10. Tom Watson
Feb 2 2003, 11:41 am show options

Newsgroups: rec.woodworking
From: Tom Watson - Find messages by this
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Date: Sun, 02 Feb 2003 11:39:06 -0500
Local: Sun, Feb 2 2003 11:39 am
Subject: Keep On Googlin' -Or- Statistics Do Not Lie?
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On Sun, 02 Feb 2003 14:30:42 GMT, "Stephanie and Tim"



wrote:
Can anyone explain to me the "klown hammer" reference?

I read a couple of the posts on google, and I still don't get it.
Perhaps I'm just dense?


-Tim



I take you back to an earlier time: A sweeter time, a time of
innocence, a time of - well, let's just say it was a while back.

A pastoral setting:


Pukey Ducks, dripping Polyurinestain, graze on the green
swards.


Stacks of freshly planed pallet wood sit curing in the
driveway, the sun winking merrily on the freshly cut nail heads.


O'Deen chats up a dewaxed blonde, plotting to lower her
resistance to flow with some of his 200 proof reserve.


Duke of URL's guiltily ogles the newest silicone spray
enhanced beauty in the Delta Tool Porn Centerfold but this only gives
rise to thoughts of putting the wood to his faithful,
ever-accommodating Unisaur.


JOAT posts plans for pointy sticks and cheerfully answers his
voluminous email.


Davey Eisan sits next to a new fishing rod, reading Trollope
until his lips get numb.


Normites, Neanders, Galoots, Royds - all live in harmony.
There were no Men In Doorways, no Joes Blowing, no Woodpeckers,
nothing BAD at all.


We needed only Species Level Filters in those days - any human
being was welcomed to the Golden Wrecktangle.


But - a foul darkness was growing in the land. The beginning
of what was to become known as "The War of the Bennetts" was at hand.


"The War of the Bennetts" is thought to be explicated and
celebrated in "The Lost Chronicles of Deja". Let it suffice for now
to say that confusion and disorder were everywhere. It was an age
without wisdom, without charm, without respect, without… it was pretty
bad.


But there were great men, tall and broad, about in those days.
Some say they were the progeny of the Nephilim but the truth is lost
in the mists of time. What is known is that they formed that great
mysterium tremens, The Cabal, and swore an oath to restore order,
justice and respect. They mounted their Unisaurs and rode to glory.


And - what did they hold high, what did they wield to smite
their snarling foes? KlownHammers.


As the Samurai has his sword, as the Minuteman has his long
rifle, as the Jedi has his light saber, the Caballista has his
KlownHammer.


The original KlownHammers were forged and awarded during "The
War of the Bennetts". Their makeup and measures are shrouded in
secrecy. Their numbers are known but not spoken. It is said that
they could not be drawn and resheathed without tasting the blood of
the infidel.


They did help to restore peace and sweetness to the realm.


But - all good things must pass. The Caballistas tired of the
eternal vigilance required as the coin of freedom. Some wandered
afar, no doubt to new glory. Some were gripped by ennui and cloaked
themselves in new named anonymity. The ringing of their KlownHammers
was stilled.


A new and more insipid darkness has come to the kingdom. It
is not Nemesis that walks the realm. There are no Giants to be
toppled. There are no Dragons to be slain.


There is an idle sort of meanness. There is a foolish
disrespect. There is a graying of the flesh and a chilling of the
heart.


It is said that this does not pass unnoticed. It is said that
there are distant cries of once familiar voices, bohn mots not heard
nor shared in recent memory are tossed into the light, great figures
from an earlier age gather themselves round the fire and hold their
councils.


It is said that the KlownHammers of old are being stoned and
boned and paddylacked - made ready for the hard work that must be
done. The villagers clot together and speak in hopeful whispers.


There is more, of course. "The Lost Chronicles of Deja"
explain much but they are……lost. The old ones have grown careful in
their speaking.


I, myself, am weary and must take my rest. Enough for now…


(The madly shrieking woodgnome crazylegs his way back beneath the
fatwood pile and peers, darkly, into the dust muted gloom of the shop.
He awaits the susurrant scything swoosh that marks the coming of the
KlownHammer.)


Regards,


Tom


Thomas

Tom Watson - WoodDorker

tjwatson1ATcomcastDOTnet (real email)

http://home.comcast.net/~tjwatson1/