When folks consume enough liquid stupid, or narcotics, they do some dumb things. Especially with sharp objects.
In McDonald Quarters there were two prescribed ways to fight with a knife. First, go for any slash or stab that will put your opponent away. The second, is meant to punish, but not necessarily kill. The blade of the knife is held with about a half-inch exposed beyond the fingers. The adversary is stuck, or jooged, with the knife and a slight, shallow wound results. After one has had enough, the fight is ended.
Problems can arise. We worked one homicide in which the deceased had been jooged over a 100 times. The cuts had been made with a 3" Case pocket knife. But, the multitude of cuts had allowed the stuckee to bleed out. He had, in fact, gone back in the Juke, and had a couple beers before he fell over. When he did fall over, he was dead.
That was one. An alert girlfriend prevented another. Willie Wazzup, after being stuck, again over 100 times, had fallen to the ground, dripping blood from each hole. His paramour, Florence Nightenhen, knew he'd never make it to the hospital. So she improvised. Finding a newspaper, she tore off little pieces and stuffed them into the cuts with a Popsicle stick. When Willie was suitably patched, she rushed him to the ER.
The ER doctor was impressed. He said, "I'm an MD, supposed to know it all, but faced with the same situation, and without my tape and bandages, I wouldn't have thought of this. That woman saved his life." And so she did.
Another case involved a half-dozen college kids, in a house near Royal Harbor, who took bad trips on LSD. All in attendance were stoned into another dimension. One, Timothy Bleary, was having terrifying visions. There was some horrible beast in his stomach trying to rip itself out. No, problem, another of the buzzed ones allowed. He'd operate and remove the monster. And operate he did, with a hunting knife, while Bleary lay squirming on the living room floor. Satisfied the beast must have escaped, and noting a copious amount of blood, the "doctor" removed his T-shirt, stuffed it in the six-inch slice in Bleary's belly and left the operating room.
The least stoned, a girl who remained naked though the whole affair, thinking her clothes were feathers and it was molting season, had enough sanity remaining to call EMS. We arrived before EMS, and noted Bleary, strangely serene on the floor, content that the monster had been released. He felt no pain and didn't remember the "operation."
The surgeon was still so stoned he didn't realize what he'd done, but, in reparation he had, by plugging the wound with the T-shirt, probably saved Bleary's life. Another victory for the Angel who protects the stoned and stupid.
In McDonald Quarters there were two prescribed ways to fight with a knife. First, go for any slash or stab that will put your opponent away. The second, is meant to punish, but not necessarily kill. The blade of the knife is held with about a half-inch exposed beyond the fingers. The adversary is stuck, or jooged, with the knife and a slight, shallow wound results. After one has had enough, the fight is ended.
Problems can arise. We worked one homicide in which the deceased had been jooged over a 100 times. The cuts had been made with a 3" Case pocket knife. But, the multitude of cuts had allowed the stuckee to bleed out. He had, in fact, gone back in the Juke, and had a couple beers before he fell over. When he did fall over, he was dead.
That was one. An alert girlfriend prevented another. Willie Wazzup, after being stuck, again over 100 times, had fallen to the ground, dripping blood from each hole. His paramour, Florence Nightenhen, knew he'd never make it to the hospital. So she improvised. Finding a newspaper, she tore off little pieces and stuffed them into the cuts with a Popsicle stick. When Willie was suitably patched, she rushed him to the ER.
The ER doctor was impressed. He said, "I'm an MD, supposed to know it all, but faced with the same situation, and without my tape and bandages, I wouldn't have thought of this. That woman saved his life." And so she did.
Another case involved a half-dozen college kids, in a house near Royal Harbor, who took bad trips on LSD. All in attendance were stoned into another dimension. One, Timothy Bleary, was having terrifying visions. There was some horrible beast in his stomach trying to rip itself out. No, problem, another of the buzzed ones allowed. He'd operate and remove the monster. And operate he did, with a hunting knife, while Bleary lay squirming on the living room floor. Satisfied the beast must have escaped, and noting a copious amount of blood, the "doctor" removed his T-shirt, stuffed it in the six-inch slice in Bleary's belly and left the operating room.
The least stoned, a girl who remained naked though the whole affair, thinking her clothes were feathers and it was molting season, had enough sanity remaining to call EMS. We arrived before EMS, and noted Bleary, strangely serene on the floor, content that the monster had been released. He felt no pain and didn't remember the "operation."
The surgeon was still so stoned he didn't realize what he'd done, but, in reparation he had, by plugging the wound with the T-shirt, probably saved Bleary's life. Another victory for the Angel who protects the stoned and stupid.
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