White Men CAN Jump

I can tell you one thing for certain…knees and oyster beds don’t mix. Don’t mix at all. I was at the beach, and me and my friends were walking to a nice “dog friendly” restaurant in the early evening. Nice place, you can sit outside and they bring bowls of water for the dogs, also, the food is great. Since none of us drink and drive, we can have a few and walk home. On a side note, a friend’s son started a little business a couple of years before he entered the Naval Academy at Annapolis. You could call him and he’d send two (or multiply the number of cars by two) people to fetch your asses and drive you home. One to drive your vehicle, and one to follow. Better than a taxi, and you have your ride the next morning. They were also responsible for the last beer run. They did it for free, but we tipped the hell out of ‘em. Everyone always slipped each of ‘em a twenty or so, so they made some folding money. Money well spent, I say.

Anyway, I had three dogs on three leashes, Stretch, Lionel, and Monroe. Well, they went both clockwise and counterclockwise around my legs, tripped me and I fell into an oyster bed, knee first. My right knee was bleeding like a stuck pig. Definitely needed some stitches. Bone deep on my kneecap. I did not go to the ER, didn’t want to ruin it for everybody. We we arrived at the restaurant, I looked like something out of a slasher movie. I ordered a shot of 151 rum and poured it on the wound. That will make you fucking …double fucking… jump…more than once. I could’ve dunked it if the rim was 50 feet high. I kid you not, it hurt BAD. Down on my knees in pain is an understatement to say the least. This place had decent cloth napkins so we made an impromptu bandage, had a nice meal and a good time, and walked back to the beach house where my buddies broke out the first-aid kit, cleaned my knee, put some antibiotic goop on it, and put a decent bandage on it. The following morning I hit the ocean, for the saltwater…it stung like you would not believe, but nothing close to the rum.

Later, I recounted the story to my dentist friend, and he said the 151 was probably the smartest thing I did. He added that the saltwater was also a good idea. All I have to show for it is a story and a huge ass scar. No matter, some say chicks dig scars. Anyway, I have so many scars, and have had so many stitches, it’s damn near unbelievable. I didn’t have this one sutured, so the scar is a reminder of a story. Just took longer to heal.

Hanging out with my mob can be dangerous.