My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

Probably the gayest thing that’s ever happened to me happened to me last Tuesday in San Francisco. Maaannn was it gay. (gay in the sense it was derogatory to my manhood, not that I had a gay experience with a man)

Take a look, I got hit in the ear with a baguette so hard my ear ripped open. Day old and hard as hell. I’ll have a scar for life from bread. This is humiliating.

Honest to god this happened. Sean MacDonald, the perpetrator, hit me with the French food. We had previously been sword fighting (not gay). The baguettes were our swords (not gay).

Having parried MacDonald into a group of recycling bins, I believed victory was mine. I turned to receive my accolades from Matt Conway when MacDonald chucked his crusty bread at my head. Mr. Conway was the witness. The loaf made contact with my left ear, causing an exploding sound. My ear had exploded.

I thought the baguette had stabbed my brain. Stunned, I fell back in Conway’s arms. He held me and said, “Hang in there, buddy, we won’t leave you behind,” but he muttered under his breath I was soft as a grape, then dropped my head on the sidewalk.

Not receiving the attention I hungered for, I got to my feet and cursed MacDonald and Conway in a way that would be expected to cause anger, then left them and approached a young couple out for an evening on the town. “I’ve just been hit by a baguette by that man over there, can you call the police and report an assualt? And ask for an ambulance?”

By now the blood coming from the wound was significant, running down my ear lobe and dripping in my shirt pocket. The shirt pocket was slowly bulging out. Probably a pint in it already. If I didn’t lean forward and let it run out, the doctors would be able to re-administer it to me in the ICU ward.

“OH MY GOD!” the woman screamed, as she reached in her purse for her cell and a Kleenex or two.

It was at this point the sourdough rolls started to rain down on us like a hail storm with a yeast infection. MacDonald and Conway were crouched behind the garbage cans with the day old bread, an ammo dump of french and sourdough rolls at their feet. Suddenly Conway stood – partially shielded by the big plastic container on wheels – and threw a speedball across the street, catching the gentleman in the ball sack. He curdled and staggered backwards into a shop window, smashing it with an amazing effect. Alarms were triggered. His screams drowned mine out.

The woman ran to the man who had fallen through the window, asking if he was okay as she put a pair of pumps from the window display in her purse.

At this point MacDonald, Conway and I all ran for our separate cars and escaped. It is possible, in the excitement, I didn’t get this story exactly right, but it is how I remembered it to the best of my ability. After the whack I took with the baguette, I feel like a lot of things took on a delusional quality. Both Mr. Conway and Mr. MacDonald are invited to recount in their own words their understanding of the events on the night of Tuesday, August 1st, 2006.

Peace be upon you.