Machete

So I went to Cabela’s today to buy a machete. This was a manly job born of a manly need.

At the Farm, near Pleasanton, my father-in-law has purchased a new golf cart. These semi-off-road vehicles are our prime entertainment (or at least second to drinking beer in my case) while at the Farm.

Previously we had used Uncle Jimmy’s golf cart. This golf cart sported a machete on the floorboard. The machete, of course, is there for brush purposes.

But after hearing a report of wild dogs at the Farm, and thinking of my two small boys, Buddy and Bonk, I decided that our golf cart needed a weapon, too. Not a gun, necessarily. But something practical and effective.

So I went to Cabela’s with a need to get a utilitarian, heavy-duty, honest-to-god machete.

Instead I found this:

I can’t purchase that, of course.

I mean the teenage Conan wannabe in me absolutely pictures me atop the golf cart wielding my samurai-machete savagely against wave after wave of vicious feral hogs …

I would look exactly like this, of course, except with a long, flowing Nordic beard and, possibly a beer instead of a shield.

But the other menfolk at the Farm would laugh at me for bringing a sword. They’d accuse me of being a teenage Conan wannabe.

The other machetes were no better, each looking like some sort of ninja implement. The truth of the matter is that I know the more ninja-like the machete looks, the greater the chance that Buddy or Bonk will someday hurt themselves playing with it.

Other knives were no better, labeled “Bear Grylls” – as if a grown-ass man wants to have somebody else’s name on their tools.

I came away slightly disturbed that simple, practical tools had given way to these overdesigned toys. Surely it says something about the culture.

I liked it better in the old days, when tools needed no fantasy embellishment, save for the occasional cowboy flourish.

Now where do I find a machete?

At Zilker

Batman and Robin.

Batmobile?

First steps at Zilker Park. I mean, not his first steps (that would be cool), but first at Zilker.

Yeah? So?

I'm a bad man.

On the Zephyr….