A Truthful Story of Bullshit

So there I was, sitting, eyeing up the pen, looking for its weaknesses. It was pink and long, but not clean. No there was a little area that was completely dirtied with the ink of previous cartridges. This pen had come up against a lot in it’s short life. I could tell. The adventures it must have faced to get to here, this point in time, no one could possibly recount all of them. Perhaps it had been used by a pilot while writing to his girlfriend during a dog fight, or maybe it was used by a wife to write down the recipe of  cake for a friend, it may have even been used to sign legal papers, or write the great American novel who knows! The point was this long pink tubular stylish Biro pen was now in my hand and I had to fight it, take it on, prove to it that I was a man!

See I hadn’t bought this pen, I was given it and thus I did not have the chance to check it over and figure out if I could trust it. At first it seemed fine though I worried about the ‘flame’ design on the side which may have been a message, an omen…a warning, and as  the weeks went by I grew fonder and fonder of it, finally accepting it as a part of my existence. Part of who I was. But then tragedy struck. The ink cartridge became desolate of ink and if I were to save the pen’s life I would have to put a new cartridge in. Here’s were I made my biggest mistake. Not being well taught in the mechanics of pens I failed to comprehend that the ink cartridge is much like a soul for a human. If you put the wrong soul in the wrong body you get horrible outcomes. This was one of those unfortunate events. The pen wouldn’t work with the new cartridge, it wouldn’t write, it would purposely disobey it’s master. I would have to search for a ‘soul’ for my pen. But first I needed to extract the cursed cartridge from the body of the pen. Now you are up to speed with the events that lead to this epic battle of man vs. pen, master vs. servant…author vs. writer.
After close inspection I decided that the best attack would be to take the top off. A simple enough plan, but hardly an easy one. The cartridge had lodged itself inside the pen and wouldn’t allow me to open it up to proceed with the extraction process. I struggled  for many a minute trying to rip the top off. Using my hands teeth and whatever tools were at my disposal like tweezers. But sadly none of these lead to my victory over the monster pen. I sat there looking at it as it stared back at me. To be honest it frightened me. This was no long an ordinary pen, it was a demon. I paced up and down the room when and idea struck my head like an anvil. “If I cannot get the cartridge out…I’ll just destroy it while it is in the pen!” and so I got to twiddling with the bits of the cartridge which I could put an impression on. Again I ferociously battled with the pen rolling on the floor and screaming to the gods to give me aid in my seemingly endless battle but finally, and in a single instant… *snap*  The cartridge snapped while it was on the inside! I could finally remove the broken malevolent soul from the pen’s body. Which is what I did. I took the cartridge in my hand and watched as the evil ink leaked out onto my hand. Feeling pity for it I gave the cartridge a soldier’s death. I brought the body to the sink to cleanse it of any vial ink which had been left over from the spillage and left it on my desk to dry. And there is now sits till I find a soul worthy of it’s glorious body.
Oh I forgot, the moral of the story is don’t stick things where they don’t belong.