Sich Den Arm Brechen - To Break One’s Arm

I’ve never broken anything. Bone-wise anyway. In terms of designs, ideas, scripts, improvised German to English writings, go-karts, projectors, beds (and not in a fun way), carrots and guitar strings - we’re into the several thousands. Although arms are one of the most common and non-serious bodily breakages, I’d hate it happening to me. This honestly not being an attempt at lamely crude masturbatory humour, losing my right arm function along with its attached hand would severely disrupt my life, even if it was just for four weeks. I’m guessing that’s how long it might take to magically fix. I don’t know, could be four months or two years. I am certain, however, that everything would get a trillion (or at least ten or eleven) times more difficult. My typing would be severely impeded as would writing by hand, making outputting this type of nonsense almost impossible. Lifting and page-turning a hardback would take even more effort, helping me stay consistently, yet somewhat aptly, unwell read. My working as a projectionist just wouldn’t work either. Dextrous fingers are a must when you’re dealing with small moving parts. So much so I’m avoiding another awful wannabe funny. Not quite sure how sexy ‘small moving parts’ could ever get. If anything it sounds far closer to Gary Glitter territory than anything even barely legal. I’m staying well clear. So not having a job, or being able to read or write very much, I’d fit the profile of a Jeremy Kyle guest within days. And that’s before I’ve even mentioned my inability to wipe myself. Yes, I’m claiming they’re all filthy, disgusting human beings. They should all be thoroughly sterilized in every possible way. Anyway, before this piece gives way to a downward spiral of misanthropy, it’d be rubbish not playing XBox either. Cooking would be limited to stuff on a tray in the oven, and changing channels on TV would have to be done lefty, which just wouldn’t feel right. No guitar, no arm wrestles, no laughing at the physically impaired. When a fully chair-bound quadrasod could potentially retort with a snippy and well-timed “Shut ya face, brokey-army boy!” it’d almost certainly put your initial “Oi! Wheelies suck!” comment to shame. In conclusion, breaking an arm = not much fun.

Now it is possible there’d be fringe benefits I’m not immediately seeing. Hiding a variety of things in your sling, for example, could be a source of both comedic and practical value. Pulling out broken go-karts, projectors, beds, carrots and guitar strings one after the other would be ace in front of an assembled, paying crowd. Not even Jesus could do that. Practical-wise, it’d make an excellent hiding place for that crudely-fashioned shank you‘re gonna use on that web-perv three cells down. Don‘t feel bad - it‘s what he deserves. But before this gets any more strange, I’ll abruptly end by not revealing how I broke that carrot.