To fully grasp the necessity of such a tool, please consider the following highly probable scenario:

Sam and Fred are driving down a seemingly empty street in an old Ford pickup (looks to be a 95-ish F150, in Ford-ugly turquoise) when they suddenly find themselves engulfed by encroaching swarms of ZOMBIES!!

Brilliant as he is charming and sexy, Sam slams on the breaks with an idea.

Sam: Quick Fred, get the machete out of my bag! I'll hold it out the window and drive in circles! That'll clear out this undead horde in no time.

Fred rummages through a pile of tools in an old duffle bag, finding everything BUT the machete.

Fred: Uh . . . adjustable wrench . . . rigger's axe . . . auger bit . . . pipe wrench . . .

The zombies are closing in.

Sam, panicked: Hurry Fred, hurry! The machete. The MACHETE!!!

Zombies encircle the truck and begin clawing, hand-smearing and clumsily pounding on the windows . . . you know, how zombies always do.

Sam mutters something coarse and completely intelligible as he shifts into gear and hits the gas, plowing head-long into the herd, sending zombies flying.

Sam: You know Fred, you're a lousy friend. Can't even hand me a machete in my greatest time of need!

Fred: Hey, don't blame me. This highly disorganized bag of tools is practically useless and lacking in effective functionality, because there is no way to quickly both identify and access the appropriate tool for a given situation. It's not my fault you didn't organize your zombie weaponry a little better.

Sam: I am sorry; you are right. I should install some French cleats in there or something . . . I've underestimated you Fred. You are my dearest friend.

The men share a warm and fuzzy moment as the truck barrels on through the zombies toward the setting sun, rotting bits flying everywhere . . . hands, feet, still-biting and snarling heads landing in the bed of the truck.

BUT THEN . . . Zombies start to pile up under the front end of the truck!

The truck lurches to a stop, teetering on the peak of a writhing mound of zombies. Gasp!

Sam shifts into reverse and floors it. No luck! He's high-centered on zombies.

More zombies clamber up the mound and resume their zombie glass-pounding, with their hungry but dead eyes leering into the faces of their next potential meal. They break through the driver's side window and reach for Sam . . . he wields the rigger's axe heroically, yet it is not enough.

There are just too many zombies.

CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP

The End.