The Apocalypse & Me: Busted is ushering in the end times.

"Sexy d.a.vid Jump" by photographer Sinpu Tokyo

So the Fates have conspired together, forcing me to cobble together another post. I'm all gimped-out with my foot elevated, rested on pillows like the little princess that it is. Crutches waiting for the call to action. I hurt this foot by doing something real brave and practical, a task representative of pure, unadulterated common sense. Hypothetically, the same injury could have been sustained by sliding on my ass down the handrail at the entrance to the Columbus Circle/Time Warner Center subway station. Quite possibly the resulting fracture would be very similar had I reached a velocity that far surpassed my expectations and the positioning of my dismount focused all my substantial mass at a singular point of impact, which very well could have been my left heel colliding into the concrete step. But let's not deal with "what ifs" and "might have beens." Let's for once address the factual realities with which we are reluctant to engage, to encounter honestly. The truth of the matter is d.a.vid is a Great and Good Man, a marvelous Hero, angelic and empathetic. Whatever he does is done for the Good of Humanity, so do not brazenly question his actions. Doing so will only shrivel your testes and flatten your ovies.

And like Ushers says - gotta do it for the ladies and I gotta keep it hood. (I really, really like Love In This Club. It's exceptionally dumb, but I close my eyes and sway. I mean - let's be honest - make love? "Making love" is not something done in clubs. Hook-ups? Yes. Fucking? Yes. Slipping roofies? Yes. Making love. No, no, no. LISTEN RIGHT HURR.)

As I hobbled along the subterranean pathways, laughing with my friends as they laughed at me, I spotted a three foot piece of rigid conduit that some union construction worker had fortuitously left behind for this very occasion. And I claimed it as my walking stick. Cane in hand, across the hard floor I moved with somber dignity.

clank. Heavy, desperate step. clank. Heavy, desperate step.

While switching trains at 42nd St/Time Square, my elaborate production caught the attention of a group of high school age blipsters, standing guard over Hip with their skinny jeans and bold, plastic sunglasses.

"Hey! Clap every time he takes a step!"

clank. Heavy, desperate step. CLAP! clank. Heavy, desperate step. CLAP!

And I tried to give them a good show. Letting them know I was in on the joke, fully participatory. Hell - I was the one telling the joke, feeding them the setup. They just beat me to the punch line. I turned and gave the group a double thumbs up and then step-fell down the stairs to the 7.

I only live four blocks away from my subway stop, and I promise that I attempted to walk it. My roommate even volunteered to carry me on her back. Shaking laughter prevented us from an earnest effort, and she's way too cute and petite to be my sherpa. So I had to hire one of those ubiquitous Town Cars and pay $6 plus tip to get home.

I didn't go to the doctor. Then I did. Work made me. "I don't mean to be cruel. But what can you do on crutches as a floor manager?" I went to the ER. They took an x-ray. They said it wasn't fractured. Then they said it was. I went back for a follow-up this week. Then they said they weren't sure. As the doctor was sending me on my way, I asked if he wanted to examine the foot itself. Perhaps remove the shoe, socks, and elastic bandage? He said no.

After all this, I am treating this injury exactly as I would have if I'd never gone to the doctor at all. I even provided my own crutches. (Thank you Free Stuff section on craigslist and mobile roommate.) But now I get to pay. Pay without health insurance.

I wish I were a kept man.

In honor of my busted state, I am posting this d-d-d-dope video of Tim Fite, a Brooklyn-based rapper/alt-country singer. He's just a little busted too. When I saw him perform at Joe's Pub in January, I thought he might be a mite mentally-handicapped. His on-stage movements are somewhat spastic with a lot of stop-and-go, like someone's constantly hitting rewind and fast-forward. (Watch the video. You'll understand.) He gave everyone a vision exam and read us a self-penned picture story with a tapeworm as its protagonist. He also has this reverse rat tale growing at the front of his hairline. Special needs or not, he's excellent and raps about consumerism, racism, war, poverty, other rappers, and dicks. Smart lyrics and memorable hooks.