"You cut yourself how?"

I have a lot of interesting friends named John. There's John Light, the Wiccan priest. John Maid, the professional wrestling enthusiast. John Lewis, who taught himself to play guitar after age 35. And then there's my co-worker John Bullock, who looks like Jesus and dresses like Captain Morgan, who writes sea shanties and works as a schooner bum in the summertime. He also juggles and recites a mean Shel Silverstein. This is a typical conversation between he and I:

John: "Ouch!"

Me: "What happened?"

John: "I got hot sauce in this cut on my thumb."

Me: "Ohhhh. Did you cut yourself cutting up lemons?"

John: "No, the other day I was juggling machetes and reached for one at the wrong time."

Me: "That's what I love about you! Anyone else would have tried to play it off like they were juggling machetes when they actually hurt themselves in a boring way. But not you."

And then he laughed in that way that I imagine Jesus would have looked like if he ever laughed in those paintings.