Why last night was not a wizard cocksucker night

Life is indeed a vale of tears, my friends: last night, while riding my bike along the ol' riding lane in my characteristic happy-go-lucky, worry-free way, reflecting on a bad joke my father had told me, I was suddenly pitched from my bike, possibly because something (but what?) had gotten in my spokes, possibly because my shoelaces (but how?) had gotten in the gears, resulting in a scraped knee and a right radial head fracture (that's in the elbow) and a probable right scaphoid fracture (wrist).  That's, like, my note-taking hand!  My knife-wielding hand, and several other kinds of hand, too.

Then, this morning I found out that my car, which I had generously lent to another for the night, had been, through no fault of her own, hit while parked.

Fortunately, I had had the first meeting of a Schopenhauer reading group last night, so I recognize these occurrences as irruptions of a blind , reasonless, and yet somehow malevolent will, and I take corresponding comfort in that—that and the fact that I don't have gout.

Comments

[apostropher]

You should also take comfort knowing that no matter how painful your spill (and it sounds quite painful indeed), your suffering is as nothing compared to that of Jesus on the cross.

Feel better?

[dave zacuto]

I'm sorry about your run-in with the ground

[peter snees]

I am reminded of the great philosopher Nelson Muntz at the moment, but I won't stoop to uttering his signature phrase.

Aw, fuck it: Ha ha!

But seriously, get well, Wolfson, there are literally billions of extraneous commas that need to be looked after.

[michelle]

Considering the gravity of the situation, it could have been worse.

[ben wolfson]

True! And there was a woman in the bed next to me in the ER who seemed on the brink of death, so, you know.

[bitchphd]

How . . . philosophical of you.

[Stacia]

Sorry about your spill. I will refrain from making any jokes about left hands and strangers.