BY Slim Randles/CNBNews.net
Well, ol’ Delbert zipped into the Mule Barn truck stop the other day, plopped down at the empty Round Table, and motioned for those of us at the philosophy counter to join him. We did.
“Boys,” he said, when we were seated and sipping, “I want to bounce an idea off you and see how it goes.”
He almost whispered, “Two words … knife sharpening!”
“Sure,” said Dud, pulling a diamond steel from a holster on his belt. “I’ll sharpen it for you, Delbert.”
“No, I don’t mean I need a knife sharpened,” he said, “I mean … a knife-sharpening contest. Actually, a knife-sharpening fiesta!”
His face beamed, he spread his arms, his hands palms up toward Heaven as the sheer Divine magnitude of the idea settled in. Doc reached for another sugar packet.
“Just think of it, guys,” Delbert said, “A veritable bevy of blade bevellers descending on our community, spending money in our restaurants, buying the latest in knife gear from the hardware store, filling the rooms at the motel.”
He looked around. Steve’s coffee made him cough. Doc chuckled into his hand. Dud put his diamond steel away.
“Sounds like a sharp idea to me, Del,” said Doc. “I like the way you came right to the point.”
“An edgy proposition,” Dud said, “but one that whets the appetite.”
Steve recovered from his coughing fit. “You could hold it out in the pasture and call it ‘Hone on the Range.’”
Delbert ignored the groaning and smiled. “That’s it, boys. Think on it. Let’s come up with some good angles.”
And Doc said, “I hear 10 to 15 degrees is best for a really sharp blade.”
Cracker packets flew.
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