Dear Crutches:

You are an evil spawn from hell....a medieval torture device invented by a sick individual. I mistakenly thought that our previous meeting three years ago would be our last. I again was mistaken when I thought that packing you away deep under the stairs, would make the memories of our relationship disappear. Alas, I was wrong....very wrong. The pain you once created has again become my reality. My arm pits and ribs are bruised, my hands are swollen. As if that wasn't enough you tipped over and smacked me in the head! The grand paradox is that you are the only one that can help me get from here to there, and there to here. You are my only source of support. What cruel irony!

All my best (errr.....drop dead),


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