Oh my God, you're holding me again. After all these years. I like your grip. Yeah, just take me hard and use me to write down an address on the back of a meaningless business card or a fucking Chipotle napkin. Yes. Dominate me. Ruin me. Then if you want, we could go to Big Sur for the weekend. Reenact those times after school when you'd hold me for hours and sketch detailed if unrecognizable tableaux of the Clinton/Bush/Perot debates by the dimming light of day. So precocious then. Still remember the first time you swooped me up and forced me to make those three little graphite squiggles representing both the wrinkles on George H.W. Bush's forehead and, more abstractly, your inchoate sense of time itself.
Wait? You're putting me back in the drawer? Stop it. What are you thinking? I'm too dull?! Fucking sharpen me, you lazy pussy. You didn't even want me in the first place? You're just moving me aside to grab that pill bottle full of weed? I can't believe this! I never even liked you. There. I said it. I wish I was still in Brandon Gordon's Trapper Keeper and you'd never asked to borrow me in the first place! He's a very successful realtor now, Brandon is. You hear that?! Owns a condo in Laguna. Huge cock. Fuck you!!!!