Comforting Illusion

You people have completely corrupted me.

Today I was looking at my new carbon steel machete from China, and I realized I didn’t want it to rust, even though it has a street value of about seven dollars. I wanted to coat it with something. But it had sap on it. Because I punished some shrubs and trees.

Because my readers have pumped my head so full of tool crap, it wasn’t even challenging. I hit it with alcohol and then Windex, and then I blasted it with brake cleaner, and then I wiped it down, spritzed it with Eezox, and put it in my vise to dry.

I’m planning to sharpen it. And wouldn’t you know it? I just happen to have a beautiful 1750-rpm grinder that won’t overheat the metal.

This is the kind of situation I have been aiming at, getting all these tools. Often, in the past, I’ve thought of things I needed to do, and I didn’t even try, because I didn’t have the tools, or I had tools that were only good enough to allow me to succeed with great and prolonged suffering. Or sometimes I paid a fortune to rent stuff. What I want is to be able to waltz into the garage, lay my hand on the right doodad, and utterly crush and dominate every challenge. I am like 25% there, which is saying a lot.

By the way, Windex is the only thing that will take tobacco juice off your hands. I discovered that. People in Eastern Kentucky think I’m a genius. I don’t mean tobacco spit. I mean the sticky stuff that adheres to you when you cut tobacco.