Human-eating R.I. sidewalks take Shane as victim

Since its my belief the consumption of Rock Island tap water is actually considered a form of torture in many Western cultures, I decided my best bet would be to take a break and head over to the gas station. For had I not set out for the gas station on foot, I wouldn't have seen the nearby house full of innocent children and wide-eyed newborn kitties. Sure, I may have broken a foot in the process, but that's a small price to pay for knowing that a family of children and kittens can bear witness to another sunrise thanks to me. All I know is this: I was walking, and then I wasn't walking. My legs tied up like a pretzel and I went down HARD, rolling my left foot in ways that feet don't particularly go. "Oww, I might have hurt my foot a little," which immediately progressed to, "OWW! OKAY, I DEFINITELY HURT MY FOOT," "OMG-A-MILLION-KNIVES-ARE-PIERCING-MY-FOOT," and, finally, "PAIN LIKE THIS HAS NEVER BEEN FELT BY HUMAN FLESH. MY FOOT MUST BE SEVERED AND DANGLING BY A MERE TENDON." One emergency room visit + an orthopedic follow-up and I still as of press time don't know if it's broken piercing. And I'm now confined to crutches and something inexplicably called a "walking boot" despite my inability to walk anywhere or boot anything. My poor foot is swelled up like a pumpkin -- if pumpkins came in a gross shade of purple. I'd never used them before, but they seem pretty simple -- crutch, hop, crutch, hop, right? Step with the good foot first? Happily I've since figured out the mechanics of it all and can ascend and descend the stairs without pain -- not that it matters because you forget all about the foot pain when you've got two crutches digging permanent canyons into your armpits. But my foot will mend, and as my mom pointed out when I called her at my lowest for love and support,"You know, other people have it WAY worse!