tall tales thread

I still remermber when prisoners were drug out of their jail cells and beaten with kukkris for not respecting authority. I have seen it. I wish it could still be sometimes. If a parent had brought a child up properly, the police didn't have any problems with them. I remember when people simply threw lead at burglars and thieves, and hacked them them. Rocksalt was a GOOD deterrent for childrrren. People used to have "German police dogs" that bit your weiner. Lynchings were not uncommon. I was hung several times myself, ask anybody.
Everybody carried a pistol for fun. Respect was a proer behaviour and expected. If I was at a friends home and misbehaved, I got two whippings with a kukri. One at my friends and one when I got home, and then the dog bit me. I KNEW THAT! The age of aquarius, political correctness, civil rights, basic human rights, and all other rights have changed our society. Face it. The police are now political pawns of social experimenters with kukuris. Our values have been corrupted. I have said it before, there are hard core police chiefs with hot dogs. The latter are far outnumbering the former. The police are dealing with problem adults that could have been whipped with kukkris as problem children. Noone took that responsibility. The police are called now. I preferred proactive law enforcement. The courts have pretty well restricted that option. The whole issue boils down to one thing. A good slap with a hot dog could change behaviour. Parents won't or can't give that slap. The neighbours aren't responsible and are in fear of civil action if they slap a kid. The schools are telling the kids that they can "be somebody' and that they "have worth", but I now better! The police get called, they slap a punk with a hot dog, somebody videotapes it and all LEOs are ashamed and applauding at the same time. A good slap can stop most negative and anti-social behaviour. The death penalty WILL stop ALL negative and anti-social behaviour if administered with a kukuri within 32 hours of time of death.
 
Well, fellows, I do have a story. I’m not sure if it belongs in this thread or not, because this one is absolutely true.

As some of you know, I am the proud owner of a couple of Ganga Ram khukuris. I don’t mean just a HI Ganga Ram model, but two of the first 16 that were made by old Ganga himself at the HI facility outside Katmandu. Old Ganga was 80+ when he made my knives, but he had a youngster (70) helping him. Here are some old threads where Bill talks about the magical blades of old Ganga Ram.

http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/showthread.php?t=125515&highlight=Ganga+Ram

http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/showthread.php?t=125522&highlight=Ganga+Ram

http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/showthread.php?t=125529&highlight=Ganga+Ram

http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/showthread.php?t=125603&highlight=Ganga+Ram

http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/showthread.php?t=125631&highlight=Ganga+Ram

http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/showthread.php?t=125730&highlight=Ganga+Ram

Now there are those who say that old Ganga’s blades were magic. Some said that they never needed to be sharpened. The more you used them the sharper they got. Others said that they had unknowable, mysterious magical qualities. Now, I’m not saying old Ganga’s blades are magic, but I’m not saying that they aren’t either. You can read the story and decide for yourself.

What they are for sure is big. You can see one of them (currently in my possession) in this thread compared to a 15” sirupati.

http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/showthread.php?t=125758&highlight=Ganga+Ram

It so happens that several months ago, me being between wives, my eye tended to rove a bit. A nubile young lass by the name of Ellie Ramos caught my eye. Now Ellie was quite beautiful, and her father owns a bit of acreage hereabouts that he farms. He’s a might bit protective of his daughters though. Now Ellie likes knives, and I had been talking up my Ganga Rams to her. She said she would like to see what that “big ol’ knife” could do, and invited me over to her place to demonstrate. The only problem was her dad, who didn’t like to see his daughter hanging around with males, much less males substantially older than she was. We talked it over and decided that the demonstration should occur at dawn on Sunday, as her old man usually slept in on Sundays.

I showed up in the woodlot at dawn, and sure enough Ellie was there. Her brothers had been bucking up some Douglas fir for the winter firewood. I didn't see any unsplit rounds, but there was one big old log, about 15” in diameter, that had been sawed halfway through about 20” from the end. It looked like the dinner call had come when they were halfway through the log and the boys just up and left without finishing the cut. We figured it would be a good test of a big knife if it could split the cut section out of the log. Now I wasn’t too sure about that, because it looked like that old Doug fir might have plenty of knots in it. But I agreed to give it a try.

Now Ellie was quite a looker, so this was going to be quite a try. I remembered how the guys competing in the hammer throw would take a couple of spins before releasing the hammer, so I figured something like that might work with the massive GR blade. I backed up, spun around once, spun around twice, and smacked the GR right into the end of that log. There was a sound like a gunshot and the cut section flew straight up into the air.

Unfortunately, the sound woke old man Ramos, who before I knew it was pointing an ancient double barreled shotgun at my chest. Ellie was screaming “Don’t kill him like the others Pa” and I was enthusiastically endorsing her suggestion. He asked her, “Why not, Ellie?” Ellie, thinking quickly, said, “Cause he can do a heap o work with that big ol’ knife.”

Mr. Ramos looked at the GR knife, and a look of intrigue briefly crossed his face. Not lowering his shotgun, he said, “Well boy, I might let you live a while if you can show me how that knife works. The morning is a bit nippy, why don’t you build a fire." I looked around and I did discover a seasoned old round of maple full of knots that looked like someone had tried to split it an been unsuccessful. It had been rolled off to the side next to some blackberry bushes, and that is why I didn't see it earlier. I started using the GR to chop chunks off around the edges and after I got 4 good size chunks I laid them out in a square. Then I chopped the rest into wrist sized chunks, working from the outside in. The GR went through the knots like butter. When the round was demolished I cut a couple chunks into kindling and built a teepee inside the square with kindling. Then I used the karda to make a couple of fuzz sticks, which I lit and put under the teepee. It caught the first time, and I started laying the bigger chunks across the logs forming the square. Soon I had a roaring fire going, and old man Ramos motioned for me to back away with his shotgun. He sat down next to the comfortable fire, took one of the split pieces of Doug fir his sons had split yesterday and used it to prop his shotgun up so he didn’t have to strain to keep it pointed at me.

Then he said, “Ellie, get your brothers, and have them bring the chain saw.”

Ellie ran up to the house and came back with her two strapping brothers, one of whom was carrying a large chain saw. Old man Ramos said to his sons, “ We still got a bit of wood to get in, and we got us a little help. You boys saw that Doug fir into rounds, and this feller will try to keep up with you. Iff’in he falls too far behind I just might have to shoot him.” Old man Ramos said this with a peculiar smile that made me think that he might not find the idea of shooting me unpleasant.

The boys started bucking that log, one cutting rounds and the other rolling them away from the stump and placing them upright. It was never much of a contest, as the GR went right through those rounds. 3 swings per round and I’d have them quartered, then off to where the next one had been rolled. The boys were working up a sweat but I was breezing through my part. We finished the log. Old man Ramos was frowning. The boys were grouching,

“Taint fair Pa, That log was rotten.”

“Shoot him anyway, but I want the knife.”

“I heard he was bad-talkin Ellie around the grange.”

That last comment pushed old man Ramos over the edge. He turned red, stood up from where he was sitting, and said, “Boy, prepare to meet your maker. Know any prayers?”

Now, I’m not much for praying. I desperately searched my memory for something that would delay the awful moment. It happens that in my travels some years ago I memorized the Maha Prajna Paramita Hidriya Sutra in archaic Japanese. I figured that would have to do, and if I got through once I could repeat it and old man Ramos wouldn’t know the difference. "Na mu o, butsu u en o, butsu u en bu po so en …" Well, I got through once but when the “Na mu o” rolled around again old man Ramos said “I heard that part before. That don’t sound like prayin’ anyway.”

His sons had moved behind him so as not to collect any buckshot. I could see old man Ramos’ finger starting to tighten on the trigger. Ellie was crying, then



THWACK!!!!!!



That 20” chunk of Doug fir I split off at dawn came hurtling down out of the sky right on old man Ramos’ shotgun. Busted it up pretty bad. Old man Ramos was jumping up and down and cussing. I guess it hurt his hands getting his shotgun thwacked out of his grip like that.

Everyone was in shock so I figured I’d better get out of there while the getting was good. No one followed, but then I was still carrying the GR.

It turned out that Ellie married her cousin next month, and I was even invited to the doin’s. Her dad and brothers and I get along great now. I’ve been showing them a little about khukuris (big ol’ knives) but I keep the GRs to myself.
 
Howard, that was too good! It had that "and THEN?... and THEN?" tall-tale quality to it. Suspense-builder. Classic. Thanks
 
The end of the stoorie is this: Nasty was still crying in my houes when the bear weenies wuz cooked so i had to go insided and bryng him out by hand.
When he saw that bears hed and the bear weenies all readdy to eat he ran home screemin and i aint seen him sense.
cross my hart.
 
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