Bro, I haven't slept properly in about 20 years. Gimme a fuggin break already.


Note: This is best read in a gruff, extremely thick New York accent. 

Some guy thought that it was a good idea to park his car bumper to bumper with my car last night, so that to get out, it was gonna take me  5 minutes of backing up and turning to get on the road this morning. I guess he didn’t want to get a ticket, but his entire front end took up the crosswalk. So I keyed that assholes car with a cock and balls—cause he’s a dick! Hahahaha!

It’s weird, leaving the house when I want to. 22 years, I was up at 4:15 in the morning, checked in, got my coffee, and was out on the road by 5:30 at the latest. I smelled like shit and rotten vegetables for 22 years of my life, and now I can’t even lift a chair above my waist without wanting to shit my pants from the pain in my back. Hooooly shit. But, hey, I got a life at least. My head don’t have any hair on it anymore, but for a 48 year old guy I don’t look half bad. Hell, if I knew where to go, I’d go to the bar and maybe pick someone up, now that I smell good, you know? The smell messes with your style, man.

I got full disability last year, though I knew something was up probably 6 months before that. I went to go take a can out because I wasn’t driving on this shift—Tony’s senior, he had 25 years, and union rules say that senior guy drives, junior guys dump unless we got a lot to pick up. 22 years, and it’s the one guy who’s got more years than I do on the truck with me. I was lucky, though. Tony’s out the truck because he’s got a huge bin he’s gotta take to the back, and I pick up the can and—snap—I could hear my back go and I yelled out from the shock. It didn’t even hurt, but I couldn’t move my fucking legs and I say “Ah shit, this is trouble” to myself. Tony finds me in the street on my back and tries to pick me up and I’m just dead weight, man. Nothing was moving. He asks me, “Yo, you alright? What happened, bro?” and I’m just like “I don’t know man, my back, I can’t move my legs.” Scary shit.

We drove back to the depot, and Tony, bless him, puts me in the back seat of his car and takes me straight to the hospital. I had stress fractures in my spine, and three ruptured disks. Every time I’d try to pick something particularly heavy lately it just felt like something was gonna pop, man. It didn’t hurt any worse than normal, I guess, but it was a weird feeling, like there was this pressure there, you know? Shows you what happens when you don’t listen to your body, huh? Three days before I could walk, bro—I thought I was gonna be a cripple for a second there. But, hey, I got better, and I got my health, thanks God.

I know that if got into a fight like I used to get into with whatever asshole parked his car like that there’s a chance I won’t get up off the floor if I get knocked down. I still got my quick right, though, so hey. Got that, got my check, I get to smell like a human being now—it’s beautiful, bro. I could be one of those people who work their whole lives and drop dead right before they’re supposed to retire, you know? My back is fucked up, but I can deal with that. That ass who dinged my car got what was coming to him, though. Keying’s something a kid does, but what–I’m gonna fuck up my car more just to get back at you? FUCK YOU. I got a better idea than that! Know what I’m sayin’? Hehehe…

All the way around, life ain’t too bad, bro.

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