Coccyx

I fell out of a tree yesterday. Landed on my coccyx. I blame the ecstasy. Or maybe the alcohol. The weed?

I have a bad habit of climbing things when I'm of unsound mind. It isn't the first time I've climbed a structure while drunk or drugged, but perhaps I should take this as a warning. Next time, I may not be so lucky - I may land on my cocksdick.

Today I am in agony. The dancing last night probably didn't help either. I can't even put on my pants without sitting down, and then only with much effort and exertion. I met my foster parents - the same ones whose poor supervision allowed me up in the tree in the first place - and we went for brunch this morning. Perhaps I shouldn't call it brunch. I ate two bites of a pancake and a strawberry, and then spent the next ten minutes vomiting on my hands in knees in the bathroom. Strangely, I never saw the strawberry come up. I await to behold it in its new form: a chocolate-covered strawberry; a dangling dingle. I limped back to the table like a disabled windup-toy and sat down slowly, as though I were a 70-year-old man with severe spinal stenosis and several slipped discs.

I still haven't eaten. It's the only thing about me today that's fast.

I can smell the faint fungal aroma of chocolate mushrooms seeping from my skin.