I've still got a terrible pain in my leg. I can't remember what I did to it. I think I was drunk and bumped into the refridgerator whilst getting out my 4-pack of XXXX.
"Beer and me, we get along famously."
That was once a line in a song I wrote, but I think I destroyed the song. It might be in a drawer somewhere - but you know me and drawers. We never find each other again.
When I sit in front of my special braille typewriter, I'm often reminded of how unlucky I am. But once I start typing away and making beautiful words, I soon realise that I'm one of the lucky ones. After all, I've still got my dick, haven't I?