There are very few instances in which you walk out the door knowing you are going to end up in the hospital before the night’s end, but by 6:30 p.m. this past Saturday I knew. I’ve always had a knack for recognizing a bad decision, even when I’m engaging in and thoroughly enjoying making one, and this weekend was no exception. Everyone knows that the more bad decisions you make in a row, the better those decisions start to seem but I discovered this weekend that you reach a critical mass, at which point a series of bad decisions simply becomes a serious shit show and not in the impressive ‘sorry we party’ type of way.
Mathematically, one might express this phenomenon as such, where B1 et al. is a single bad decision:
B1 < (B1 + B2) < (B1 + B2 + B3) < (B1 + B2 + B3 + B4)
except where
(B1 + B2 + B3 + B4 + B5 + B6) < LOTS OF BLOOD
But blood wasn’t the only thing I was covered in this past Saturday night, and the first person to guess what else I had collected on my face will get dibs on the bloody bar rag I signed and tried to sell to the ER doctor as a Cats In Your Pants memento. I’ll narrow it down for you:
-someone else’s blood
-marshmallow creme
-the remnants of a weave
-cherry jello
-peanut shells
-dog shit
-shame
OK, I lied, two of those things were actually dripping off my face alongside the blood, and shame is most definitely one of them.
A dog wearing a weave, that just took a bleeding dump on a pile of peanut shells, after eating cherry jello topped with marshmallow creme. And he felt no shame in it.
A bleeding dump–that is the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.