I Live! (Yeah…That Diehard Guy is a Lousy Role Model.)
I was a little drunk the other night after a Vice party for the new VBS Documentary about N.Korea. Long story short, I had climbed up a fire escape in Soho and was running around the rooftops. Then a block full of cop cars showed up, so I split down the fire escape behind the building to try and evade (ie: ditch my pockets full of drugs).
Once I was at the bottom, I realized it was a dead end. I looked around and say what might be another way out, so I went back up a few flights. I saw that if I jumped from a higher launch pad, I could make the jump to another fire escape and climb away from there. Brilliant.
So I got to the spot, climbed onto the guard rail and jumped to the destinaton, the 10 feet or so across and 10 feet down to the other fire escape. I think. I dont remember landing, but when I stood up, I was covered in blood and nothing I was seeing looked familiar, I couldnt figure out where I had jumped from.
As it turns out, I ended up landing on a platform that was two flights below me, clipping the guard rail on my way down. The guard rail had security rods with the kinds of tip you would find on a fireplace poker, and they ripped my hand pretty much in half, and split my shin up pretty good.
People started opening their windows and screaming at me, so I realized things are just gonna get worse if I got caught down there, so I used my shredded hand to help me climb back to the first fire escape, covering everything I touched in blood.
I’ll bullet point the rest of the story.
*Hiding from the cops under scaffolding, being so out of my mind that I was drawing things in blood on some woman’s window. (I wasnt drawing anything too scary, just a bunch of boobs and dicks, if I remember right. It was just really funny to me to be drawing boobs an dicks in blood on the outside of someone’s penthouse window.)
*The cops telling me to “Get down the same way fucking you got up!” with little concern to the fact that I was losing a shit load of blood. And that might impact my agility. (Fun Fact: It didnt.)
*Taking pictures with my left hand while my right hand shot blood all over the EMT, watching the cops lose their shit laughing while the EMT kept calling me an asshole for taking pictures and aggrivating the guy who is trying to save my hand from having to be amputated.
*Spending 22 hours in the emergency room.
*Spending two days on Percocets and debating if I ever wanted to leave. (My hospital bed had Adult Swim and again allow me to mention, unlimited Percocets.)
*Getting home, with my take home Percocets.
This is the kind of drunk we were. (Assholes.)
These good looking kids have been helping me live my new life as an invalid.
That’s my hand covered with blood and a cop car behind it.
The cops chuckle as I get called an asshole.
My response was something along the lines of “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s MY hand, man. Taking pictures aint gonna make it any more fucked up.”
He smiled and then put a thumb into my hand meat. I was out of film anyhow.
Could always be worse. I got lucky as fuck. I could have been dead. Scary shit.
Jacque picked me up from the hospital and dragged my sorry ass back to the reservation.
She’s a fuckin angel.
I’m home. I’m safe. I’m high as fuck. I’m wearing a full body tiger suit from Tokyo. It’s comfy.
If you want to send your get well wishes, go for it.
-Zipper
ps. relax… I’m gonna live forever.
pps. (no more fire escapes.)
8 comments May 25th, 2008
