is worth, we shall shortly see that I am clearly NOT okay.
Christ.
We were bored tonight at Eviljob, so we started talking about kinky
sex, which somehow morphed into the best combat wrestling techniques,
which further morphed into a discussion on rescue (lifting/carrying
dead weight was the segue there), which ended with my knocking the
wind out of myself by hitting a tich too hard whilst demonstrating how
easy a precordial thump is to perform...on myself. The conversation
died out at that point, largely because everyone was preoccupied with
asking me if I was sure that I was ok.
ZOMG, my chest hurts. The take-away message here is that this was a
really, really stupid thing to do. Not too bright too much is this
writer. No, not at all. Plus, the sex talk was way more informative;
next time, my contribution will be limited to Intro to Conversational
Polari for Straight Businessmen, or any low-contact sport. Fuck.
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