In the sad case of "Little Oopsie", I'm blaming FaceBook.
The evil FB hooked me up with one of my old compatriots from the early, Montana days.
No flies on that. It even netted me a knife order.
A Tierney knife.
It's always a pain to orient a guard casting on a blade when they're cast in place.
The Oops, pictured above, never felt right as I put it together so I finally bit the bullet, scanned it (Faster than the camera). Then I copied the image, reversed it and superimposed it on the first and thus found that I'd cast the guard all cattywhompus to the blade (Knife-guy term. It's technical).
The portion of Oopsie's blade covered in tape is what needed to go south to make it work.
She lost enough blade length that she's no longer a Tierney knife. The replacement Tierney (unfinished) is pictured next contrasting the rather more compact form of Little Oopsie.
But, cutesy name notwithstanding, little Oopsie is no one to fuck with.
Eight inches of double-edged blade, forged from a file (A Simonds, Red Tang Mill Bastard - Some of the lettering to this effect is still visible on the ricasso)
She's most certainly a sticked little wicker (wicked little sticker) who needs a place to live - away from little brother, the Tierney.
They're not getting along well. Please help.
For the merest $125 you could spare the Oops this indignity.
$125; it's the price of dozens of cups of coffee, part of a car payment, nothing more than one tiny eight-thousandth of a million dollars will give this little knife the chance she needs.
Please, dig deep.
Don't let little Oopsie languish in my collection of fuck-ups.
THIS JUST IN!
Little Oopsie's got a date for the prom!
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