Blood, breakfast, and buddies.

Years ago at this party my friend 'Dwayne' was drunk and passed out on a chair and people started goofing on him...shaving cream on his hand, stuffed animals under his arms, all sorts of silly stuff. Harmless stuff. Stuff we did to Dwayne kinda stuff.

And then one guy thought it would be a riot to shave Dwaynes mustache.

Well, guess what? Shaving someones mustache when they're passed out is not funny. It's a jerk thing to do so I stopped it.

Stopping the shaving ended up with me getting my face punched over and over and over again. by the guy who had the shaving fetish.

The 'fight' ended up outside where I continued to take a beating...face repeatly slammed into a hood of a car until I was a bloody pulp.

The beauty of the whole thing was that after I was hit the first or second time I realized the pain didn't get any worse....it hurt, but getting hit again didn't hurt more.

So I started laughing at my 'attacker'. And he hit me some more. So I laughed harder. And got hit harder So I laughed harder. Got hit harder. Laughed. Hit. Laugh. Hit. Laugh.

I was winning this so called battle even though I was the one all bloody.

Finally a bunch of folks broke it up and kicked his ass and life went on.

A few hours later Dwayne woke up and me, Hoag, Moose, and Dwayne all went out to get breakfast. The three of them ....and me soaked in blood. Eating breakfast. All like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Good times. Good breakfast