Good news, I finally have a dependable internet connection! So that means more bloody good stories. Bloody as in real blood, not bloody as in jolly. Read on for more details.
So I am walking across base to grab breakfast with a Marine and a prior enlisted Marine, now naval officer. And the current Marine turns to me at the breakfast joint with a look of amazement and says: you know you are bleeding?
I glare around and sure enough, blood is dripping off my uniform sleeve. Flowing blood is not a positive thing for the Navy, but the Marine looks at it with approval. I glance over my body and can’t figure out where I am leaking.
Your knuckles, your knuckles are bleeding.
I look down at my hand and sure enough, I’ve been whipping blood all over myself. I must’ve rapped my knuckles on some furniture and not realized it.
I wrap my hand in napkins and we trudge back to work with our large breakfasts. And just as I am opening my small, single-serving butter cup the size of a coffee creamer, I get distracted. I forget that it is still quite warm out and my butter may not be solid. Indeed the spread is liquid; it spills all over my crotch. My suddenly greasy, bloody uniform which I drag (along with me) to the bathroom for a little rub-a-dub-dub. Can’t take myself anywhere. . .