Back pain and vulnerability

Being taken advantage of by a three year-old really sucks. I still think I can take him, don't get me wrong but the little turd acts like an assasin sometimes. Cold, but loving and warm, calculating but klutzy, sweet yet evil. I did a good job with my back this week. Constant pain, stabbing when I move in the wrong direction, unable to sit or bend over. I would like to say I did this lifting an engine off the ground to put it on an engine stand. Unfortunately I was leaning over the sink and doing dishes, with nothing in my hands but some water. Pathetic. Now back to my little parental terrorist. We are in a store yesterday renting a flute for my daughter and as I am filling out paperwork he is running rampant thru the store with Alyssa flying chase but a step or two behind. Kind of like an old Tom & Jerry cartoon where Jerry is tipping over everything and as Tom chases he is standing everything back up and just cannot quite catch Jerry. So I step away from the counter to get his attention and tell him quite sternly to "COME HERE" to which he replied "NO" then ran. SO I reach into my pocket to pull out my dart gun with the tranquilizer darts and much to my chagrin it is not there. "I will get you, you eveil little monster" I yell. Then came the ultimate insult "Catch me Fatso." I grabbed a guitar and started firing violin bows through the store like a mad Indian. I took off my shirt and dipped in a cleaning solution, wrapped it around an oversized Bass bow, lit it on fire and shot it at him as he wassticking out his tongue defiantly, ducked and ran. Needless to say the Woodwind section of the store was engulfed in flames. Customers were running out screaming about an father gone insane when I caught my next glimpse of the now hunted terrorist. I had grabbed a handful of drumsticks that I had sharpened points on with their electric pencil sharpener and started a rapid fire assault. My hand made arrows-of-mass-destruction were flying like bats leaving a cave at dusk when the casualties really started to mount. The first visions of carnage to come into view were a family of Ukelele's, mercilessly their lives were cut short...collateral damage in my quest to capture Americas.......well MY most wanted terrorist. Then came the first of what would be many wounds inflicted by the little twerp. A low sweeping blow to my shin with an Alto-Sax. I dropped to my knee and fired off three more drum sticks hitting an unsuspecting store clerk in the ass with one of them. I could her my prey laughing at me as he ran aisle filled with sheet music from 1980's romantic comedies. As the clerk lie in front of me screaming in pain I took my second injury, to left side of my ribcage. Feeling as if I had been hit by a rocket propelled grenade I looked to floor on my left side and there lie the remnants of a once beautiful Bassoon. It was personal now. I always liked the Bassoon. I crawled behind the counter and reached up to grab a handful of guitar strings when in rapid succession three Trumpets stitched the wall where my head had just been. Relying on years of watching MacGyver reruns I quickly started making snare traps out of the guitar strings when the explosions started, the little shit had cornered himself with a set bass drums and was beating them mercilessly. As i ventured out from behind the counter I made my way past a row of Fender Stratocasters when I caught a glimpse of him jumping off a stack of amplifiers with a Tuba and stiking me in the side of the head.....the last thing I remember was him standing over my nearly lifeless body and and saying..lubby-dooo daddy

then it all went black.