This little piggy cried all the way home

Here are the events of the last 2 hours of my life. As usual there is no embellishment or exaggeration in any way shape or form. What I present is just the horrible, inconceivable truth that is almost everyday of my life.
So I go to the podiatrist at lunchtime.
Turns out my softball toe injury is not healing fact enough for my liking. We get to talking and he asks me to take off my shoes and socks. I make the smart ass comment “Guess which is the bad one." If my 10 toes were 10 little indians, the infected one looks like the pollution tear eyed Mary looking indian from the 70'scommericals, you know totally out of place on a highway. Well, not to be outdone he quips "Is it this one" and proceeds to squeeze the toe real hard.
Well after they peel me off the ceiling and calm the other patients down who got nervous from my 8 year old girl scream he pulls out a turkey baster..no wait it's a needle. Now this is where things get interesting. He pulls out a spray can of something labeled "FREEZE CAN" and sprays my foot with it. WHAT THE F#@%? Have you ever dipped your toe into ice water?
Welcome to my life.
Next thing I know this SOB has the needle in my big toe and is feeling around with the needle like a cat tries to paw a ball under a couch. At this point I'm basically crying but I manage to say "If you put that in any deeper you'll come out the other end." Sure enough he points to my big toe and shows me a lump in my toe which is in fact the needle pushing the skin from the inside! WHAT THE F#@%? It's not over by a long shot. He leaves the room for about 15 minutes. I'm sitting in that room poked, prodded and squeezed as much as a porn star after a gang bang.
These are the times I ponder my life and what my true role in it is other than to suffer immeasurably.
Dr. Strangelove comes back in with a toolbox. Let me repeat that. He's got a fucking toolbox. Not a pair of tweezers, no nail clippers, and there's not a cotton swab in sight. He opens the toolbox and pulls out a wire cutter, and a pair of pliers similar to what Paul used to pull staples out of mike's hard wood floors. He goes in. Mutters "There's a lot of blood under here." I hear a squishing noise, a slight tingle in my toe and BOOM his face is covered with my big toe funkbloodgoo.
Goddammit who did I piss off to deserve this? At this point I just pass out. I come to what seems like an hour later with my toe in a sling and a lollipop in my mouth.
Right about now the Novocain is wearing off so I'm enjoying all new levels of pain. Is it wrong for a grown man to weep uncontrollably?

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