It started with a phone call and ended in bloodshed.

Alright, so that's an extremely exaggerated title. But it does make what I'm about to tell you seam like it happened to a super badass. When, in reality, it happened to a clumsy turd with a meatball for a face.

4:00 a.m. I woke up to my cell phone ringing.

This is that moment where it could have gone either way.

Scenario I
Half-awake, I reached out and clasped at the phone like a gorilla smashing it's own poop. I answered, "Hello?"

"Hey Michael! This is Hannah Montana calling to remind you that you have Girl Scouts today! So be a superstar and get your things together!"

That could have only been Louie. While I appreciated the humor, I cursed him aloud and fell back to sleep for a couple of more hours before work.

Scenario II
Half-awake, I reached out and clasped at the phone like a gorilla smashing it's own poop. Too late. No one there. And worse yet, no message left.

It was a 515 area code (i.e. the wonderful world of Des Moines, IA). I knew that anyone there would be very reluctant to call me that early unless they had a death wish or there was something seriously wrong. So that obsessive, over-analyzing brain of mine jumped into a hyper drive death spin where all I could think about was my sister and brother-in-law tied up in the living room while my 2 year old niece, unbeknownst to the serial killer, found Becky's phone, hit speed dial, and frantically tried to reach her Uncle Mike to save the day. After enough investigation to prove this wasn't the case, I lay wide awake...at 4 in the morning...with nothing to do but wait for work.

Ah! I know! I'll go for a jog. Moreover, I'll go for a jog OUTSIDE! I normally run on the treadmill after work because it's too hot to be outside. But now I'm up early enough to frolic in the cool weather as the sun comes up. And what a nice run it was. The Fleet Foxes kept me company as I traversed the Yakima Valley high desert, and then it was time to return to the hotel. Now another choice.

I'll spare you the "Scenarios" this time. I chose to cut through the front "lawn" of the hotel. "Lawn" is in quotes because what this hotel passes for a "lawn" is a small hill of rubble, glass, dirt, and debris. I'm not criticizing my fine accommodations and temporary living arrangement as much as I am trying to paint a picture of what a stupid decision this was. I was cruising my Ipod for a good song to wrap up my jog as I came down the hill when my right foot teetered on a rock, causing my ankle to roll. Using what I thought were Ninja-esque reflexes at the time, I released my weight and fell into the roll to prevent a break. In doing so, I also chose to protect my Ipod rather than any other part of my body. My face, which is apparently the selfless guardian of my Ipod, crashed to a rock and slid through the pebbles until I came to a rest.

Long story short...Sorry. I guess I should have told you there was a short version at the beginning of the story...I am borderline retarded and now I have the facial tissue to prove it.

Usually, more of my eyeball is showing

I'm talking to my sister here. They are all alive.

See what happens when I shave my beard!?