You know, employing Igor, a ruthless Russian mercenary, has the advantage of providing good security for my high-security rock bunker and relieving worry about rock raiders stealing my rare, exotic rocks from all over the world. Lately, however, it seems like a mistake. But it’s my fault. In a recent Facebook post I compared Igor to Clint Eastwood regarding the way he squints. Definitely my bad.
Since then he’s been watching Eastwood flicks nonstop, and has grown fond of addressing me as “punk”. At least several times a day he walks in to my workshop, squints and say’s, “You arrre punk! You wee’ll make my day, no?” I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Tried staring at the beauty of this Horse Creek Chert arrowhead for relief but to little avail. Does anyone know a good therapist?