Random Acts of Manliness: The Ax Purchase

Few things in this world are as viscerally satisfying as swinging an ax. I know this because after twenty seven years of idiocy, I finally broke down and bought an ax. Why? Shit, I don't know. But for some reason, for the first time in my life, I suddenly became aware of my complete lack of axery. To me, this was just further evidence of the disconnect that my generation has with all generations prior. Go back just a few decades and you will realize that for households past, an ax wasn't a luxury or a novelty, it was a life necessity. Go back a few centuries, and you will realize that a man without an ax was essentially a dead motherfucker. Part tool, part weapon, full friend and confidant, an ax was essential to early man's life and without it, shelter, fire, and safety were not an option. Fast forward to today, and an ax is about as necessary to daily life as hen's teeth. But, as I held that hickory handle in my hands for the first time, a wave of memories from my past lives of manliness came flooding through me and as I swung and struck that first blow into an oak stump, I knew that this just felt right. I pictured bad-ass dudes in flannel and suspenders clear cutting forests in the North West with nothing but their trusty axes and satchels full of flap-jacks to provide daily nourishment*. Then I pictured plainsmen settling homesteads, cutting down logs and notching felled timbers to assemble log cabins, structures which would stand as a testament to manliness and craftsmanship long after the builder was dead and buried and his ax had rusted away into oblivion. Last I pictured a sea of angry Norsemen, gone berserk on 'shrooms and Meade, axing their way to glorious victory or dying the most honorable death at the hands of another crazed ax-man and passing on to the Halls of Valhalla. Through my ax, I would continue this saga, even if my contribution was minimal. At the very least, as I lie upon my death bed, I can whisper to my survivors "remember that time I bought an ax and chopped a chunk out of that oak stump? Yeah, I know, it was bad-ass."

*The historical accuracy of lumberjacks carrying satchels full of flapjacks could not be verified. This may or may not be a glitch in my memory, whereby I mixed chunks of Paul Bunyan with actual historical knowledge.