I call JC and bail out of our scheduled round of golf. My back is spasming and my neck makes strange crunching noises when I move my head.
My chiropractor Dr. Bobby's office isn't open on Sunday. Crap. I could go to the Bayview emergency room, but I'm afraid that my cover will be blown when the doctors check me out. I can't pass for a non-superhuman under close inspection. For one, you have to use one huge-ass needle to even puncture my skin to draw blood. I should ask Wombat if he can refer me to somebody.
Man, I hurt. I end up taking a bunch of Aleve and soaking my bruised body in a tub full of ice. Then it's time for wine, nachos, and a screening of the 1984 Matthew Modine/Nicolas Cage flick Birdy (which has one of the best endings in cinema). Velvet Marauder says check it out. Thank you, Netflix.