As we seem to be coming up on a month since the finger-breaking injury and the abrupt end of my promising dodgeball career, it’s time to start thinking of new ways to put my dramatic, stainless-steel splint to new use. Because when your universal health care gives you shiny solutions for your physical flaws, you take that shit to the BANK. It’s what my uninsured American brothers and sisters would want me to do.

My pinky finger seems to be doing really well and is no longer determined to reduce me to tears on a daily basis. Sure, it’s not perfect and seems to have gotten comfortable in its stand-offish skew meant to let all my other fingers know that he totally thinks they’re beneath him (my pinky is a dude named Keith. Keith Richards. Don’t question me), and sure, the tip is still super sensitive, but overall I’m much better than I was. And…

No wait – you know what? I’m going to stop right there. Because as soon as I wrote ‘tip,’ I just know that all of you snorted and went all, “Ha! He said tip!” So just for a second, let’s try this:

Hi, English language-speakers. Can we talk about how angry it makes me when society jumps on some sitcom-esque, blanket punchline that sucks the wind out of my complicated, moderately entertaining monologues? And yes, that’s my fancypants way of saying that the next person who hijacks my story (which as you all well know can take anywhere from 500-1200 words to play out in full) with a ‘that’s what she said’ is getting a leather boot to the pancreas courtesy of Stephen Fry.

I don’t care if I said ‘tip,’ or ‘hard,’ or ‘stuck.’ Those, and the many other words you’ve taken to signal your cue for drunk comedy club patron behaviour are now going to be mine again. Trust me – my joke is going to be funnier than yours. It may take some time…but it’ll be funnier. And you know what? I’ll even let you keep ‘moist’ as a show of good faith. That’s a gross word that deserves nothing more than second-rate mockery.