I showed my wife photos of the knife that'll be hanging from my belt next summer, and she said "Oooh, I like the satin. Shiny is too, too, too ostentatious." I had to look that up.
If I’m going disgusting I’m going all the way.
Mike you sound on the fence with your "Still, for my typical cheese slicing, pepperoni chunking use a mirror finish might be useful, if only to reflect a sun winked call for rescue when Canadian version of Spam runs low." Are you decided on one or the other?
Thanks Mike, I wasn't sure what you were saying.Satin.
You're a man after my own heart, what more can I say? Except.......slice up your cocktail weinies and Kilck with a beautiful shiny blade, fry up the delectably disgusting lips and pecker meat in a cold handled frying pan, then throw the parts into your freeze dried chilli and wait for the sun to go down. You Satin Dance Masters will rue the day you picked a blade finish that matched your paddle sock! You see, when one is squatting against a tree in the dark, as the meat by-products duke it out with the freeze dried chilli in your lower intestine, you can hold the mirror finish knife up to your eyes and it will reflect the bear starring at your arse three feet away, wondering whether to dig in or flee. Try that with your fancy smanshy Pansy Satin lumbersexual butter spreader!
(Robin, my apologies if I went to far)
Satin is one typo away from Satan. No matter how much you spell mirror wrong, the Devil will not be involved. In fact, I think good old Beelzebub purposely made satin close to his name to entice the feeble moral majority over to his cause. But that's OK, cause when he shows up on Summit Lake and yer arsehole starts sounding like Linda Blair with a 28 ounce can of pea soup, me and the Mighty Shiny Ripster will be there to strike terror into the wicked one's heart, calling down a lightening strike of righteousness and bouncing it off that Bright Blade of Glory right into Satin's great gob, plugging every evil orifice for miles. When the smoke clears, ye non-believers will find me gone, and the Ripster plunged immovably into a granite boulder, waiting patiently for another pure hearted canoeist to pull him out and once again do battle with the Unholy Stinker.