Five Finger Discount Beats Five Finger Death Punch

In part of an ongoing series called my life as a semi-unsuccessful musician, I would like to impart some wisdom. We all know that to sacrifice oneself for friends is noble, if not divine. But what of the musician who sacrifices himself for his best friends, by that I mean his instrument. (It's a rhetorical question so I ended it with a period.) This morning I reached tenderly down and lovingly grasped my acoustic guitar, and as I lifted it into the air I heard an explosion. The light fixture had been struck and exploded sending glass shards soaring down like shiny dagger-like rain. The natural instict of anyone in this situation would be to put up their hands shielding their face from the sharp shrapnel now pummeling through the air. I however concerned for my guitar sheilded my love from the enemy, allowing myself to be inflicted with heavy damages. Okay, so they weren't so bad, a few cuts and scratches. Yet, I had saved my dear acoustic friend from any scratches to her shiny black coat, and I was able to rest easy. Life lesson learned, you can always grow a new arm, but you can never refinish a guitar's glossy paint once scratched.