Razors
"Jack, what happened to your face?" Mac asked, concern flooding in his eyes.
"I don't know, dude! My razor had it out for me or something! It was crazy! The damn thing tried to kill me!" The former Delta shoulder said. His face and chin were dotted with little torn pieces of toilet paper. All had a distinct little red dot in the center. Some bloodier than others.
"Oh man. What'd you do to piss it off?"
Jack held a defensive look. "I didn't do anything! This," he pointed to his face. "Was all that crazy ass thing's doing. All I wanted to do was shave, but apparently it didn't feel like helping me out."
"When was the last time you switched out your razor head?"
"Mm, I don't know. A month ago maybe? Two? I forgot the last time. Why?"
"Well dude, it's no wonder then! You should be switching that thing out every month with your roadkill."
The ex-Delta shot him a glare, gently rubbing at his face. "Well it must be nice to still have peach fuzz." He grouched. Mac chuckled and patted his friend on the arm.
"C'mon. Let's get those cuts looked at before they get infected."