With Friends Like These...

Image stolen from the Dude Write site.
I don't know where they stole it from.

The dudes over at Dude Write have a slasher theme happening this week (since it is the 13th week) and it immediately reminded me of this story. However, I feel that I have to offer a disclaimer and a warning with this post. First, the disclaimer: I was not present for the following events. It is a story that my brother Trevor has told many times. I have heard it so many times, I am sure I can piece it together. Next, the warning: This post might get a bit graphic and since I haven't searched for the images to use with it yet, I don't know how bloody it might get. After the post about playing chicken, reader Marianne requested a heads up before subjecting viewers to such violent images. Even though this post is being written to be linked to the tough guys at Dude Write, there will be women reading as well, so I want to be polite. Be forewarned.

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Guys have certain rituals that may not be understood by the fairer species. Everyone has seen a guy punch a friend, casual acquaintance or even a stranger in the arm. The female equivalent would be to hug or jump up and down while screaming. This is just part of the bonding process that allows men to show affection towards each other without losing any appearance of masculinity.

In some contexts, this practice evolves into other forms. Back in the days when I frequented bars, it was not uncommon for a male to talk to another male while discreetly holding the flame of a lighter to the butt of the man he was talking to. Within a few seconds, the heat would raise the temperature of the denim to a degree that caused the victim to jump. Then, rubbing his seared rear, he would laugh with his friends as he joked that he had been gotten.

Not all men use the lighter to the butt prank, but they are practitioners of some similar practice that is common among their group of friends. This story is about one of these practices that had evolved into something ridiculously stupid a bit less subtle.

Several years ago, the bar that my brother hung out in was filled with men who had developed the practice of poking each other in the back of the knees. The purpose was quite simple. It was supposed to startle the victim and make him jump so everyone could laugh at him. Ladies, please don't judge. Most men are pretty easily entertained. Drunk men even more so.

The practice was fairly simple. Approach a man standing and talking with other men. Place object to poke him with directly behind one of his knees and then wait for him to step back. When he hits the object, the unexpected sensation causes him to jump and laughter ensues.

It didn't take long for the practitioners of this prank to discover that not just any object would deliver the intended result. For instance, a finger would simply cause the victim to turn around and ask, "What are you doing?" It might even get you punched. Using a pool cue wouldn't get you much more than a smirk. However, something sharp generally got the desired effect. A well-secured toothpick could supply hours of entertainment.

Eventually, someone ingeniously used his pocketknife to get the same result. Since most of these guys always had one on them, it quickly became the tool of choice for this favorite prank. That was how the practice of mixing alcohol and sharp objects came to be commonplace at this particular tavern.

One evening, John whips out his knife to steady it behind the knee of Brad to start the festivities. As he approaches the intended area, Brad jumps back in the midst of the story he is telling. The unexpected action causes the freshly sharpened blade to sink over two inches into Brad's flesh immediately severing an artery.

The blood is spraying out of the new wound and the people standing around are stunned silent as Brad is trying to figure out what just happened. John snaps out of his stupor and grabs some napkins. He and Trevor begin trying to stop the bleeding.

The two of them usher Brad into the bathroom to patch him up because everyone knows that the restroom is the most sterile place in a bar. Actually, they needed some privacy since they needed to remove Brad's pants to better access the wound.

Once in the privacy of the restroom and Brad's pants were removed, there was nothing to stop the trajectory of the still-spraying blood. Trevor and John had blood on their faces, shirts and all over their arms and hands. It was flowing freely down Brad's legs and they quickly realized they would not be able to fix this.

When you stab your friends, you should be better prepared.

As Brad is attempting to replace his pants, John and Trevor are using entire rolls of paper towels to clean the excess blood off the floor. The mess is everywhere and there are dozens of blood-soaked rags littering the floor. John slips in the blood, knocking Trevor and Brad both to the floor covering them in even more sticky mess.

They hear a scream and look up to discover a horrified man clawing to get back out of the bathroom. He had walked in to find what appeared to be three blood covered men (one with his pants around his ankles) fighting on the floor of the bathroom. He thought he was witnessing a murder.

As they help Brad out of the bathroom, John admits that Brad really needs to get to the hospital and tells Trevor to take him. Trevor exclaims, "I'm not taking him to the hospital. YOU stabbed him! You take him."

John was really concerned about getting in legal trouble for stabbing his friend in a bar, so they concocted a story about Brad cutting himself on some sheet metal. Due to loss of blood, Brad was losing consciousness, so they threw water in his face so he could wake up long enough to learn the story. Trevor still insisted that John take Brad himself, but did allow John to use his truck since it was older.

John drove off with his pale friend and Trevor returned to the bar for a much-needed drink. However, the bartender handed him a garden hose and sponge while silently pointing toward the bathroom.