I came upon a lot, recently. A lot of some 30 razors. There were four fatboys, and a few decent-looking slims. There were a half-dozen single-edge jobs I'll never use and will likely PIF or sell. There were a couple flare-tip superspeeds in there, and a couple 40s superspeeds, and a couple kronas. There was a few fat-handled new techs, and a lady gillette. Most of it was dusty and crusted. Looked like a great set. It IS a great set.
When I saw the lot, I salivated. Yes, it was a great bridge to everything I had. Every bit would be an expansion of collecting areas I'd already invested in -- 40s superspeeds, slims, news and new techs in particular. Aw, c'mon, how could I resist? I did not resist. Then I came across the Three Bad Little Fatboys -- the three amigos of lot razor disappointment.
I should stop right here and reveal my hand. I have six fatboys. One's a shaver, one's in reserve in a box, and I've got a very sharp third. I have enough of them. This lot, along with the three bad little fatboys that are the subject of this thread, is gravy.
... I've cleaned them all.
... it's taken a few days, but I've busted through cleaning the lot, and I've come to finding the four that need to go. I might replate two of them (one's a flare-tip superspeed), but when it comes down to it, three of the four losers are fatboys, and this is their story.
Pic 1 is the trio. They're merry, and shiny... not a bit of overt delinquence on the face. Not even spotty, really. You might even invite them to dinner.
Pic 2 is "Neil". Scrappy bastard. Got a silo door that sticks against the center bar. Plating's nice -- maybe the best of the trio -- yet, you need a calloused thumb to get the doors to fit, and if you really do twist to open you'll have to pop any thumb-adjustment loose. Numbers are still well-laquered. Gap on the blade is fine, but it just seems like the poor boy was twisted long ago. Maybe Neil ate too much dirt at Woodstock. Don't know, but something's amiss, here.
Pic 3 is "Bobo", a witless moron. His adjustment is frozen, and his *** unscrews, so you have to push up on it to get his doors to open. There's none of the quarter-turn to tighten in Bobo, he tightens like a screw and if it were not for the fact that he's got even doors, you might consign the poor bastard to data entry, but who would bother trust him? Heaven's, there are just too many steps to trust, for Bobo.
Pic 4 is "Arturo", named for an incompetent engineer I once fired long ago. Oh, Arturo was pretty. All the girls in the office loved him when he was loose at happy hour, but if you tightened him up-to-task he got just enough off-kilter as to be untrustable. He might even steal your wallet. If you look, he appears to have been dropped as a child (one side's higher than another -- is that a hump?), but I can't hold abuse against him. He's clean now, right, even if he'll never be used?
They're awful, and I can't stand one of them any more than the other, and they're all bound to warmer climes, but they're MY bad fatboys, after all, and they'll go on my terms. I might sell them off, or melt them down. Who knows.
Sad, though, isn't it?
-- Chet
-=sigh =-
When I saw the lot, I salivated. Yes, it was a great bridge to everything I had. Every bit would be an expansion of collecting areas I'd already invested in -- 40s superspeeds, slims, news and new techs in particular. Aw, c'mon, how could I resist? I did not resist. Then I came across the Three Bad Little Fatboys -- the three amigos of lot razor disappointment.
I should stop right here and reveal my hand. I have six fatboys. One's a shaver, one's in reserve in a box, and I've got a very sharp third. I have enough of them. This lot, along with the three bad little fatboys that are the subject of this thread, is gravy.
... I've cleaned them all.
... it's taken a few days, but I've busted through cleaning the lot, and I've come to finding the four that need to go. I might replate two of them (one's a flare-tip superspeed), but when it comes down to it, three of the four losers are fatboys, and this is their story.
Pic 1 is the trio. They're merry, and shiny... not a bit of overt delinquence on the face. Not even spotty, really. You might even invite them to dinner.
Pic 2 is "Neil". Scrappy bastard. Got a silo door that sticks against the center bar. Plating's nice -- maybe the best of the trio -- yet, you need a calloused thumb to get the doors to fit, and if you really do twist to open you'll have to pop any thumb-adjustment loose. Numbers are still well-laquered. Gap on the blade is fine, but it just seems like the poor boy was twisted long ago. Maybe Neil ate too much dirt at Woodstock. Don't know, but something's amiss, here.
Pic 3 is "Bobo", a witless moron. His adjustment is frozen, and his *** unscrews, so you have to push up on it to get his doors to open. There's none of the quarter-turn to tighten in Bobo, he tightens like a screw and if it were not for the fact that he's got even doors, you might consign the poor bastard to data entry, but who would bother trust him? Heaven's, there are just too many steps to trust, for Bobo.
Pic 4 is "Arturo", named for an incompetent engineer I once fired long ago. Oh, Arturo was pretty. All the girls in the office loved him when he was loose at happy hour, but if you tightened him up-to-task he got just enough off-kilter as to be untrustable. He might even steal your wallet. If you look, he appears to have been dropped as a child (one side's higher than another -- is that a hump?), but I can't hold abuse against him. He's clean now, right, even if he'll never be used?
They're awful, and I can't stand one of them any more than the other, and they're all bound to warmer climes, but they're MY bad fatboys, after all, and they'll go on my terms. I might sell them off, or melt them down. Who knows.
Sad, though, isn't it?
-- Chet
-=sigh =-
