Field Dressing

Howdy friend. This is Latigo Flint speaking to you from the past. Latigo Flint is not at his keyboard right now--Latigo Flint took the long weekend off to trek alone through beast country. Trekking alone through beast country is very, very sexy.

A special computer program or script or code or some such, will now randomly select a story from the archives for you to read if you feel like reading something right now. I hope it picks a good one.

From the archives - 2/02/2005

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Field Dressing

Latigo Flint has long held the theory that an exceptionally good way to impress people, and especially girls, would be to self-cauterize a wound in front of them.

Yesterday Latigo Flint finally got his chance to test the theory when he cut his index finger on the cracked edge of a Burger King food tray.

"Apparently I have received a flesh wound!" (It was necessary to command everyone's attention and shouting that seemed to do the trick.) "It is imperative that this cracked food tray be removed from circulation." The Burger King staff shot uneasy looks at each other but none made a move to collect it.
"Please good staff. Why, a child could injure his or herself on its wickedly jagged prominence." I gazed dramatically around the room. "A child who would not be as capable of dealing with it as I."

With one hand I expertly snapped open and lit my Zippo lighter, then carefully inserted my house key into the center of the extravagant flame. A teenage couple was giving me a very strange look. I nodded at the guy and winked platonically at his date.
"Not to worry kids," I said, inspecting the key that was now starting to glow slightly. "We call this a field dressing. No big thing. I do it all the time." I took a bite of my burger and chewed nonchalantly. I squinted slightly at the ceiling for effect, then raised the glowing key and placed it to the cut.

I came to in a hospital bed. They say when I screamed, the mouthful of burger lodged in my windpipe, choking me. The paramedic report claims I staggered around the room grunting--one hand at my throat and thrusting the index finger of the other into people's soft drinks. Apparently I then made a stumbling charge in the direction of the ice dispenser, slipped on a tray that was lying in the isle and smashed chin-first into a table.

But Latigo Flint doesn't believe those jealous bastards for one second. Likely the self-cauterization went off without a hitch and after every female in the place crowded admiringly around me, I was badly beaten by a furious mob of boyfriends and husbands.