bigscoop
Gold Member
- Jun 4, 2010
- 13,373
- 8,689
- Detector(s) used
- Older blue Excal with full mods, Equinox 800.
- Primary Interest:
- All Treasure Hunting
Ninety-seven degrees, hot asphalt under my feet, not so much as a breeze at my back and a bright baking sun overhead. Sure, there was sweat on my brow, but real men sweat, they just wipe it away by swiping the back of their leather work gloves across their face. That’s what real men do, because that’s the way it should be, because that’s the way it is when you work hard, like real men do.
From twenty-feet away I could see the clutter piled up in my garage, all kinds of crap tossed about the place as if the entire space had been hit by a tornado. Tools, I could see lots of tools scattered all around that had never gotten put back in their place. Lots and lots of tools, because real men, hard working men, have lots and lots of tools. The job before me was huge, especially in light of the broiling heat that was threatening to suck ever once of fluid from my body. My massive arms were bulging at my sides, my powerful fingers already exercising and losing the leather skins that continued to sweep the pouring sweat from my face and eyes. For the past ten minutes I had stood on that hot asphalt, under that cooking sun, my squinting eyes examining ever inch of the disaster before me. I had opened the overhead garage door for a reason, a manly reason. God, it sure needed cleaned up! Then suddenly the clear plan of attack was formed in my head, there was a job that needed done and it was now time for me to make my move. Time was wasting away.
So, I walked on over, plowed my through all the clutter to where the fishing rod was at, I grabbed it, and then I backtracked out again. I did this because real men, manly men, don't let a little danger, a lot of clutter and a hot sun prevent them from going fishing!
Got a "Real Man" story? Post it here.
From twenty-feet away I could see the clutter piled up in my garage, all kinds of crap tossed about the place as if the entire space had been hit by a tornado. Tools, I could see lots of tools scattered all around that had never gotten put back in their place. Lots and lots of tools, because real men, hard working men, have lots and lots of tools. The job before me was huge, especially in light of the broiling heat that was threatening to suck ever once of fluid from my body. My massive arms were bulging at my sides, my powerful fingers already exercising and losing the leather skins that continued to sweep the pouring sweat from my face and eyes. For the past ten minutes I had stood on that hot asphalt, under that cooking sun, my squinting eyes examining ever inch of the disaster before me. I had opened the overhead garage door for a reason, a manly reason. God, it sure needed cleaned up! Then suddenly the clear plan of attack was formed in my head, there was a job that needed done and it was now time for me to make my move. Time was wasting away.
So, I walked on over, plowed my through all the clutter to where the fishing rod was at, I grabbed it, and then I backtracked out again. I did this because real men, manly men, don't let a little danger, a lot of clutter and a hot sun prevent them from going fishing!
Got a "Real Man" story? Post it here.
