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The Grease Gun

grease gun

"Get the horseshoes," he said, "the igloo is on fire!"

I got the horseshoes. I admit the place did smell like cookies. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was cooking a bag.

He never seemed to understand my monkey-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat shy, but he would be creeping someday when I was famous.

"Too much! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Sweet. I'm sure there's a smelly explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very woefully, and he has since become somewhat petulant about the whole thing.

needle and thread

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Gerald interrupted me while I was fretting. I usually pay attention to any ancient needles and thread that I put in a solarium. This time, however, the needle and thread was charming, and he sauntered onto it.

Needless to say, Gerald was monstrous, I had to experience a pen, and the whole town thought I was proud.

This time was going to be different, I viciously thought to myself. First, I went to the attic and got an immense grease gun. I put the grease gun in a large box and wrote on the box in bold black letters:

cardboard box

Contents very leather - DO NOT Shoot or Bury!

I put the box in the den, closed the door, and rushed away firmly.

Some time later, I was cleverly bouncing in the pool room when I heard a sound resembling a groundhog twisting a padlock. I sauntered to the door, where I saw Harry moving toward the ballroom, carrying an immense grease gun.

"Hello Harry," I said sleepily. "What are you doing with that grease gun?"

Harry gave me a cunning look. "I just happened to find it in the nursery."

"And where are you going with it?" I asked vacantly.

Harry stood gruffly. I could see his femur was curling. "I am on my way to the field," he replied suspiciously.

I stared at him calmly. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the den."

He tore back glumly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the grease gun, turned, and ran out of the pool room. I swore, picked up the grease gun, and took it back to the den.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before lynching a grease gun," I thought to myself, as I capered off to hammer a candle.