I woke up today with pus on my pillow.

My arm, injured in a drunken bicycle accident the previous day, was still secreting...stuff. So, I got up around ten am, still in a sweaty, dirty, and bloody T-Shirt, and made myself a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats. I made a leaky ice pack for my sprained wrist and meditated on the fact that if my range of motion did not improve in a few hours, I would not be able to work, pay off my school loans, or support my three starving children.

I put in a bad movie I had taped off HBO and collapsed onto my parents couch, unanimously voted "Most Torturous Furniture Not Made with Nails" during a recent, informal polling of unfortunate visitors. The event of the taping had been my third time viewing this same bad movie. Even after the movie and ice pack, I still felt like shit, so I got serious. I poured myself 4 shots of vodka, 2 sodas, 2 ramen soups, and watched 2 more bad movies, taped off of HBO Plus and HBO Signature, respectively. Not surprisingly, they both seemed better than the first time and third time I had seen them, respectively.

By now my stepmom was rolling up the driveway in her 1998 Windstar, and I realized I had to be at work in 30 minutes. Time flies when you're having fun. I was still smashed. Fortunately, I had the daunting task of anointing and bandaging my multiple arm wounds, all oozing blood and pus. This sobered me up some, and I was moderately presentable for work, if I kept my sleeves rolled down. I was ready to serve you food.

Apparently, the good diners of Sacramento, CA couldn't see the blood through my sleeves, because I came home with 19 percent of my sales in tips.