A blog update about my oblique, as conceptualized by the staff writers of Entourage

[The gang is rapidly walking towards the camera through a crowded bar.  The patrons of the bar include me, the Entourage gang, naked women looking at Vince, Shauna, and Corbin Bernsen.  The camera follows the gang through the bar as they walk.  E’s legs move violently while the others walk at what appears to be a normal pace.  Vince is smiling, because that is the only direction that he understands.  I turn from the bar and hand a round of Budweisers to the gang.  The labels face the camera.]

Turtle:  What’s up fucker?  I can’t believe you ripped your oblique when you were bowling.  Was that 8 pound ball too heavy for you?  [To Corbin Bernsen] Yo, whattup Corbin?

Corbin Bernsen:  Hey Turtle.

Me:  Fuck you, Turtle.  It was a 12 pound ball.

Drama:  I’ve got a couple of 14 pound balls you can use.  Ya know what I mean, baby bro?

Vince:  [smiling]  Yes, Drama.  I know what you mean.  

E:  [to me] Dude, you should get that checked out.  The responsible thing for you to do in this situation would be to go to a doctor and determine if anything is actually wrong with you.

Me:  I did go to the doctor.  He said it didn’t look good and I would probably never be able to do [insert description of career that Vince gave me funding for] again.

Vince:  It’s all good.  [smiling at hot girl walking by].  Turtle, did I fuck her?  

[Cut to gang sitting in living room of Vince’s house.]

E:  Hey, did you ever hear from the doctor?

Me:  Not yet, but I’m expecting his call soon.  It’s probably going to be bad.  Very bad.

[a cell phone rings.  Everyone looks at one another eagerly awaiting the call.]

Me:  It’s the doctor.  Should I answer it?

Vince:  Answer it.

E:  Answer it.

Turtle:  Answer it, come on, answer it.

Jeremy Piven [appearing out of nowhere]:  Answer it, you fat fuck.

Me: Hello? [covering phone with hand.] It’s the doctor.

Vince:  [trying to look concerned, but smiling]  What’s he saying?

Drama:  Yeah, what’s he saying?  Did he ask about me?  

E:  Dudes, shut up.  Let him listen.  [beat, then urgently]  Seriously, what’s he saying?

Me:  [Looking at the camera forlornly]  It’s not good.  He says, I need surgery and won’t ever be able to [insert same description of career from above] again.

[beat]

[beat]

[beat]

Me:  Ahhhhh.  Gotcha!  Hahahaha.  LOLOLOL.  He said that it is actually a rare condition called meloniamoirians.  It’s so rare, that it actually cures itself after 48 hours.  He wants to study it further so that he can use it to cure cancer.  He offered me 47 million dollars on the spot.  Can you believe it?  Vince, I couldn’t have done this without you.  You’re the best.

Vince: Aww, Robbie.  I knew you could do it all along.

[End scene.  No one ever refers back to this story line again.]

Surviving Hurricane Irene: Postgame Report

Well, it has been a wild ride.  I’m now on the backside of the hurricane and about to head back home.  What follows is a brief summary of the highs and lows of this terrifying experience:

High Point:  Living to see today.

Low Point:  Bluffing my sister-in-law and having her fold the first hand she ever played in a poker game for play money.

High Point:  Milking my brother-in-law for a shit load of his chips when I had a slightly worse hand than he did that turned massively better than his after 90% of the money went in.

Low Point:  The oblique strain I suffered at the bowling alley, but not actually in the act of bowling.

High Point:  Keeping all of my devices completely charged throughout the entirety of the storm.

Low Point:  Getting yelled at for working on this blog post when we’re apparently all sitting down to dinner.

High Point:  It smells awesome.  Gotta go.