Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Fact: Online Pornography Doesn't Cure Ankle Sprains

"Fruit's a gamble. I know that going in."

-Jerry Seinfeld

This also applies to Internet porn and buying things on eBay. Which explains (a.) why I'm typing these words at the library and (b.) why I want to stab a nameless lady who resides in Europe.

The following is a cautionary tale.

I screwed up my right ankle on the last Monday of April. Do the math -- that was a long effing time ago. And by "screwed up," I mean I suffered a sprain. Remember rolling your ankle as a fifteen-year-old? Do you also remember someone much older than you suggesting a sprain can be worse than break? I do. And let me tell you, I thought they were full of crap. It was messed up logic, you know? It's like hearing that you're supposed to make yourself as tall as possible if a grizzly bear approaches you. It just doesn't add up. Any time I've ever been approached by a bear I just shoot them in the brain with a shotgun. And if that doesn't work, I offer them a few salami/cream cheese roll-ups and go about my day. Anyway, a sprain is worse than a break. Trust me, I know these things.

(In case you were wondering, I also don't buy the logic that you shouldn't drive with your brights on during heavy fog. Forgive me, I graduated high school with a 1.9 GPA.)

So, as you can see, I'm struggling with the injury to my lower leg. The one positive, I guess, is that it's delivered me oodles of free time. But mostly I just waste it. I believe I've reached the end of the Internet. Over the past two weeks I've spent an inordinate amount of time on baseball-reference.com (comparing Jay Bruce's OPS with Justin Upton's, obviously) and even more time on eBay, usually searching for WWF videos from the latter portion of the 1980's. It's time-consuming and stupid, but it's an semi-enjoyable way to pass the time. I didn't think it was possible, but I actually don't hate myself when I'm engrossed in my eBay journey.

And, believe it or not, my self loathing does a complete 180 when I score the perfect video. Just one week ago I scored the perfect video. It arrived in the mail yesterday.

I had my Monday planned. I would watch the NBA playoffs, watch the Reds-D'Backs game, eat a handful of Vicodin and pop in my VHS tape of The Best of Saturday Night's Main Event. Sounds glorious, no? Well, heading into the 1:00 A.M. hour, my evening was right on track. Until my video turned out to be a lemon. No audio. No video. Just a bunch of black and white fuzz.

I lost my mind. I was like Micheal Douglas sitting in traffic in Falling Down. I didn't know what to do. I put all my eggs in Ted Dibiase's basket and I was let down in tragic fashion. I was hopeless. I had no reason to live. For a second I wanted an airplane to drive into my bedroom.

And then I grabbed my computer. At first I was going to send a vicious email to the seller of my video. "This woman ripped me off," I screamed to no one in particular. "If she doesn't give me my money back I will swim to London, England and give her a piece 0f my mind."

But then, on my way to emailing the mammal with the screen name bobsnbits123456, I got a little sidetracked. And by "sidetracked," I mean Internet porn.

And listen, I'm not into the naughtiest of naughty pornography. All I need is the paparazzi catching a glimpse of Jessica Alba's side-boob on the beach. Or Heidi Montag picking a wedgie in front of Starbucks. Or whoever doing whatever. I'm easy. But anyway, when you're searching for such PG-13 delights, it's not terribly difficult to stumble upon the naughtiest of the naughty. And I don't know much, but I know this: Four accidental minutes of naughty porn = virus on my expensive piece of technology = Brad sitting at terminal 19 at the Monfort Heights library.


My ankle hurts.
My computer is broken.
I might never get to watch Big Boss Man vs. Hulk Hogan.

There is no escaping this hell.

There's a lesson here, I'm just not sure what it is. Go to college, maybe.

I planned on using this space to write an open letter to my European enemy. I intended on ruining her online reputation. Maybe I could expose her slimy ways. I was thinking it would make you laugh. My goal was to inject Jerry Seinfeld's humorous quote with hopes of making sense of these words.

But that didn't happen. I'm depressed. Plus, I have a deadline.

So, now I'm at the library. And I've wasted your precious time. And my ankle still hurts. And Dusty Baker refuses to fully embrace the awesomeness of Micah Owings. And I kind of want to help Heidi Montag with her wedgie. And I'm about to hit PUBLISH POST. And I'd really like to eat a salami/cream cheese roll-up.

Bears are stupid.

-Brad Spieser (Brad@TwinKilling.com)