The next existential comedy from David O'Russell?

I wish.

That would be much funnier than anything you will find here. Nope, all I've got here is reality, my friends. Cold, stark reality and some moderately gross details. However, if you're really lucky, maybe I'll throw in a joke or limerick or something (but I wouldn't count on it).

Okay, here we go...

The marathon was angry that day, that much I know. The streets were pounding upwards against the bottoms of my feet as I glided gently above. I don't know why the path decided to take its asphalty rage out on my feet, but I do know the result. Two toe nails that belong in a Crayola box, not at the end of my piggies.

The smaller one I am ignoring. On my left foot the adolescent older brother of the cute little pinky toe is damaged beyond repair, but nobody pays any attention to the middle child. That nail will just have to fall off on its own. No, that toe is not the one that has filled my heart with sorrow; it is the demise of Generalissimo Big Toe, the captain of my right foot.

I removed my shoes and socks after the 26.2 miles of pounding to find that either my toe had been holding its breath the whole run (which I find unlikely for obvious reasons (there's no way my toe could hold its breath for four hours)) or I had a blood blister under the nail.

It ended up being the blood blister thing.

The pain didn't seem too bad at first, but that was just because everything south of the border was inflamed. It wasn't until the pain receded from the rest of my lower extremities that I noticed my big toe was still throbbing. Shoes were not an option...I am the last guy left wearing sandals in October.

I managed to ignore it for 2 days but the possibility of not being able to run for weeks because of a toe was beginning to creep into my mind. I decided that it was either the nail or me, and when faced with this decision I always go with "nail." And so the nail has been impaled.

How, you ask?

The Wife took up a straightened paper clip and held it to a flame. Once the paper clip began to glow she thrust it into the offending nail like a hot knife into butter (or, alternately, like a hot paper clip into nail. Turns out they both melt pretty easily).

Note: I am leaving out the part where she had to try five times to get the hole deep enough and that when she did I yelped like a little girl. I don't think that's relevant to the story. Anyway, here comes the part where stuff oozes.

Once the nail was lanced blood and goo spurted like a geyser, coating the walls (I exaggerate...but there was blood and goo!).

Plunging my foot into water, the toe was drained by squeezing out little fountains of red. This continued until the color of my right big toes matched my left. Victory! The blood blister had been vanquished and the pressure relieved. I was once again lord of my foot and wielded absolute power over my toes.

So allow me to put forth a warning to all future blood blisters:

Should you attempt to infiltrate any part of my general toe region at any point in the future, you will be impaled a deadly combination of hot paper clip and extreme prejudice.

Huzzah!!!!!