It was the knuckles, ya gotta believe me! The air outside is so cold and brittle-- it turned the fuckers purple. I looked down and saw these once beige glaciers of skin and bone turn a bloody purple mess. Veins reared their bulbous heads as they swam like salmon up to each purple mountain top. Wrinkles emerged like creases in a pair of cheap slacks as the knuckles went airborne and tore through glass. All I could do was laugh as goo ran from the cut which sliced my palm with perfect symmetry.