That Time I was Smote by God

On a blustery New York City morning, I executed my first face plant.

The sun had just peeked out after a torrential rain and began to form those bands of brilliant, glorious Jesus Rays streaming through the clouds.



Next thing I knew, I lay prostrated before a church in that special kind of pain that only landing square on one’s schnozz can bring, surrounded by scattered partyware glistening in the sun like a golden calf.



But I probably deserved it… CONTINUE READING