Originally posted by: NuclearNed
I have to confess that I?ve never pictured myself as the lumberjack type. I?m a typical lifelong computer geek, and until recent years I?ve had a strong aversion to any type of manual labor that didn?t include personal lubricant. I got this way from my dear old mother. Even though I?ve qualified as an adult for several years now, she tirelessly relays to me dire warnings about men she personally knows <cough> who were mangled, mutiliated, or dismembered by an evil piece of murderous machinery. The horrors she has seen firsthand <cough, cough> are enough to have successfully kept me confined to a keyboard, opting to pay someone to do the man?s work around my house.
At least, that was the case until recently.
A year ago, I bought a house in the woods. I never really thought about it, but trees tend to drop a lot of big limbs in the yard. Trees also tend to die and tower precariously above one?s house, threatening at any moment to topple into the bedroom, onto one?s bed, and through one?s skull. The situation around my yard was becoming unbearable.
One day earlier this year, I was peering in fear out of my living room window as the trees mercilessly jeered at my cowardice. They knew they had nothing to fear from me. I couldn?t stand it anymore. Something deep inside me awoke that day, and I experienced a horrible sensation that I?ll never forget. That was the day that I first felt the unbearable shame of having always relied on better, braver men to shoulder my responsibilities for me. It was no wonder the wife?s friends liked to point at me and chuckle.
And then it happened ? a warm, nearly forgotten feeling from my boyhood began stirring way down in my pants. At first it was a mere tingly sensation, but as angry hot tears poured down my cheeks it grew and grew until my Levi?s could barely contain the surge of raw power as testosterone for the first time in years began to flow freely along almost lost paths. I angrily tore off my frilly little dress, ripped the top off a can of beer, and let out the roar of my inner Neanderthal. On that day, I reclaimed my lost manhood. And it was good.
I went straightway to the local hardware store and bought two things that altered the path of my life forever: an axe, and a chainsaw. Though I really wanted the Sequoia-class Log Chewer Deluxe, I settled for a nice mid-grade saw, but I splurged a little on the axe and got the Stump Crusher 5000. While they felt good in my hands, I have to admit that I was trembling a little from both fright and excitement. I?ve heard all the same accidental chainsaw-decapitation stories as everyone else. Also, how often is it that a man gets to wield raw unadulterated destructive force against his enemies?
So I took a deep breath and fired up the chain saw. Trees helplessly wished they had legs to run away as I slashed away and rendered them limb from limb. I sawed like there was no tomorrow. I sawed until I had no strength to continue sawing. I sawed until I was satisfied. I sawed until the years of pent up rage subsided to normal levels. When I was done, I pulled out the axe and hacked away with a vengeance at the piles of logs at my feet. Sawdust and chunks of wood flew high into the air. Wildlife ran for the safe confines of the deeper woods. And I noticed that a couple of wonderful things happened.
First, my always whiny, sometimes annoying dog is a whole new animal now. She doesn?t whine, cry, whimper, beg, drool, scratch the hardwood floors, or jump on my bed anymore. As a matter of fact, while she?s a little more nervous and wild-eyed than she once was, she?s the perfect, loving, quiet, calm dog that I always wanted.
Likewise, my wife doesn?t drone on about shoes and shopping when I?m trying to watch the game ? she just sits in her chair and tries to avoid eye contact. I get taco salad for dinner a whole lot more, and she?s suddenly agreeable to trying that threesome that I?ve always dreamed about. The only annoying part is that she keeps muttering something about ?just please don?t hurt me.?
I love my new tools. The strangest thing, though: I have the weirdest compulsion to buy a hockey mask.
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