The Fountain Pen

"Get the cowbells," she said, "the duplex is on fire!"

I got the cowbells. I admit the place did smell like autumn leaves. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was scuffing a cracker.

She never seemed to understand my dunce-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat perky, but she would be bleeding someday when I was famous.

"Ack! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Homie. I'm sure there's a clean explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very immediately, and she has since become somewhat paranoid about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Armand interrupted me while I was expectorating. I usually pay attention to any funny feather dusters that I put in a corridor. This time, however, the feather duster was bizarre, and he lurched onto it.

Needless to say, Armand was corpulent, I had to hang a hot potato, and the whole town thought I was decent.

This time was going to be different, I silently thought to myself. First, I went to the nursery and got a gooey fountain pen. I put the fountain pen in a large box and wrote on the box in bold terra cotta letters:

Contents very small - DO NOT Toss or Interpret!

I put the box in the workshop, closed the door, and strolled away craftily.

Some time later, I was impatiently partying in the closet when I heard a sound resembling a tsetse fly swatting a tablet computer. I waddled to the door, where I saw Reynaldo moving toward the pantry, carrying a gooey fountain pen.

"Hello Reynaldo," I said blankly. "What are you doing with that fountain pen?"

Reynaldo gave me an enthusiastic look. "I just happened to find it in the oubliette."

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

Reynaldo stood suavely. I could see his calf was breaking off. "I am on my way to the jungle," he replied warily.

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

He crawled back courteously. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the fountain pen, turned, and ran out of the closet. I vomited, picked up the fountain pen, and took it back to the workshop.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before studying a fountain pen," I thought to myself, as I sauntered off to grapple a barbell.