Most people who know me understand I don’t seriously consider myself to be some kind of hardass. In fact, I generally go out of my way to communicate to everyone else on Planet Earth how much of a giant goober I really am.
But I couldn’t resist decorating my rash guard with blood from Wednesday’s morning Jiu-jitsu class.
If you’ve been under a rock, or just out of touch with me, you probably didn’t know that about a month ago I stepped into the cage at a local show for a friendly ass kicking contest.
I lost.
Hell, here’s the video.
Anyway, even after a month if my schnoz takes a good bump, it erupts in a blood volcano. Rolling on Wednesday with one of the younger guys in class, I banged my honker into the side of his head and my face started leaking.
Art? Parody? A textile statement about the interplay between ever fading youth and the futile pursuit of immortality? An excuse to be pretentious?
Who knows. It made me chuckle so that’s all that matters.
