Baby got back problems

My back is back to around 80%. As most of you recall, last week I sustained a devastating injury lifting a burning car off of a nun's baby. Since then, there have been a lot of things I can't do and a few new skills I've been forced to learn in place of those things.

Things I can't do
1. Cut my toenails.
2. Get out of my car comfortably.
3. Feed myself like I normally do.
4. Self-fellate.
5. Move furniture.

Corresponding new skills
1. Catch small forest mammals with my talons.
2. Maneuver a car down the aisles of grocery store.
3. Use utensils.
4. Knitting.
5. Conveying sincerity when I tell friends I wish I could help them move, but...

I've had to overcome several obstacles, and no matter how modest I am, I can't hide the fact that I'm a true American hero for my efforts. And like all other role models in this great land, I'm zonked on pain pills.

How many backs could a back back back if a back back could back back?

"Give it to me straight, doc."
"You'll never walk again."
"But I walked in here. I'm standing right now."
"I never said I was a good doctor. How are you treating your back at the present time?"
"I took a page from the Heath Ledger Book of Pharmaceuticals and Mixology."
"Well, what do you need me for? You're two steps ahead of me."
"I thought you could tell me if I need physical therapy or steroids or whatever."
"You don't need steroids. You already have the strength of 10 men."
"Ten dead men?"
"Yes. Dead or dying."
"Is there anything else you can recommend?"
"Have you thought about getting a pre-owned back?"
"No."
"You know who has a strong back? Horses. Horses do."
"Is it possible to get a horse back?"
"I don't see why not."
"Where'd you go to medical school?"
"Don't change the subject."

Karma... she is a bitch

So I'm putting on my socks this morning, as I am wont to do each day. During the first sock, I feel a minor pain in my lower back. This is not all that unusual because I'm not very flexible and I think lifting with the legs is for pussies. So I ignore the pain and go for sock number two, the money sock as it is known in my household. That's when everything went to shit.

My back felt as if god were wringing me out like a sponge. I then found every movement excruciating. I also found the lack of movement equally excruciating.

After all of my years of mocking my friends with bad backs and ruptured discs and horse-kicked spines, I'm finally getting my just desserts. (Eating dessert also hurts right now.)

I somehow got in my car and went my doctor's office to see if I could get something to expedite the healing process. Something like morphine. And that's when the real humiliation started. First, I got on the scales and found that my weight has increased exponentially since the last time I weighed, which I wouldn't have thought humanly possible. Second, I had to admit to being an old man who gets injured by dressing himself. And third, the cute nurse gave me a shot in my ass. No reach-around.

Anyway... I'm at work. Each word I type is more painful than the last. The doc loaded me up on anti this and anti that, plus some Darvocet. But I'm going to treat myself the way my ancestors did: with a bottle of Jack and a two-dollar whore.
Well... a bottle of Jack.