And yet another blackout

...is Sweatpants Money!

You know, I feel a certain pang of empathy for those pictures that I get sent to me via e-mail with the simple explanation, "I don't know what happened." This blog began almost exclusively as a result of this exact scenario happening to me, which you can see documented in that lovely photo to your right where my eye is all bandaged up. Dom sent these to me on behalf of the lovely Ms. Sally who, despite all of her beauty, wit and charm, can be a motherfucking wreck from time to time. She's got absolutely zero recollection of how exactly her knucks got all fucked up. I'm banking on either a girl-on-girl fight, or possibly a really intense game of quarters with some Filipinos while cocked on mescaline. And yes, that is the correct spelling of "Filipino," you ass-clown. I even looked it up on Wikipedia.



It's really odd to me how almost every injury featuring a female looks almost identical to a VICE Dos and Don'ts image. Sally's first picture is begging for some kind of sarcastic comment, but the one above is sort of graceful in its own way, right?



BONES!

Pearl District hand mutilations

...is Sweatpants Money!

This lovely tale of doom comes to us from none other than Mr. Daniel Williams, a Portland artist and Juggalo-fanatic:

I was tending bar at Bay 13 (don't judge me) on First Thursday, the busiest day of the month where all of Portland's douchiest form together like Voltron and infest the place. Three hours into the unholy shift as I was shaking up a cocktail for the Ed Hardy set, a pint glass shattered into my palm. I looked down and saw fat cells right before the blood started gushing and knew my night at work was over. I pushed my way out of the bar and through the crowd pumping blood all over the floor.



The first aid box at work contained only a rescue blanket and several q-tips. The GM shrugged and handed me a tampon to "stuff into my gash" as he so eloquently put it. A coworker drove me up to Good Sam were I waited an hour and a half for the doc to stitch me up, slowly saturating the dish towel with blood as I had nicked a minor artery. After x-raying my hand to determine there were no large pieces of glass still hiding inside me they flushed out all the tiny shards and glass dust from the wound. That is when I took out my phone and started taking pictures (the first two pictures in the album are between saline flushes). I got a tetanus shot, eight stitches, and a little take home pack of Vicodin. I was at home with a beer in my hand and a pizza in the oven by midnight, truly the best first Thursday ever.



None of my coworkers felt one ounce of pity. You know it's time for a new job when you would rather spend two hours getting stitched up in the ER than working first Thursday. I actually felt guilty in the ER because I knew my night was infinitely better than theirs. The best part is that I'm on a ten day vacation with workers comp on the way.

A special thanks to Daniel for taking one for the team. The rest of you better start getting hurt more often, I'm trying to keep this shit fresh.