Shaft up there is just trying to make the world a better place, one double-popped-collar-wearing douchebag at a time.
Buster Sword guy is like The Little Engine That Could if somebody hung those novelty steel balls from the undercarriage. Buster Sword guy
built himself a sword that everybody with any knowledge of basic physics knows you cannot ever practically wield, and then he fucking wielded it.
Thatâs not to say that he wielded it well
--if there is a victor in that video, it is certainly not Buster Sword guy. However, it is also not the palette. No, the only victor here is the force of gravity itself who, but for the lack of lips, would be screaming, âI told you so!â by the end of the tape. Still, Buster Sword guy should not be mocked. He is a
man-problem. He built that fucking sword himself, you know. He lifted it countless times. He knew the exact weight of the metals it was formed from. He knew full well that he could not swing the finished blade and yet even still, upon completion, he turned to his friend and said, âTurn the cameras on. I am going to murder a family of wood now, and it must be filmed.â
His motorcycle is matte black, its âholdersâ are of the sword variety rather than the conventional âcupâ and he obeys the helmet laws... to a truly terrifying extent!
He is the Samurai Cyclist, and he is a man doing what man does best: looking badass without really knowing why.Â Honestly though, this is what all men would look like without the level-headed censure of a womanâs influence. There is nothing particularly strange about this picture; this is just man at his most organic.
The great tragedy here is that, upon donning his custom built spiked shoulder pads, full samurai helmet and facemask; sheathing his swords in their spot-welded custom holders; and mounting his night-black, motored steed, this stupid world did not have the decency to end in a ball of fire,Â so the Samurai CyclistÂ found himself without a suitably post-apocalyptic landscape to race through. But did this stop him leaving the house? No! For he is man! He saw the unruined world outside and thought, âFuck it. Iâll just take this thing to Nordstromâs instead.â
And so he did. He probably bought a sweater there, chatted up a puckish salesgirl and maybe tried a sampler of this new cologne he had his eye on. But all the while, inside his head, you know his thoughts were naught but steel and fire. And maybe just a touch of argyle.
The temptation here is to chalk this picture up as just another one of those