A Cautionary Tale of How I Became A Statistic

I will not sit here and lecture you on what to do and what not to do. Everyone is their own unique individual with a multitude of decisions to make and must deal with the consequences, both positive or negative in the aftermath. However, I will definitely sit here and tell you, I am a complete dumbass. Use my story as a factor when you make your own decisions.

With every new trend that comes along and captures what little attention spans we have left over from dog videos, dank memes, and Netflix binges, there is a pattern. Just as the latest craze is about to peak the ugly truth starts to emerge. Somehow, someway, intentional or not, this new fun amazing spectacular thing will hurt you. People live to tell you how you will get hurt in life. Your sweet little old grandma? She has strived and survived her whole damn life, through wars and genocide, through depressions in the economy, travelled countless miles, all strictly to tell you how this silly new fad that’s happening will cripple or maim you. It’s her second favorite thing to do right behind passively aggressively criticizing you for still being single during the holiday get togethers. The media, oooh the local news LOVES to prey upon your fears and will bombard you at every turn with the threats that these exciting and (Depending on how old you are) scary trends, present to each of us.

We hear how dangerous Pokemon Go is, how flammable your hoverboard is, how deliciously tasty Tide pods are. We hear it… but do we listen? NO. FUCK NO. Because we are invincible. We are smarter, faster, bigger, better than any of those losers on the news… than any of those statistics you hear “Hospital ER reports 161 percent spike in visits involving electric scooters.”

I am sad to report I was not better. I was not smarter or faster. I am not invincible. I am the most vincible piece of shit walking right now.  I am that douche who wrecked on an electric scooter and broke his collarbone.  (You can listen/watch to the whole story here on YouTube -> PMS 2.0 Ep 15)

1:47:30 Mark

For the past few weeks I’ve lost the full use of my perfectly crafted and finely tuned, powerful right arm because of a momentary lapse of judgement where I thought I could drink a few beers, hop on a 2 wheeled chariot of death, and rip up the sidewalks like Shaun White. WRONG, SO WRONG. I used to sit on the internet laughing hysterically, I mean I would laugh and laugh and laugh. Not just a good chuckle, a deep belly laugh, one where your face would hurt at the end. Me in all my glory, with tears down my face, watching old people falling off of these various electric mutilation machines and breaking their shit.


Now, I am one of them. I am a statistic in a news report used to scare you from simply living your life as you choose. I’m the asshole your grandma tells you about. Mike Tyson! The baddest man on the planet is a victim. What in the world made me think I could tempt fate and escape unharmed if Mike Fucking Tyson couldn’t overcome it.


One man, Carlos Sanchez-Martin, died on a Lime scooter after an SUV struck him in Washington, DC, dragging him for over a dozen yards and pinning him under the vehicle, according to the Washington Post. DIED. DEAD. DECEASED. NOT COMING BACK! YIKES!

This was a hard, but important lesson to learn for myself. Self awareness is a fickle monster, a blessing and a curse. It must be balanced carefully, too far one way and you’re an anxiety ridden maniac, paralyzed by paranoia and fear. Too far the other and you’re a blissfully ignorant douche destroying the years of carefully calculated, meticulous development on your perfect bone structure because you thought the coordination and grace that was so casually brandished in your teens would magically reappear in your 30s after years of atrophy.

I hold no ill will towards these scooters or anyone who uses them. I’m not even saying don’t use them. All I can say is when faced with the decision, that you have a little self-awareness. If you’ve been neglecting the gym and the most physical activity you’ve done in the past few years is walk to the bar to pummel your liver into submission… If you’re just as likely to pull a hamstring getting off the couch between the 3rd and 4th quarter as a guy playing in the actual game… If you’re breathing heavy after taking the garbage out to the curb… If you’re the type to take an elevator one floor up or down… If you’re the type of person who has wrecked every single vehicle they’ve ever owned, neglects the effects of guzzling beers all day, quits their job at a popular and successful internet company that provided them with a very affordable and reliable health insurance plan, and thinks they can jump on an electric vehicle on a busy street/sidewalk without ever having ridden one before and throttle down weaving in and out like a downhill slalom? Maybe you just call an Uber. Use that self-awareness. Don’t become another statistic.

Here are my X-Rays. Comparing these to some of the ones everyone has sent me on Twitter of their injuries has made me feel a big pathetic loser. I didn’t even break it that cool. Some of you had some wicked displaced bones in their chest that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. 

A broken piece of my clavicle that now just floats in my shoulder. Sweet.
My once perfect clavicle, now fractured like my heart.

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