Paul Bunyan makes me nervous because he's got the ax and the blueness of his ox must be an optical illusion.
Stumbling across Mr Bunyan at a cocktail party would result in all sorts of problems, especially if he's hogging the cocktail toasts and drinking too many Manhattans. He would probably greet me with a gregarious guffaw and slap me on the arm, invading my personal space. If I can see the rings of your contacts, even in a dark room, you are too close. The hide color on your ox is not found in nature and that's suspicious.
The ax is swinging precariously close to the picture on the wall- someones dad painted it of a covered bridge. Paul doesn't care and he's got a story- probably a story about the time he invented a super ox feeder or cheese cuber. Even better he's founded something like the Unified Northern Indian Topographical Ermine Development Corp, LLC. (Interestingly, that's UNITED).
I need to found some kind of entity and brag about it at parties.
I think about asking him for cash or cut lumber or even a chance to fondle the ax, but he's pretty wrapped up in the greatness that is Mr Bunyan. He works his way around the party talking to other tale tellers like Mr Worm. This Mr Worm will overpower just about anyone and he's usually manhandling you and trying to kiss you on the mouth despite your repeated warnings that the lip fungus is still pretty active under the lip gloss.
You know you have a situation when Paul and the Worm can't see eye to eye on their carnivorous, competitive cocktail toast eating. But Paul has an ax and he might just use it on something other than the cracked acrylic "Sunset over Covered Bridge" by someones Dad.
The Worm drinks and texts. Maybe there's a better party out there somewhere with no competitive foundation stories and more finger food. (Note to the Worm, we can see these because we share them with the other party goers.)
I knock over a cup of cocktail onions.
Bunyan loudly regales us with his tales of the formation of UNITED making everyone, including the Worm wonder why he's bothering with our little party anyway. It must be exhausting to remember all of those details about stuff you make up and I can independently verify on the Internet- remember though that Al Gore invented that last item.
It's unlikely that Mr Worm or Mr Bunyan will find my little blog.
Or that I picked their pockets when I knocked over the onions.