Don’t pinch me!


I fucked up. Big time.

Right now, I am writing this blog on my Blackberry. I am huddled under my desk trying to get a hold of Patty, our office manager.

Why? You ask?

Well, somehow, I managed to forget the fact that it is St. Patrick’s day. I am at work and I am not wearing green. That means that inevitably, some co-worker, or even stranger, is going to take it upon themselves to pinch me for this.

You probably think this is no big deal, but unfortunately for me, I was born with simple stamen epidermal hernias. To the layman, this means that if you pinch me, I could die.

Normally, I hand out a special flyer at work that the SSEH Association of America provides its members, explaining about the disease and why it’s so important not to pinch its victims. In addition, I’ll normally wear a green shirt that says, “Don’t pinch me, I will die.”

I don’t know what happened this year. I guess I just got complacent.

Let me assure you, this is not a joke. Back in 2003, I spent six weeks in the hospital after a little kid at the San Diego Wild Animal Park grabbed at my leg, trying to get my attention.

Six weeks! From a child!

Just imagine if an adult were able to hold on to a bit of my skin and give it a squeeze!

SSEH is an extremely rare condition that appears in less than 1 in 120,000 adults. It is caused by a fibrillin deficiency in the cellular walls of the sufferer’s muscles. A pinch basically “pops” the cells, flooding the surrounding area with an infusion of excess hemoglobin.

It’s the basic building block of life, but in those quantities, it’s deadly. Like when you drink too much water.

So this is why I am hiding from everybody right now. I think most of my co-workers are aware of my condition, but we’ve had some new hires lately and the time to explain my health situation isn’t when somebody’s coming at me with their thumb and index finger poised to pinch my life away. Especially with all the drinking that goes on this day. If I get out of here alive, I’m running home, right away.

[UPDATE: I finally got a hold of Patty and she was nice enough to send someone over to the Target across the street to get me a green shirt. Feel free to pass this blog on to anyone else, to raise awareness. As bad as it is to suffer this disease, I think it would probably be worse to take someone’s life out of ignorance of their condition. My advice? When in doubt, don’t pinch.]



  1. Here are some bandaids Eric. *gives the Bandaids* Now they have been used but they still have the stickiness on them, however they are *green*. I saved them from last year when I put them on just to be cool on green day.

    Why aren’t you Irish?

  2. Water intoxication? And here I’ve been spending all of my hard-earned money like a sucker on Mad Dog 20/20 when there’s a free way to get drunk. Well, no more, ya hear me? I’m gonna head down to the nearest YMCA and start drinking the pool water. I bet that chlorine really enhances your buzz. Later, losers.

  3. Sorry about that, Eric. I was drunk from potty water. The 2000 Flushes Blue Plus Bleach toilet bowl cleaner made me hallucinate, and I thought I actually was in an 1880’s western saloon. That would explain why I kept spitting in your umbrella stand, shouting for sarsaparillas, and shooting holes in the ceiling with my six shooter. Tarnation, I guess I get a little Yosemite Sam when the water is extra blue like that.

  4. The answer is simple, Eric. Litigation.

    Somehow, an employee A&B arrest and a civil lawsuit for operating an unsafe workplace spurns a company to create a kind of holiday of its own. Tyr it. I bet your coworkers don’t fuck with you next year.

    This year, though, I just wore orange and kept my fingers crossed. My new stun gun works perfectly!

    Happy St. Paddy’s Day, right back atcha! See ya next fall!


  5. That sucks. I mean really. Especially when the forgetting to wear green is thrown in. You should get like a tattoo that’s green, so you don’t have to worry about it anymore, cuz the green will be permanent. And tattoos are sort of worn, so it should count…..=P.

  6. Really! Patty??? Is this what you’ve sunken to? The laziness of naming your “manager” Patty in a blog about St. Patty’s not only sickens me, but it also makes me question the system in general. Only people with simple minds enjoy simple jokes. I do, however, really enjoy the band Simple Minds.

  7. Yes, alcoholism is a depressing disease, Nick. It bums me out too. No, for real, I’m a bum now. I spend my days drinking Thunderbird (or toilet water when I can’t shake any change out of the drug store gumball machines) and typing on this fake computer that I made out of cardboard. You are apparently my latest hallucination. Nice to meet you! Burp!

  8. Hey everyone! I’m back. My departure from the U.S.A. AND technology is still happening, just not for a little while. It’s complicated, and if you doubt me then fuck you!!!

    JK! But not really.

    Eric, where are you? Haven’t heard from you in a while. Did you die? If you are dead, and for whatever reason your bearded ghost can still read your blog and look at Tranny porn, may I console and then ultimately date Lindsay? If you are alive but still dead on the inside, my lady and I are still open to that 5-way with you, Lindsay and Clint Howard.

  9. I’m in too (6-way!), but only if Eric wears the mask from the video and continuously bashes me over the head with his fist “to illustrate a point.”

  10. The Mexican in me wants to join in and make it a “7-layer dip”. His name is Raoul. I will introduce you once he is out (as if he wasn’t already).

  11. If Eric wears the mask, does he count as two people? I need to get the body count right on this one. Star Magazine is paying a pretty penny for the voyeuristic photos I’ve offered. Interesting though, I offered them to some magazine called “Wassup” and they said they had plenty on file already (with pretty much the same “characters”)–they said the photos really put their sales in the toilet. Whatever. All ya’ll are going to be stars!

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