Spring of 1977 in Monterey. I'm chatting with my roommate Vicki, her boyfriend John, and a few other friends in the downstairs bar area of the NCO club. (The NCO guys don't mind taking us non-NCO girls into their lair.)
John's seated across the table from me. "Watch this," he says, and proceeds to take a drink. As he brings the glass away from his mouth, I notice that a fairly large, half-moon shaped piece is missing from it.
"What the...?" I exclaim. "Whadja just do?"
"Took a bite out of my glass and ate it," he says, grinning at me.
"But, but...you're not bleeding!" I say incredulously. Saucer-eyed, I look around frantically at the other people at the table - none of whom, by the way, are freaking out like I am.
"I'm fine," he says with a twinkle in his eye. "I've done it lots of times."
(Thirty years older, I still don't know how he did that.)
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