Dad has an obsession with switch blades. When ever we go to the flea market, he wanders over to the booths that sell them and plays. He loves everything about them, they way they feel in his hand, they razor sharp blades, the fast action. Absolutely everything. He has debated (mainly awaiting my blessing before purchasing) the price and haggled a few down close to what he seems to think I would agree with. This weekend he could not stand it a moment longer and sprung for one. He got the guy down to $15 and as we left the both there was a warning, ‘be careful ,I just sharpened that one this morning.’ He played with it all afternoon, whipping it out and dancing around like a Jet in West Side Story. Overjoyed, I tell you. A kid at Christmas. Then I saw his eyes pop open wide .
ME: What happened?
HIM: My knife just opened in my pocket.
The blade being razor sharp, very close to his manhood, scared him a little. He claims it was because he did not close it tightly after one of his flaying about episodes. He gingerly removed it and closed it securely. He went back to his fondling of the blade. Then today, while he and Tank worked in the back yard, he stuck his hand in his pocket and stabbed his finder a good one. He tried really hard not to let Tank see it, but the blood filling his pocket (note, he was working in his only pair of very light gray shorts) was a dead give away. He came into the house and got the knife out of his pocket flopping the blood coated thing on the table.
HIM: Tank , you want this thing?
TANK: Hell no, I would like to keep my testicles, thank you.
7 years ago