Done Broke My Hand

I done broke my word hand Thursday night.  Basically I was walking down the street and there was this gorgeous woman.  Stunning but she seemed to be in distress.  A gang of street thugs were accosting her so I did the right thing - I crossed the street against the light and went into another bar.  

Later that evening though, while taking the water taxi for some reason that may have made sense at the time, it was my turn to be assaulted.  Five or six fucking dolphins leapt from the water on to the deck of the boat.  The beasts were so near I could smell the tuna on their breath.  Scanning the boat, I ascertained that my best option for improvised weaponry would be the inflatable vest to my right.  As I was about to jam the vest down the throat of the dolphin I assumed to be the leader, one of the minions fucking flipper smacked me.  I slid backwards across the deck and arose like an angered sea god from pagan times.  Charging the fish, I double foot kicked the main one a la Eric Cantona while simltaneously throwing the life vest into the maw of one of the others.  After taking a quick bouce to my feet, I pulled the rip cord to self inflate the vest upon which the other one was choking.  He exploded and the concussion cast his compatriots careering into the cay.  

Pretty exciting, huh?

Oh - right - the hand.  While writing the post-action report at the station house (and yes, my dolphin extermination campaign has a station house) I dropped a pencil on the floor and my secretary Janine, while sweet despite the caustic NY accent, rolled over my pinky with a handtruck.