It's like Bridget Jones' Diary, but with a super-powered vigilante.

February 08, 2005

Ready to rawk

I’m starting to feel better. Dr. Naghib gave me a shot of “hypersteroid” in my shoulder and ever since then I’ve felt great. A little sore, but I’ve got full mobility now.

Briefly, here’s the story of me getting the hypersteroid shot:

I should stress first off that I’m not afraid of needles generally. I just need to say that. I admit to a little apprehension as I ease myself into Dr. Naghib’s high-tech dentist chair. My arms fit in contoured arm rests, my feet in stirrups, my head is cradled. Bright lights shine overhead. Dr. Naghib straps my arm down. I ask him if this is normal, strapping people down like this for a shot and he says, just for people with paradermis like you and then he turns around with a fucking power drill. With a big elephant needle on the end. I’m sure I swear at that point, and Dr. Naghib assures me that despite it’s appearance, the hypodrill is relatively painless and is the best way of injecting the hypersteroid and I say you’re just making up all these words, dude, you’re taking normal words and adding hyper or para to them and he’s coming closer with this huge needle drill and saying calm down, Mr. Marauder, relax, and then the drill is spinning and whining and I feel it boring into my back, tunneling through my flesh and I try not to scream try not to scream and then it’s over. Oh. Oh, okay. Hey that wasn’t that big of a deal. Stung a little, but, whatever. Hey, Doctor, my shoulder’s feeling better already. Okay. Okay, thanks.

That’s my little story.

I jump around in my gym, testing out the mobility of the shoulder. Man, I’m creaky. I feel out of shape; it’s been like a week since I went out on patrol. I’m not one of those grim, driven heroes like that poseur Night Hunter. If I get hurt and I need to take some time off, I take some time off. Hey, I have to take care of The Machine, baby, because The Machine takes care of me. (see post My Gym 8/04)

After a while the old juices are flowing and I’m hopping around the garage like a jackrabbit. I jump rope for a while, then go to work on the LMDs, my high-tech punching bags that reward precision and power by saying “Khaaan!” and “You’re the man now, dog!” when I strike the right spot. I end my workout with some nunchaku work. I’ve been thinking about adding Marauder-chucks to my crimefighting arsenal but I think I need to practice some more.

I think I’m ready to hit the mean streets of Evergreen City again.

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