Hmm, cauliflower, eh? That's the worst smell in the world! Right this moment, my hand smells of Bactine. You see, I made a faux pas.
Running along, trying to ignore the many little voices urging me to walk, I decided to speed up in an attempt to pass a gas station before the little red Audi pulled away from it and into my path. At just that exact same moment, a crack in the notorious Vancouver sidewalk chose to yawn, opening a great chasm before me complete with cliffs on either side of the abyss. Needless to say, the now chasmic (is that even a word‽) crack was too much for me and I careened forward with great momentum.
All one hundred and seventeen people at the gas station saw me grate the sidewalk with my skin and rushed over to exclaim the ever-helpful, "Are you alright?" For christ's sake stop looking at me! Get outta here! Forget you ever saw me and the bleeding stumps that are my limbs! I hoisted myself up and got right back on trucking. Strangely, the rest of the run felt much better, even with the stream of blood coursing down my leg from what used to be my knee.
Ok, I'm exagerating. The story is true in its entirety but my wounds are not fatal. I did run dripping blood, and I do look damn rugged (if I say so myself), but really the worst of it is a nickel-sized pus-oozing hole on my left palm. It's gross. It's so gross even I won't post a picture.