For weeks I’ve been relentlessly battered with technical information about Adam’s magical knife/screwdriver object his work is purchasing for him. Somehow, no matter how mundane my actions, I’m continually advised that the arrival of this fabled object will be able to enhance my lifestyle.

This included everything from eating cereal (”It probably even has a spoon embedded into it”), to wiping my arse if there was no paper within my immediate reach (”How could it not facilitate such a basic human requirement?”)

Yesterday the object in question appeared in Adam’s sweaty little hands when he arrived home from work. As I was increasingly desperate for a diversion from the final brain-numbing episode of Strayan Survivarrr, I humored him to discover the life-changing joys of this fiddly little thing.

Speaking of Ostrayan Survivah, why didn’t they just confine the contestants to the lower socioeconomic regions of somewhere like Broken Hill for a month or so? Not only does the town’s name sound dangerous (I can hear that gravely voice now - “Then the locals arrived… and it became BROKEN HILL”), but the town’s got it’s own fucking time zone. You know they must be hardarses if they can get that arranged.

So Adam whips out this shiny object, and although it takes me a few moments to realise this - it’s actually a simple Swiss army knife.

I reflect on this fact out loud, to be met with a screaming wail of disapproval from Adam.

“It’s not a Swiss Army Knife, it’s a Leatherman knife!” he corrects.

I erupt in laughter for an extended period of time thinking he’s just composed some bizarre irreverent joke. Then, as I realise his facial expression has embodied a full stop and is quite clearly communicating a statement of fact; I’m forced to clutch my penis to stop weeing myself in the midst of hysterical giggling.

“Leatherman?!” I check incredulously. “Is this the most homosexual knife in the world or what?”

“LEATHERMAN,” Adam booms back. And then I look at the knife, and it’s the most homosexual shade of pink ever burnt into my retinas in my whole life.

“Bahahaha,” I cry. “You have a gay knife!”

Adam then graciously lists the many ways he can torture and/or kill me using the many functions of his Leatherman knife. Somewhat revoltingly, the knife is called “Leatherman Juice” which sounds not entirely like the title of a pornographic film.

“Leatherman,” I point at Adam. “That is your new name.” Then he lunges at me, with tweezers, wire cutters, screwdrivers, bottle openers and scissors all snipping, whirring and snapping at me in perfect synchronicity.

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 16th, 2002 at 8:08 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.