Knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door.

I almost killed myself twice yesterday.

First time, I was making lunch. Pot goes under the tab, water fills the pot, pot goes on the stove, stove is lit. Sounds good and safe, right?

Wrong.

Before I go any further, I need to point something out. I'm a little (that's the understatement of the week) anal. If you prefer, anal retentive. If you wish, son-of-a-bitch-with-a-stick-up-his-ass. Check out what Freud says about this:

Freud believed that conflicts with parents and delays during toilet training can cause a person to become fixated on anal control, which later manifests itself as a compulsive concern with order and cleanliness.

You see, when I was little, my mother wanted me to stand but my father insisted that I sit. I didn't know what to do so I pulled a half and half. I squated. I know, should've squated earlier. Then I won't be this anal today. It's all my fault.

So, to sum it up, I'm anal. Now let's get back to our story.

So the pot is on the stove, and I noticed that there are oil stains and spices all around it. Being the son-of-a-bitch-with-a-stick-up-his-ass that I am, I couldn't just leave it there. I couldn't even wait to clean it. I HAD TO clean it right there and then. So I took a napkin, and I wipe.

Do you know how easily can a napkin catch fire? Very easy. Too easy, in fact, to be child safe. Children should not be allowed to use napkins. They are dangerous. Do you also know how quickly can said fire spread on said napkin, when said napkin is covered in oil and spices? Yeah, me neither.

So my napkin caught fire. What did I do? I tried to blow it off. In my defense, I have no idea napkins are so flammable. And all these happened in like 2 seconds top. So I blow and I blow, and the flame got bigger and bigger. In a split second, I'm holding a flame, Human Torch from Fantastic 4-style. Except I wasn't wearing any underwear.

So long story short, I managed to burn myself a little before throwing said flaming napkin (I'm not implying that he's gay. He might be, seeing how he's so flimsy and all) in the sink and turn on the tab. The end.

Second time, I was making dinner. Mushrooms taken out of the fridge, mushroom goes on the chopping block, this guy grabs a (very sharp) knife, mushrooms being sliced. Simple enough, right?

Again, wrong.

So I was slicing the mushrooms, and all of a sudden, blood is e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e. On the mushrooms, the knife, the chopping block, the counter, everywhere. And the tip of my left middle finger was dangling by a vein, barely hanging onto the rest of the finger. Okay, that's the OVERSTATEMENT of the century. But I did cut my finger. Deep.

But this guy didn't freak out. Bloody finger goes under the tab, running water rinses the blood. And I saw this piece of skin that almost completely got sliced off. Almost, but not quite. So what did I do?

I

started

peeling.

Ladies and gentlemen, never do that. Just don't.

Long story short, I ended up losing half a gallon of blood, passed out in the kitchen, and wake up with a huge band-aid on my finger. Okay, that's the OVERSTATEMENT of the century, vol.2. But it did hurt like a mother fucking son of a bitchy bastard.

Perhaps I can't cook.