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Fun from Our Nepalese Knife Brothers of the Blade By John Steele
Another weapons article to help keep up T-levels in men, and today’s men sure need it! Thus, I came across Kailash Blades, from Nepal, which consists of Nepalian knifemakers who were fed up of growing commercialism, and wanted to make a traditional product, true to their craft. But, then looking at the names of the craftsmen, I saw that somehow an ocker Aussie guy was involved, as industrial designer:
“Andrew is a Melbourne based multidisciplinary, who does a lot more than just decide which new products Kailash will introduce, what they'll look like and how they'll work. He's also responsible for the metallurgy and pricing of Kailash's products, its marketing and business strategies and all parts of the branding from the website to the packaging knives arrive in. He's also responsible for the full custom section of our website and guides all of those special projects to completion. He's also training to become a custom bicycle framebuilder, though is most often sighted either on his family's farm in Albury, NSW or scrounging through dumpsters in Melbourne's Inner North, looking for donuts. This is his natural habitat.”
Sorry Alor.org crew, I hope that you can get the ugly black shadowing out of the text I just cut and pasted. For the life of me, I cannot fathom the inner mysteries of Word. Then I saw the blade of my dreams, something that might cure the neurosis I have developed abut machetes just not having enough grunt and heft: the Expedition Cleaver, 18 inch blade, over 6 mmm thick. And, I like the blurb on this one too:
“So, let’s look at our previous situation and swap out the machete for the expedition cleaver. You swing through some brush and hit a finger width branch. The blade refuses to recognise its existence and soars on regardless. It feels good. You take another swing a foot further up the branch where it’s an inch thick and it once again slides on through with a deeply satisfying ring. It feels very, very good. You continue to chop further and further up the tree, becoming increasingly frantic and obsessed. At some point the tree is nothing but a stump so you move on to the next tree, then the next tree then the next tree, then your wife leaves you and takes the house so you make a house out of your amassed wood pile. You focus your sorrow into your work and dedicate life to chopping down trees, with your house growing larger and larger as the months go by. Eventually there are no trees left and you begin [to] suffocate inside your enormous wooden fortress, holding your expedition cleaver tightly against your rapidly slowing chest. As the light slowly fades from your eyes, a thought crosses your mind. God this thing is so much better than a Machete.”
We imagine that the wielder of the Expedition Cleaver departed the Earth, a happy man. Can we ask for anything more out of life?