After one year’s absence from the wreck center I was a wreck, a mere shadow of my original self. I was convinced, if the pandemic didn’t kill me, it would make me wish I was dead, or at least cramp my style to the point where I wouldn’t recognize myself in the mirror, even when that mirror was fogged-up. But then along came Stumpy’s.

Stumpy’s is a Hatchet House, where one can let off steam by drinking beer for a couple hours while throwing hatchets at wooden targets. Think about the small satisfaction gets in throwing darts, then put that thought on anabolic steroids.

Remember when we were kids, and our mothers shouted, “Stop that crying right now, or I’ll give you something to cry about!” Well, our moms threatened us with that because they didn’t have a Stumpy’s to go to for a couple hours, and throw a few dozen hatchets.

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I know for my part, when I stopped going to the wreck center I took to playing beach volleyball in my sleep, including jamming my hands into the headboard in trying to block shots. I took to wearing boxing gloves to bed at night, preparing to take a swing at Jack Dempsey in my sleep.

Stumpy’s got its start in a backyard in New Jersey. Neighbors started peering over the fence, then created their own hatchet backyards. Pretty soon those same neighbors were having contests to see who could stick the most hatchets in a bullseye. Of course it wasn’t long before a light went on, “You know, this is fun, it’s therapeutic, and people might pay to experience a reliable stress reliever like this.” Stumpy’s to the rescue!

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There are now more than a dozen Stumpy’s in eleven states, though we’re patiently awaiting Stumpy’s arrival in the Great State of Nevada.

Perhaps, while we wait, our Old Lake Tahoe Athletic Club could attach a bowling ball to a logging chain, and swing that ball twice around before letting it fly into a concrete wall, to leave its mark on a painted bullseye. We could call the place, “Frumpy’s” and only charge for the misses. (Not a single one of our OLTACers could ever hit the bullseye, given a week of Sundays.)

Now what we need do, is put our names into a plug-hat and draw out the lucky winner who gets to host the first Frumpy’s at his house, and explain to his wife that, “Honey, you will get used to the sound of a bowling ball hitting the bedroom wall, I promise!”

Stay tuned to these pages for news of the Grand Opening of “Frumpy’s Ball & Chain Franchise,” coming soon to the Great State of Nevada.

Meanwhile, perhaps the best thing we can take away from Stumpy’s is a political slogan and bumper sticker we can all use right now, “Bury the Hatchet!”

Learn more about McAvoy Layne at http://www.ghostoftwain.com.