I slept funny last night.

Not 38-year-old-in-drowsy-bear-jammies funny or sex-dreams-involving-Ann-Coulter funny, but I did something not quite right involving my pillow and my neck (and apparently my full body weight and the crushing hands of a killer-for-hire named Diablo) and now I can barely turn my head.

And I’m stupid enough that I did back and shoulders today in the gym. So my neck pain hurts even worse. Which means Ann Coulter probably gets the last throaty, man-voiced laugh here.

Fortunately, I wore one of my new used T-shirts* at the gym today. And since I bought it at a used clothing store, I never got to try it on. And since I’m a big homo, I bought it a size too small. And since I cut off the sleeves (see “big homo,” previous sentence) there’s no extra fabric weight at the top of the shirt to hold it down when the too-small torso part of the shirt rides up my tummy and my chest.

So while the gravity-defying shoulder part of my shirt looks like it came from a Dynasty aerobics video or a Star Trek wardrobe sale, it also effectively hides the spasm that makes my right shoulder sit a little higher than my left.

*The only-two-workout-shirts guy at my gym wore his TV-station-logo shirt today. So even though my shirt looked like I stole it off a hungry six-year-old, I was able to smirk with absolute superiority over the fact that I was prancing around working out in something new (and used! at the same time! how cosmic!).