Dec. 15th, 2004

peterjackson: (Default)
Tis the season for stuffed mailboxes, tra la la la la, la la, oh damn, my Visa bill. Okay, expected that charge, that one too... yeah, and that... $452 to Airplane Avenue, about right for a month... and der heck? Parchments and Pens Fine Writing Emporium? Never heard of them. Waiiiiiiit. Sounds like a place some old codger might find appealing. Some tricky old codger who's discovered the joys of plastic credit. Guess that was bound to happen one of these days.

Parchment and Pens. He's a pencil guy, what's the deal here? I haven't seen anything new from him lying about lately. In fact, now that I think about it, nothings been ruffled in the den for a month now. No pencil stubs in the garbage can, no doctoring on old scripts, no... nothing!

It's like they say in the movies. It's quiet... too quiet. He's up to something, I know it. And he doesn't want me to know it so that means I really wanna find out what's up. Okay, let's see. If I was an old coot trying to hide something from a brilliant, dashing guy like myself, where would I put it?

Nothing behind the books on the shelves. Hmm. Nothing under the couch cushions except old cheetos. Nothing in the credenza. Where's the last place he'd expect me to look?

Oh, sometimes I'm so brilliant I scare myself. I haven't looked in the bottom desk drawer in a year.

Once upon a time, there was a nut. His small nuttish life began in earnest the day he fell from the oak tree, and was carried away by a squirrel. He watched the blue sky disappear as he was stuffed into a hole in the front yard of a cosy little yellow house, and did not see it again until the spring, when he emerged in triumph from the dark, and stretched two small leaves out to gather the warmth of the sun.

Days and nights came and went, and the nut who was no longer a nut became a tree. A small tree, mind you, as these things take time and patience, but a tree nonetheless. But this year, this winter, in particular this month of December, the small oak tree had reached a height that allowed him to see something he had never seen before. He could peer into the living room window of the cosy little yellow house.

And a tree of just about his height peered right back at him from behind the glass. The little oak tree gasped.

Oh, come on, ya old bastard! Don't stop there!

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