My Soul Is Screwed (In)

This is the handiwork of science and surgeons (not sturgeons, which taste terribly fishy, and fish is not something that will be going down the gullet you see here). There's some screws, a metal plate, and a cadaver bone betwixt them.

Here's The Thing

#1. My shoulders aren't tight because my "core" needs tightening, and I'd appreciate you not rubbing my belly when you make that proclamation either. Well, no, to be fair, I liked it when you rubbed my belly, I just didn't like the words coming out of your mouth while my belly was being rubbed (I think you patted it once too, for posterity). I think we can safely assume that my shoulders are tight because I have a hole in my neck. See the post The Answer to Everything is My Throat Got Cut.

No Robotic Parts

Here's a shot of my neck from this morning. It is a little reddish around the area because I just patted it down with a warm rag to get the dried blood off. I'm not sure what caused that vicious bruise on my chest other than something that must have happened in surgery. Same with the number on my left bicep. (They really kicked my ass in there. And took a disc. Bastards.)

Can't take this tape off yet

The Answer to Everything is "My Throat Got Cut"

I think being in pain makes my brain slightly lazy, because I'm finding that saying "my throat got cut" is a perfectly valid answer for pretty much everything.