Don't Mind If I Do
Chapter One
Desperate Times Demand Desperate Measures
My life was a train wreck.
I had torn the rotator cuffs in my shoulders. This was a result of years
of rehearsing for movies like Zorro, the Gay Blade, where twelve hours of
fencing lessons one day, followed by twelve hours of bullwhip practice the
next, had caused my shoulders to be stuck in the ten o'clock and two
o'clock positions, in a sort of hideous, contorted version of Al Jolson in
Mammy.
To make matters worse, I had blown out my knee in the Broadway musical
Chicago when the young actress playing the dummy to my ventriloquist
became too energetic and bounced so hard on my knee that I felt my right
joint explode on the spot. The doctor later confirmed that part of the
cartilage had shredded, making it temporarily impossible for me to walk.
So much for the old razzle-dazzle. Even worse, not long afterward, in a
bad parody of Errol Flynn in Captain Blood, I had broken four ribs jumping
aboard a friend's yacht. Plus, there was the little matter of my balance
problem ...
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