An entire blog post about my neck and its muscles

My neck. Hurts.

Let's talk about my neck. Definitely not a top-ten body part. Kind of dumb-looking, difficult to shave. Pretty unspectacular. Frankly, I wouldn't miss it much, and I don't care if it knows that. No love lost.

Then last Wednesday. I'm at home, working on finals essays. I want to crack my neck. This is something I do all the time. This is common. I really had no idea my neck objected. But here it is, like the childish, backhanded rat that it is: it sits silently, twisting at my command until, with no warning, it springs its malicious plot, deliberately pulling itself just to spite me. Fucker, it hurt. I was pretty sure I was dying. Don't mind telling you I cried out for mommy as I hit the floor, writhing like Sidney Crosby. The clever little fucker. I couldn't even turn my head right without my neck biting me spitefully. Blindsided like Pearl Harbor (if you believe what you hear in school (Ron Paul for president)).

So now, over a week later, it still gives me shit. At least, often enough to blog about. Freaking ridiculous. Once in a while I turn my head and it pokes at me like a child. A child that sucks.

I have had it up to here. All suggestions for a solution welcome. I've considered coddling it with ice or pressure but we don't negotiate with terrorists.

God bless!

Love,

Steve