How I Got These Scars


So my blood pressure is just fine but my cholesterol is a little high?  Don’t those balance each other out?  Oh, they don’t?  Look, I’m not a doctor like you.  I don’t know these things.  Is this something I should be worried about?  No?  Then why are you even telling me?  Just so I’ll know.  Gotcha.  Well, thank you for letting me know about it.  What?  One more question.  Sure.  Ask away, doc.  Oh, where did I get all my scars?  That’s a great question.  I’m glad you asked.  And, yeah, I suppose they are all pretty obvious when I’m sitting here naked.  Speaking of which, can I tell you about them while I’m getting dressed?  Don’t get me wrong, I like a good meat freezer, but you guys are overdoing it a little here.  Seriously, your air-conditioning bill must be stupid expensive.  But then again, I guess you probably never turn on the heat in the winter so it all balances out.  Oh, right, my scars.  Sure.  Well, let’s see.

I guess let’s start with the most obviously ones on my forehead.  The one on the left side of my forehead was when I stopped myself with the edge of a street sign while riding my bike down a steep grade.  I know it sounds terrible, but you should’ve seen the street sign.  That thing was bent all to hell.  And bloody!  Man, was it bloody.  Your forehead bleeds A LOT!  What am I saying, you’re a doctor.  You probably already knew that.  Bet they taught you that at John Hopscotch University or wherever you went to doctor school.  It’s John what?  Whatever.

Anyway, this other forehead scar I got from headbutting a Stormtrooper.  Yeah, a Stormtrooper.  Have you ever seen Star Wars?  Yeah, you know those white guys?  No, the guys with the laser swords are the Jedi.  And they’re called lightsabers.  Yeah, they do look like they’re dressed in bath robes.  But the guys in the white armor, you remember them?  Yeah, those guys are Stormtroopers.  How did I meet them?  No, I didn’t work on the movie.  I was at this comic book convention and there were a bunch of people dressed up as Stormtroopers.  Yeah, it’s apparently a big thing.  They have this whole 700 Club they are in.  So I said to one of them, “Aren’t you a little short for a Stormtrooper?” which is a line from the movie.  Well, she didn’t think it was funny.  Yeah, she.  Yeah, girls dress up as guys all the time at comic book conventions.  I don’t judge.  Anyway, she sucker punched me in the side and I headbutted her as a natural reaction.  Those plastic helmet crack pretty easily from a solid headbutt, but, interestingly enough, cracked plastic is apparently really sharp.  And again, foreheads bleed a lot.  Yeah, the helmet protected her pretty well, but I got this forehead scar and broke my nose.  Broken noses bleed a lot too.  But again, you’re a doctor, so you probably already knew that.  No, she didn’t get in trouble.  I got kicked out of the comic book convention for causing a ruckus.  She felt bad about it.  We ended up dating for a while until she got into Attack on Titan cosplay and posting on Reddit.  Some people are into that kind of thing, but it was just too weird for me.

This scar on my elbow is probably my favorite.  I was visiting New York City and I was riding the subway.  I know, you have to ride the subway if you visit New York City.  Anyway, as I was getting off the subway I got pushed down by Kevin Meaney.  I landed on my elbow and broke it and ended up getting a compound fracture.  The bone popped right out of my arm.  It was totally gross.  And Kevin kept right on going.  Who’s Kevin Meaney?  The guy who would always say “That’s not right!”  Yeah, that guy!  Oh, I don’t know what he’s doing now, but a few years ago he was pushing people around the subways near Tribeca.

This scar on my index finger is from when I dropped my lucky marble down the garbage disposal.  This scar near my ankle is from a deer attack.  The one across my lower back is from a dessert bar fight.  This one on my left side is where I got shot with an arrow at Ren Faire.  The one on the back of my left knee is from a patio furniture fire.  The one on my chest is from a board game night accident.  I’ve got one on the top of my head where I got hit with an inflatable raft.  And the one on the side of my neck is from when I got my head stuck in a hay baler.

This scar here on my upper thigh is from one of my ex-wives.  The scar just above my shoulder blade is from the same ex-wife.  And so is this one on my left forearm.  She was clearly a stabber.  I eventually had to get a gun safe for all the knives in the house.  And these three small scars near my shoulder, that’s where she stabbed me with a salad fork at The Cheesecake Factory.  What?  Oh, yeah, it didn’t work out.  We got divorced.  She’s actually went to prison for lunging at the judge and stabbing a deputy with a Bic Clic Stic pen during our divorce hearing.  I think she got five years.  But I got a letter from the court that she’s out on good behavior, which I seriously doubt.  She probably slept her way out of prison.  I don’t know.  I guess it’s a thing.  You can sleep your way up the corporate ladder, makes sense you could sleep your way out of prison too.

You’re right, doc, I probably am lucky to be alive.  Makes that high cholesterol not seem so bad.  What?  Oh, yeah, my pinky toe.  I lost that in a snow shoveling competition.

 

About BatDoc

I’m a dynamic figure, often seen scaling buildings and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train and bus stations on lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention and reducing high-traffic areas. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees and write award-winning plays about pastry. I manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I make meatloaf. I have been known to woo women with my sensuous and god-like electric air-guitar playing. I can pilot riding lawnmowers up severe inclines with unflagging speed and accuracy and can cook 30-Minute Brownies in 20 minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Brazil. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon River Basin from a horde of ferocious smaller-than-your-pinky-finger fire ants. When I’m bored, I build full size models of airplanes out of Popsicle sticks. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, I repair TVs and VCRs free of charge. I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Last summer, I toured Wisconsin and Minnesota with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat 400. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me. I can hurl coat hangers at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read War and Peace, Moby Dick, and Great Expectations in one day and still had time to repaint the exterior of my house that afternoon. Though not a narc, I have performed several covert operations with the CIA. I can recalibrate and repair gas lines with blinding speed and precision, and I don't require a face mask. I still find time to sleep eight hours a night; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation to Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me. I balance; I weave; I dodge; I frolic; and my bills are all paid. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a jello mold and a toaster oven. I used to breed prize-winning killer dolphins. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, performed open-heart surgery, and have spoken with Elvis. I have been to Area 51 and seen the complex. I enjoy cake and my best friends are Edmund the Penguin and Dr. Narco the Intelligent Thermos. I tied Jose Canseco in home runs last week, and I’m mere words away from completing a New York Times crossword puzzle I started on in 1988. Volumes and volumes of written works have been produced about me, but they were all lost in the fire. I am an extrovert. I’m marginally more popular with feminist than Rush Limbaugh. I don't scrape my vegetables onto my grandmother's plate when no one is looking. Hard as it may be to believe, I have never lost a pole-vaulting competition. I was nowhere near the grassy knoll on November 22, 1963. I’ve never hit a silver-medalist in the knee with a club. I wear sensible clothing, and I did not mastermind Julius Caesar's death. That was Cassius.

Posted on September 11, 2014, in A BatDoc Original, Original Series, Short Essays and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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