I pulled a muscle in my ribs/back from laughing too hard. This was almost three weeks ago. Then, my mom had the brilliant idea that I should ask one of my undoubtedly many druggie friends for a muscle relaxer. The first person I asked had some, of course. So I went to his house, then accidentally took 18 times the recommended dosage. The short version of that story is: I’m an idiot. I even tried to throw the pills up once I realized I’d taken enough downers to tranquilize Shamu. But I wasn’t very successful.
It took more than 24 hours for the drugs to purge themselves from my amazingly sponge-like head, whose task as Wooze Receptacle was unparalleled. And it took considerable effort for my lips to open and close at my command. Turning my head became a feat on par with bench-pressing a gorilla. Meanwhile, Wham’s “Last Christmas” played on repeat in my drug-addled mind. “Lash Kismas I gayou mah hawt…” It was terrible. And exhausting. And, as fate would have it, I was on deadline and expected to be funny or something. Jury’s out on that.
The worst part is that not only did I dope myself to oblivion, the pills didn’t even work! I was still in tremendous pain and slept horribly. My skin crawled and I kept tugging at every inch of loose skin, trying to rid myself of excess, and failing utterly.
The moral of this story is to never laugh again, probably. Or take your mom’s advice.