Had to buy a new chain saw today. The old one is, well, old. I knew immediately that the warranty had expired when I dug it out of the archives and the dates were in Roman numerals. Hoping maybe parts are still around, I took it to the saw shop. As soon as I entered, the owner started laughing. “What’s so funny,” I asked, knowing I was doomed. “I haven’t seen one of those old plastic-handled saws in years,” he guffawed. “That’s deer antler,” I retorted. “And that old black wrought iron chain!” he yelled, calling his buddies from the back of the store to see this ancient thing. “It’s not iron,” I yelled over the din of laughter, “it’s obsidian! And the case isn’t granite—it’s sandstone, for lightness.”
“What’s it run on, kerosene?” one of the mechanics yelled. “Yak butter,” I responded. “It’s Tibetan.”
The new one’s made mostly of metal and new-fangled plastic, and runs on gasoline you can buy almost anywhere. I guess now we can eat our stinky old yak.