Kevin called me up Saturday evening with a bit of panic in his voice. "Dude, I, uh, might need you to uh, do me a huge favor."

"Sure, what is it?" I replied.

"There's, uh, there's blood all over the inside of my truck," he states, sounding even more frantic.

Oh crap, I think to myself. He's gone off the deep end, killed somebody, and now he wants me to help him bury a body out in the desert.

"I, uh, cut myself and there's blood all over the place and I'm still bleeding pretty badly," he says.

Oh thank God, no bodies.

Once I realized there was no foul play involved, I triaged him over the phone, directed him in applying direct pressure and decided I wasn't going to need to rush over and take him to the emergency room. After the bleeding was stopped, I got the complete story out of him (in chronological order this time) of how he managed to do this. Apparently he had a couple of 5-gallon glass jugs in the jump seat of his truck and one tipped over. He reached back to right it, not knowing it had broken into several large pieces. The pic above is the mess he made after it sliced his hand in three places. Lovely, eh?