Best Used When Sober.

Last year for Christmas, my parents got me a really sharp set of J.A. Henckels knives. You'll see why this is important later.

This past Saturday, we went to a post-wedding fish fry for my friend, Bryan. No, their wedding reception was not a fish fry, it was just a party after they were married. Anyway, afterwards, the whole group ended up moving to Art's Shed House (local bar) to see the Zettler Brothers play, spend time with old friends, & drink some cold beer. You know, just good stuff all around. [Well, except for the girlfriend of one of my friends who was hit in the head with a beer bottle by another girl at the end of the night to the tune of seven staples -- count 'em, S-E-V-E-N -- for being a "North Face preppie", or something along those lines...] So Jon & I get home after a nice, fun, rather beer- & alcohol-fueled night out in the Queen City when we decide that we're hungry & just about the only thing that I have to eat in my house is a big ol' hunk of summer sausage & cheese -- perfect for a drunk-munchies fix.

This is where those good ol' sharp knives come into play. Jon was actually cutting the cheese (*giggles*) when he cut himself, so I went into action like Florence Nightingale, doctored his finger up, & sent him off to bed. Well, I was still hungry, so I decided to pull out yet another one of my awesome knives (hey, at least I had the foresight not to use his bloodied knife, right?) & slice myself off a piece of sausage.

Wrong. And oh, how wrong it was! I proceeded to not only slice the living hell out of my left index finger, but also nip the middle finger as well!!! Blood is pouring. Picture me in my kitchen, half-drunk (the slice was somewhat of a sobering moment, but not completely), trying to bandage up this cut that continues to bleed & bleed & bleed & bleed.... well, you get the idea. Everything within a 5-foot radius of my sink had some kind of blood on it -- spatters, drops, smears, you name it. Put it this way: when Jon asked me where the rest of the sausage went that I was cutting on, I told him he was welcome to pull the bloody meat out of the trash if he really, really wanted it. He declined.

Needless to say, it most likely needed to stitches, but who has the time & patience to actually GO and get them!? Especially on a weekend, AND when the Saints were playing in the playoffs the next day (sadly, not victoriously -- sniff, sniff). Plus, you can't bitch about it as much if you get it fixed correctly, right? So I just butterfly-bandaged that bitch up & covered it with what I like to call my "finger condom" (with a reservoir tip, of course), as you can see below:
Nice, huh? You know you're jealous of my finger condom. But anyway.... the point of my story is this: J.A. Henckels makes some damn sharp knives & some mighty fine cutlery if anyone is in the market. Not only am I an owner, but I am also a victim.