A Knife By Any Other Name

Here's yet another pathetic request for advice. This one is from cutlery expert, knifemaker, blacksmith, master of death dealing and now, boomerang maker, K. Scott Hurst:

Murk,

I don't know if you're giving advice anymore but I figured I'd try
anything at this point. As you well know, I've been making sharp
implements of cutting and pain for years now. They have been a steady
part of my mindset, and daily life. I think about them, I learn to
make them better, I do test cutting with them, I read about them new
blades and historical. About a month ago, I just lost the urge. The
Japanese sword held no sway. The bowie knife lost its gleam. My
hands, not use to sitting idle, needed a craft. I made a boomerang.
It throws and returns very nicely. I made another one. And another
one. I have ideas to make more. I don't think I've given up on
blades, but what happened? Am I cracking up?

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME????!!!!!

Scott Hurst

Scott. Yes, you are cracking up. It's getting humid in your brain shed old bean, and the bread is starting to mold. Fortunately for you, the world is a sack of dung tied around a leper's neck lately, so no one will notice if one hostile knifemaker goes poo poo in the sanity box. In short, you are not that important.

No no. Wipe the shock off your indignant face. We've been friends for a long time and I thought you should know this important fact. You're not that important. Okay, to your friends you are, but we're all rotten in the rice bin too. On the worldwide stage, you matter nearly squat. Your mental car wreck will affect very little. Rejoice!

If that bothers you, I have a plan to make your insanity a matter of public discussion from state to shining state. Here's what you do. Fill up that car of yours with gas, borrow my video camera and hit the road for a week. Bring that list of people you've got stuff to say to, a few knives, and what the hell, some boomerangs.

First, stop off and see your boss. Ask him politely to take off his pants and get in the f*cking trunk. When he refuses, ask him not as nicely. Take him to a parking lot and have him toss the heavy boomerangs until his arm turns to jello. Then, make him climb a grease light pole. Then, make him steal a car a drive for his life.

Rinse and repeat until God smiles again.

As they're taking you away, don't refuse to comment. ADVERTISE!!! "Hurst Boomerangs!" you can shout to the cameras, "Kidnap your boss and kill all the judges in America!"

Now you matter.

Good luck with the fruit basket on your neck, ya f*cking pickled banana. See you in the funny papers.

Murk