PolkOut.com about to pass out!

Blood...lost...feeling...woozy...

Update: Haha!  Done.  I'm what they call a heavy-handed 'artist', I pivot off the bottom edge of my hand, so this bandage has really just been a pain the ass.  I should add some things I forgot to mention below: In case it wasn't obvious, riding the subway to Brooklyn, holding your profusely bleeding hand in a paper towel while passengers stare at you like you're one of the standard crazy folk feels, not surprisingly, like a new low.  Also, my pants were falling down because it was my belt that led to this catastrophe. 

I chatted with a med student while getting sewn up, mostly about Poland and prescription drug abuse (specifically, which prescription drugs to abuse).  And the doctor, or PA, or whatever, really did say that.  The woman had a wonderful sense of humor.  All in all, the night was a freakin' weird.  Also, though Kendrick may contradict me here, I did not cry like "a little bitch" and almost pass out when they were sewing me up.  I didn't even feel it after they gave me a shot of their happy juice.

This is a bit unorthodox as PolkOuts go, an update with no cartoon, but I assure you that there'll probably be a cartoon up tomorrow.  In fact it's very likely.

But here's the deal, Thursday night I f!cked up my hand.  My drawing hand, you see.  I was going about my usual stabbing routine when the knife I was using folded on me--it was one of those goddamn foldy knives, but not one that locks in place.  So I sliced my pinky open, saw the bone and everything, started freaking the hell out.  Kendrick started laughing his ass off, mostly because he's a douchebag, so I got pissed and eventually yelled at him enough that he got an RA.

The RA came, offered me two options: the first, to call student health services and get a van or something, the second, to call an ambulance.  Seeing as I wasn't going to die, and oddly enough, this huge freakin' gash didn't hurt too bad, I told her I'd wait for a van.  Five minutes later she tells me they've got no vans and they have to call an ambulance.  Whatever.  So the ambulance came, the paramedic asked to see my wound, she rolled her eyes and told me, with a heavy sigh, to, "get in the f!cking truck."

We got to the emergency room of Beth Israel, which was a good two blocks away, where I decided to call my mom.  It should be noted that I wanted to call her earlier, but the other paramedic gave me sh!t for being a man and wanting to call my mom for advice--she's a freakin' MD, I think her opinion here would be of some value, asshole--so she calls me an idiot and tells me to haul ass to Brooklyn, where I could be in and out of her hospital (she wasn't working that night, but her coworkers were there) in ten minutes, as opposed to the normal five hour wait of hospitals 'round these parts.

So Kendrick, another RA, and I stroll out of the ER, finger now wrapped in a bandage, thanks paramedics, and hop onto a subway car.  Let me tell you, subway to Brooklyn at 11 o'clock at night, holding your bleeding hand, not cool.

But on the upside, when we got to the hospital we were greeted by one of the hottest PAs ever.  I got my four or five or however many stitches, they were nice enough to toss me a free ginger ale--though it was of the 4 oz variety...the bastards--and a handful of pills.  Nothing with any street value though. 

So what's this have to do with the update?  I can't draw all that good.  My pinky's in a bandage, so it makes my movements extra-spazzy (like that was possible, right?) so drawing is slow as hell.  I've drawn about half the comic so far and I'll finish it tomorrow.  Hopefully.

Next update will be less late, I'm getting my stitches out Friday.

--End Transmission--