in which my epidermis releases tiny slivers of glass.  If anyone knows of a sideshow in need of a Human Pez Dispenser (with a marketable emphasis on “Danger! Danger! Danger!”), I shouldn’t be difficult to track down.

In other words?  If it seems as if that unreturned phone call/email/tentative plan I haven’t followed-up on/social networking comment/request for me to ______, or even a simple “Thank You” to the latest subscribers on my humble YouTube channel is some hoity attempt at the infamous L.A. F-You?

You’ll have to issue a rain-check, I’m afraid.  It’s been nothing but ice-picks hammering a symphony of pain in my brain, a continuous sensation comparable to a stack of cinderblocks on my chest, and prescription drugs that aren’t even fun, for F’s sake.  (Seriously?  I mean, SERIOUSLY.)

Back to bed once I zap this post without a single proof/read-through, but for those of you whom made it thus far?

Much Love & Mad Gratitude,

Clintasaurus Wrecks*

*the homo servin’ homophones…that is MOST CORRECT!