A BAD BLISTER ON THE BALL OF MY RIGHT FOOT, JULY SIXTEEN, TWO-THOUSAND EIGHT CE. IT IS A BASTARD. SOMEHOW I DESERVE THIS.
Just for amusement, try to make the case—"By any means necessary", to sunder the phrase from Malcolm X—that everything of significance befalling you is deserved. For example, ice cream is from heaven, but blisters come from the nether regions of the cosmos where The Dark One dwells, he of eternal subversion.
A boring construct, too familiar, infantile, primitive. Billions believe in this nonsense. The credulous are legion, and many have blisters on their feet.