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Spooky · #1

once when I was younger I had a big crayon. it wasn't a real crayon, it was an inflatible one, but it was big and red, and it said so right on the side.

this crayon of mine lived upstairs. mr. quick-draw and I had a lot of fun. we used to play invisible tic-tac-toe, draw fake graffiti and we'd even play cowboy. my mommy liked the fact that mt quick-draw didn't actually mark up rhe walls but she seemed bothered when we played cowboy and was always mutterung something about an exaggerated phallus, whatever that means.

so one day I came home from school and headed straight upstairs to play with my huge inflatible crayon but when I openned my door he wasn't in my bed where I left him when I went to school. the I noticed something absolutly horrible: the window was open and there was a piece of torn flannel shirt on the tree just outside of it. someone stole mr quick-draw!!

well after eight straight hours of crying I decided to do something about it. the first thing to be done was obvious. I grabbed the piece of flannel, the only evidence I had to lead me to the monster that kidnapped my best friend. the next day in school I carried that piece of flannel around with me, taking note of every kid wearing flannel. on the way home I stopped at the hardware store to buy a few things like duck tape and a spot light for my basement. I had a lot of work to do in the next few days.

on the second day after mr quick-draw's disappearance, having heard nothing, I invited a few kids on my flannel shirt list over to my house. we all went down to the basement where I duck taped them to their chairs , shined the spotlight right into their eyes and interrogated them for what seemed like 18-20 hours. in actuality I only interrogated them until dinnertime when they had to go home. none of the kids knoew anything about my dear plastic tube's disappearance. I continued questioning my schoolmates in the same manner, every day a new batch of kids, every day learning nothing.

it wasn't long before I stared getting strange looks around school and heard wispering as I walked the halls. I learned quickly that when living in a logging community you don't put yourself against those who wear flannel. I was officially an outcast.

unloved and unwanted in town, and at the ripe old age of seven, I ran away seeking my fortune and beloved crayon elsewhere. times were hard, I wandered about the country, walking backwards along the highway with my thumb up and that damned piece of flannel grasped in the other 4 fingers. years passed. I didn't get to eat on a daily basis, I was lucky to bathe once every other week, and I didn't shave for 12 years! everytime someone was kind enough to pick me up I asked them about the the torn piece of cloth and the large inflatible crayon, but no one could help.

fourteen years had gone by and I was three times as old as when I'd started my quest. I must have traveled through thirty-five of the fifty united states (with a wonderful trip to tijuana) and I never found out anything about mr quick-draw. I decided it was time to quit. I was going to get a job, settle down and put the memory of the crayon out of my head forever.

the first shop I saw with a "help wanted" sign in the window happened to be a porn shop. I figured, in my condition, that was my best bet bet to get a job. I openned the door, peered in and saw, between the lube counter and the wall o' dildos, a man wearing a flannel shirt with a hole that perfectly matched the piece of cloth I was still holding. half of me wanted to cry, the other half, having given up, just didn't care. as a compromise I stepped up and talked to the man.

"excuse me... uhh.. this may sound a little weird but did you steal my crayon," I asked.

"depends, he replied, "was it large, inflatible and red with 'mr quick-draw' scribbled on the tip?"

well, not being able to contain myself, I told him of my 14 year journey to find him and the crayong and how I came to arrive at his.. humble store.

"sorry, bub, but that lousey crayon of yours popped 13 years ago, he said. "but I'll tell you what I'll do: since I've caused you this much pain I'll give you a job and this." upon saying that he produced something from behind the counter that was large and inflatible that I wanted to "ride." I named her paulene. the end.