Wednesday, October 16, 2013
I can make sparks and stick metal together, but I’m no welder. My welds, performed with a hardware store wire-feed MIG, is like an old East German hooker. Hairy armpits and ugly, and may need some covering up with Soviet-era pancake makeup, but they get the job done.
The gentleman pictured is an old redneck hippy I’ve known since the days we spent smoking surreptitious joints in the high school parking lot, between mind-numbing indoctrination sessions in the Jerkwater Central Public School System. Here he’s puzzling out some electrical demons plaguing his ‘70 Honda 750 four (never did get it figured out.) He is a rum-drinking eater of fish heads and spends his weekends scraping the scales off of mud carp with the edge of hubcaps and riding quads at a retired meth lab in the scenic southern hills of our great state.
On top of all these accomplishments, he’s also a fine welder of titanium bicycle frames and top secret government aircraft parts. I finally got all the pieces tacked on to the river rat rigid and brought it to this wild man for some proper, tender loving TIG beads.