Either way, given that Best Made Co. is a brand familiar with #menswear heads, I figured that it was worth a share.
"There are different ways to create an axe. There’s the homegrown, hardware store, classic oak handle, with cheap, sticky lacquer, that sticks on your hands when you chop, axe that you can pick up for $15. Then, there are axes where the creator takes the idea of an axe, makes it sophisticated like a fine whiskey or wine, creates it out of the best materials for your money, with a sharp that stays sharp many uses after, handles that is smooth and allows you to make swift strokes, and will always look inconspicuous in your car so that you’re never read your Miranda’s. Those are the axes we’re looking for. The top of the barrel. From the first time I swung this axe crafted by Best Made Co., I knew that I’d be writing about it.
I selected a Best Made Co. axe with a 4lb Dayton pattern head made out of 5160 alloy steel hardened to 54-56 HRS, allowing for reach and swiftness -- both necessities in our business. I gave it a few swings in store -- it felt appropriate and even people around me were a bit frightened; the perfect reaction. The American Felling Axe is the heavier model and recommended. When hewering limbs, small axes never do the job.
The detailing on the head of the axe is a nice touch, with an unpolished nature being a nod to axe murderers of old. The details are inconspicuous, yet you can’t help but stare at it. It’s the sort of thing your victims will see but never think, “Gee, that’s an awful fancy axe. I wonder if he’s going to swing it at my head. It’d be a shame, he probably spent a fortune on it,” -- anything other than absolute terror in henosis and imminence. The hickory is the sort of weight that’d you’d expect in an old folk tale -- just right in the most sinister sense. There is almost an ancient feel to the axe, even though it’s brand new, giving life to old arms and the opposite to some young souls.
On the first test run, I caught a young man in an alley -- urinating behind a dumpster of a bar. Snagging him by his collar, I drug him deeper into the depths of dark. With a hefty swing, I sent his conscious into kenosis -- head splattering, spewing, and peppering blood, bile, and bits of the trachea and esophagus onto the pavement and old chinese take-out boxes. The first swing felt right. The motion was fluid and well-balance, much unlike anything you’d buy at ACE Hardware or the like. I hewered a few more limbs off the frame and disposed of the body, leaving what looked to be vomited pasta sauce on the wall. Finishing cleaning up the mess, I wiped the blade down with a towel that would be burnt.
It was after this that I realized that I was holding a penultimate blade -- something only to be beaten by a craftsmen yet to be born. Great art would be produced with Best Made Co. axes. I, at least, would see to it.