Ironic Irony

And thus our stint in the civilised and cultural portion of Europe ended (I am unsure if a civilised Italy is an oxymoron) as we delved into the deep dark depths of what is Eastern Europe to a country know as Slovenia. Every cliche' of dilapidated buildings, mere ruins, new seasons of Miami Vice and Knight Rider and elderly women who look like elderly men washing their head scarves in the local puddle were completely and utterly, unsubstantiated. Instead we found on the outskirts a picturesque town named rather inappropriately, Lake Bled. The name itself conjured up pictures in the imagination of a Mrs Vorhees slaughtering of our would be group of youths whilst we frolicked at the lake's dark edges, however upon arrival I was somewhat disappointed with its still reflective waters, and its insular church bequeathing its very center, like the jewel in its unadulterated crown. How could a place with a name that belonged in an 80's teen slasher flick be so dam beautiful, it was a travesty to the genre to say the least, hence I was determined to spoil its serenity. What would be the ultimate homage to such a locale? Ah yes of course...to be bled into Lake Bled. So with my trusty Swiss army knife in hand, the tribute began. Amidst cries of anguish and disgust the flesh of my index finger was pierced and sliced (on the 3rd attempt mind you) and with tranquility as its soundtrack and flawlessness as its backdrop I held my hand aloft and let my lifeblood drip slowly atop the waters of a lake that was named for this very occasion. Now its perfection was complete.

Post traumatic re-enactment with authentic wound and weapon