Monday, August 16, 2010

The Spear

Dramatic angles make me look like a frelling giant

So now that you've seen my gun and my sword, it's time to show you my spear. Get your mind out of the gutter. This is serious. As serious as banana pancakes. God, I hate banana pancakes. I've got a lot of stories from back in the war about banana pancakes which would scare the pants off ya. No foolin'. Banana pancakes, man. Every time I say it I get shivers.

Even the sun thinks I'm hot. Oh yeah.

Like Leonidas had his Thermopylae, I, Elias, had my Tuolumne. I clearly remember the day that man stood on the edge of my well and yelled "this is madness!" I couldn't help myself. Right before I planted my boot in his chest, I remember yelling back: "Madness? This. . . Is. . . Sonora!" much to the chagrin of my lawyers (who are still sorting that mess out on multiple fronts.)

Pulling an E.S. Wynn: Touching your sunglasses during a shot.

The truth is, every bad ass must have a spear. You just can't be an official bad ass unless you've touched a spear at some point in your life. Take Shakespeare for example. He's probably the most bad ass bard ever to live, and why? Not because of his writing, I assure you. It's because he has a spear in his ever-loving name. Oh yeah.

Real men have tiny pockets.

But what makes this spear bad ass enough to warrant being carried by someone as bad ass as myself? Take a guess. It's made from a combat knife screwed onto and then duct taped to a mop handle. You know that you're jealous now. It just doesn't get any more bad ass than that.

Real men also stare directly at the sun without sunglasses on.

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