9 out of 10 monkeys believe they are not behind glass

Over the weekend, I had to attend one of those marvelous and horrid events, a family function of doom, otherwise known as a birthday party. In those fun filled hours, like a delectible jelly filled donut, I heard the same two questions, over and over. Every person felt obliged to ask, and I was obliged to answer.

First, what did you do to your knee?
Second, how did you do it?

By the end of the night, I was in robot mode. Stick in a quarter, I flail my arms about and tell you the great story of how I ate it in the bunkers of a paintball match. Ate it like fat kid on a box of poptarts. I am the great Zoltan, and for a magic quarter, I will make you big. Where are you, Tom Hanks? Who is next to ask me those two questions of utter and total damnation?

This week my office is having a managers meeting for the entire company. Every manager, supervisor, executive from every city will be here and I will have to go through the same exercise countless times.

Or hey, I could change it up a little, and actually start to count. Like the Count.

One! HA HA HA HA. TTTTT-Two! HA HA HA HA. TTTTT-Threeee! HA HA HA HA.

Yeah, that’s right, the frakin’ Count you gorram frakheads.

In the interest of creativity, I am not going to answer with the actual scenario of the injury. Instead, I will relate tales of bravado and courage, daring and well, daring-do. And every one will be singlularly spectacular in its awesome ballsiness. WORD OF THE DAY: ballsiness.

• I was attacked by a pack of rabid… what for it…. what for it…. clowns! In the vicious battle of flying clown paint and screams and honking noses and squeaking shoes, I managed to fit a hundred of their bloody corpses in a vw bug before one of the got a lucky shot and kicked my knee inwards. The frakhead fit nicely up the exhaust pipe of the bug by the time I was done with him. Imagine the Matrix with Neo and the Smiths, and that was me covered in the paint of my fallen adversaries.
• While shopping for groceries with a senior citizen brigade, I was attacked by grocery store gorillas. They came out of nowhere. The entire produce section was reduced to fine slurry resembling a vast batch of V8. A thousand different flavors and the tears of all the migrant farmers that slaved to make this crushed bounty to market. And the gorillas went too far. They made me angry. You don’t want to make me angry. You won’t like me angry. GRAAAAAAAW HULK SMASH! GORILLAS MUST CLEAN UP! HULK SMASH GORILLAS! … When I woke up, my knee hurt and my clothing was shredded. Have no idea how it happened.
• Pirates.
• Yes, seriously, Pirates.
• For the last time, Pirates. I rather not talk about it. But they will always say that it was almost the day they caught Captain Jack Sp— [sploosh]
• I was walking my dogs when a small army of highly trained ninja monkeys attacked. I had nothing but a walking stick and heart of FURY. Their monkey style was no match for my wicked drunken dragon style. They all fell. Fell to the depths of hell. Except that one. The one with the scar over its eye. That little frakker hit my leg and managed to escape. Next time, monkey. Next time.
• Invaders. Little green men ran experiments on me. They were working on my knee when I woke up, stepped on every single one of them and blew up their ship. Halfway down in the freefall back to Earth, I managed to fashion a parachute from bits of rubble and some scotch tape. You can call me McGuyver. The kind of alien-ass-kicking McGyver we wish was on television.

I seriously could go alllll day. So beware. See a man on a crutch, offer him a coffee. Do not solicit an explanation, or you may recieve the sharpest tongue lashing of your life.

Just saying.

BALLSINESS! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!