Let the Good Times Roll

My father's cast has been removed.
Which is fantastic.
I was beginning to get tired of his in-your-face healing process.
He had a habit of waggling his useless sausage fingers in front of me to say:
"And my hand is right swole' up, too. See?"
Then he'd prop his hand an inch away from my face and incessantly ask me to look.
"I can't judge it. What do you think?"
And then I'd say, "Ugh, Jesus! Get away from me. Go show mom."
If we can keep him on the Aspirin and away from his power tools, he'll be endangering himself again in no time.

Speaking of which, I have officially signed up for Jiu Jitsu.
In what anyone would call a surprise move.
The whole issue can be blamed on Kill Bill Vol. 2, inebriation, and Robert Shandera.
Like so many one-night stands across the province.
It is really quite fun.
I only wish I had this knowledge to employ twenty years ago when Brian was putting me in Boston Crabs.
And The Small Package.
Unless you have had these performed on you, there's no point in asking.