First, a warning: I'm going to put the pictures at the end of this post. They are gross. If you have a weak stomach, don't scroll down to them. Now, onto the tale of Boo's misadventures this week.
You may recall recent mention of my younger brother, Boo in a little post called That's Not a Spider Bite. If you missed it, you should go back and read it now, not only is it hilarious, but without it you cannot truly understand the humor of this tale.
Some things you should know about my little brother: His name is Boo. That is not a pseudonym for this blog, it is the name my mom started calling him when she brought him home from the hospital, a name that the rest of his have always called him. He is 22 years old. Some of his friends have finally switched back to calling him by his "real" first name, but to me he will always to be Boo (Uncle Boo to Punky). He is a manager/bartender at the bar that I cocktail waitressed at many summers throughout undergrad and law school; the bar where MacGyver proposed. He has atrocious luck. We all do. All us "Timothy's" are mishap prone. For whatever reason. When I was Boo's age, I went through a really bad streak of horrible luck. Apparently, it is now his turn.
Every time he calls, there is some new tale of woe. And this isn't just complaining about life. This kid has real problems (again, see That's Not a Spider Bite). Sometimes, I'm horrified and worried about him. Other times, I can't help but laugh.
He has been suffering some serious financial troubles the last couple months, really, really stressful stuff that he has been busting his butt to fix and make right. Finally, last week, it reached a resolution. We all heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Two days later, I got a picture message from him on my phone. The picture is in the post below.
"Holy feaking heck," (or words to that effect), I said when I called him. What the heck did you do? Oh, wait. No. He called me first. The picture message hadn't loaded yet. "What are you up to?" I ask.
"Oh, I'm at the hospital." This is where my heart stopped for a minute. He sounded fine. Who was hurt? Mom? Dad? Who?
But, I managed to remain calm and ask "Why?"
"I sort of burned my hand."
"What? Are you ok? How did that happen?"
There was enough time for him to assure me that he was ok, minus the fact that he was now going to be facing massive medical bills when he had just gotten out from under the previously mentioned financial trouble, when all hell broke loose on my end. I told him I'd call him right back, but when I did, he didn't answer. THEN the picture message came through. It's in the post below. Holy effing bovine. Ouch.
I texted him to ask how in the world he did that (because, look at the picture, he can obviously text back). But, no response. I'm pretty sure he was in with the docs at that point.
I then did the obvious thing, and forwarded the picture to half the people I knew, and proceeded to make fun of Boo. I told him I was going to start a weekly piece on my blog called What's Wrong with Boo Now?
Later, I got a hold of my mom who told me that he had tripped over a chair while walking around a campfire and landed with his hand deep in the center of the fire. He actually had to go to two different hospitals to have it treated. And the vicodin they gave him made him deathly ill. And he went back to work the next day. Who wouldn't want to bartend with a burned and mangled hand?
But don't worry, he's duly thankful it's not paralyzed. Haha.