[Sweetieface]

oh, LOL, John, you slay me!

Notaro, I'd like to venture a guess at what happened, and tie a good deal of this thread together:

You were fighting the kissing bluefish when you thought you contracted a FEB through your turbo-lined Nasa gloves. After a trip to your general practitioner (Dr. Sprinkles), you stopped at the local bar for a cement mixer (shudder), a sweaty lumberjack and a couple of hairy buffalo's.... oh yah, and you had the hairy buffalo drink, too. You could barely walk, and you stagger full speed into the door of the bar, but this is not where you cut your chin.

As you left the bar, you ran into the incredulous Mr Macey, and had a rumble over the fact that this thread is NOT foolish, but instead an educational experience in everything from FEB's, to action figures, to bowel ailments to drinks. The fight was fierce, but this was not where you cut your chin.

After the scuffle, you decided to stop at Wendy's for some ExLax Burritos, and just ate them in the men's room to save time. The men's room floors had just been washed and were extremely slippery, but this is not where you cut your chin either.

Soon after leaving the bathroom you collapsed (thud) onto a rock pile in Spleen pain from what you thought was related to your FEB. Covered in lacerations and abrasions, you stood, dusted the pebbles of, and staggered home. Yep, you guessed it, not where you cut your chin.

At home, you stumbled up the stairs, doing a faceplant at the top of the stairs. (Nope, still not yet) By now, you've got a possible FEB, a "butt ring" and your fight with the rock pile left you bloody and exhausted. In bed, you flip on the Naked Fishing Channel news and collapse into bed.

You curl up with your Notaro Brownie Bum Doll and dream of Walmart Roll Back items and Richard Simmons. Pillow covered in drool, reeking of alcohol, last nights clothes rumpled on your body, you snooze.

The dreams turn to fishing in PTown. Bluefish. Bluefish so big, the one you're hauling in is twice your size. As he lays on the boat, twitching and flopping his massive tail, he turns to you. Blink, blink. He opens his mouth:
"Hey, pal, can I get a Screaming Viking?"

So startled by this talking bluefish, you jump back from him, trip on the net behind you, feel yourself falling...

And wake up to find yourself face down on the floor next to your bed, chin bleeding and in need of 18 'stitchies.'