Blah-Blah-Blahg: Food For Nought

I'm trying to find the metaphor for my newly broken toe - which kind of resembles an overstuffed, blue sausage. What am I possibly supposed to learn from a Capture The Flag injury? That's right - I broke my big, right toe while playing a peurile game at a barbecue in Griffith Park. Is the lesson not to drink Korean beer in a red plastic cup so as not to tip off the suspicious park ranger? Or is it never to wear mustard yellow pants - probably constructed in a sweatshop in a land far far away? Perhaps the information I'm supposed to glean from this splendidly-timed corporeal injustice is that my mental state of imbalance has comedically manifested itself as a physical pain which I can no longer ignore. After having my left toe run over by a shopping cart earlier tis year (toenail is slowly growing back) and my right foot stomped on by an unidentified stiletto on two separate occasions (visits to the physical therapist were actually pleasant), I believe some force is trying to send me a message. I have not yet deciphered the meaning. So if you or a loved one have sustained similar injuries and have a clue as to what this is all about - leave a comment. Or if you have any suggestions besides elevating and icing the foot - fill me in. As for now, I am TOE-tally mystified but will continue to count the shades of cool colors (by cool I mean the opposite of warm) on my big toe. Miles Davis ain't got nothing on me. The back of my toe is especially psychedelic - sort of like one of those tie dyed shirts we all made as kids.
Here's a much improved pic of my gnarly toe.