I love peanuts.
I know, I have become a die hard fanatic of the little curvy serpentine jacks, and for the last several months, I've been in a blissful state of not wanting another knife. My amber bone and damascus peanut has been my steady edc, and I love it.
Mostly.
I guess it's some kind of unwritten law, that in any paradise there must be a serpent. Ever since Eve bit the apple, nothing has been perfect, so why should I expect any difference in my little world?
The problem is, that ever since becoming a peanut devotee, it has opened the world of small pocket knives to me. Sometimes when I least expect it, I get almost overcome with the desire to buy the new little bauble that catches my eye. Mini copper heads, especially the beautiful little wharnie and amber bone that Ed keeps showing off, makes my devotion to the cult waver. Looking at the nice little pocket hunters makes my devotion waver. A shameful thing indeed, myself being the Grand High Muckba of the cult, and having a position to uphold. Looking at other little slicerer and dicers, I find loyalty a tough thing to stick to. It's actually hard being a one knife man, and seeing all those pretty little knives that may need a good home to go to.
Knifitis acumulitis is a tough thing to fight. I never had trouble being a one woman man. Of course, Karen being the excellent shot that she is, gives me inspiration to keep the faith. I have no trouble being one dog man. As long as Pearl the wonder corgi draws breath, I wouldn't think of a new dog in the home. And all those years I was in the army, my trusty Buck 301 in a O.D. green nylon web sheath on my hip, I was a one knife man. With that stockman, and a P-38 and Sear's 4-way keychain screw driver on my keyring, I was ready for anything.
It was weird getting the knife bug at a later mature age in life. Maybe it's like malaria, you shake the disease, but get re-occuring bouts now and then. I guess I'll just keep on carrying my damascus peanut, and when I feel the need to buy a new one, hold it tight, and whisper " My Precious" to it, and wait for the bout to pass.
Besides, what would people say if I, Carl, Grand High Muckba of the Faithful were spotted with a mini copper head?

Carl.
I know, I have become a die hard fanatic of the little curvy serpentine jacks, and for the last several months, I've been in a blissful state of not wanting another knife. My amber bone and damascus peanut has been my steady edc, and I love it.
Mostly.
I guess it's some kind of unwritten law, that in any paradise there must be a serpent. Ever since Eve bit the apple, nothing has been perfect, so why should I expect any difference in my little world?
The problem is, that ever since becoming a peanut devotee, it has opened the world of small pocket knives to me. Sometimes when I least expect it, I get almost overcome with the desire to buy the new little bauble that catches my eye. Mini copper heads, especially the beautiful little wharnie and amber bone that Ed keeps showing off, makes my devotion to the cult waver. Looking at the nice little pocket hunters makes my devotion waver. A shameful thing indeed, myself being the Grand High Muckba of the cult, and having a position to uphold. Looking at other little slicerer and dicers, I find loyalty a tough thing to stick to. It's actually hard being a one knife man, and seeing all those pretty little knives that may need a good home to go to.
Knifitis acumulitis is a tough thing to fight. I never had trouble being a one woman man. Of course, Karen being the excellent shot that she is, gives me inspiration to keep the faith. I have no trouble being one dog man. As long as Pearl the wonder corgi draws breath, I wouldn't think of a new dog in the home. And all those years I was in the army, my trusty Buck 301 in a O.D. green nylon web sheath on my hip, I was a one knife man. With that stockman, and a P-38 and Sear's 4-way keychain screw driver on my keyring, I was ready for anything.
It was weird getting the knife bug at a later mature age in life. Maybe it's like malaria, you shake the disease, but get re-occuring bouts now and then. I guess I'll just keep on carrying my damascus peanut, and when I feel the need to buy a new one, hold it tight, and whisper " My Precious" to it, and wait for the bout to pass.
Besides, what would people say if I, Carl, Grand High Muckba of the Faithful were spotted with a mini copper head?
Carl.