What begins as the usual tall-timber yarn slowly mutates into something stranger, the way American myths often do when the sun goes down and the bottle gets light. Each swing of the axe summons another impossible catastrophe blamed on that big blue-oxed bastard, until the line between folklore and fear blurs like bad ink in a rainstorm. Somewhere out in those woods, the legend still walks… and he’s taking the whole republic with him, one cosmic blunder at a time.
