rob was here.

Belty McBelterson was a hero of ages. Fierce enough to independently hunt renegade Jagdgeschwader fighter pilots in his Sopwith; Gentle enough to raise infant meadow voles after their mother was sqooshed by a indifferent cyclist.

These two aspects of the psyche often conflicted into bewildering out-comes. Belty was once credited with leaping across a busy highway to save a troubled fawn, only to take it home to make it into a good pot of soup (for orphans).

I got Belty sometime in '94 or '95 as far as I can figure, and since then, it has been the primary weapon used by my pants in the perpetual conflict against gravity. I have other more formal belts, but Belty was a belt for the common person. A step up from rope. He was even willing to have some holes drilled in himself for when I got skinnier than the standardized belt-holes permitted.

We were through a lot together, Belty and I. We went to Europe. South America. He single handedly got me through High School and University. Then it all came crashing down.

I tried to put on the belt the other day, and a little metal ring thing came off. That part that keeps the "extra" amount at the end of your belt from flapping around.

I'm left with a predicament. Should I actually abandon McBelterson? In favor of something newer and more stylish? Or should I blindly keep going. Like driving with half-working brakes?

Time will tell.

Ooh. Unforgiven is on.