Apr 19, 2011


Sadly, this is what stuck in my head the most since last night. I'm not 100% sure I'll get the full time outta it, nor what to do with it, but we'll see what happens.

Boy, it sure is dark in here. I always hate how this feels. It's a boring life, ya know- just laying around, all cooped up, waiting for some attention. When I finally get it, it's short-lived, and I get tossed aside soon after.

Oh, hi! I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Schpantz, but you can call me Eugene. I'm not always blue, button occasion I'm kinda hard-pressed to find the good things in life. That is, until I'm finally drawn outta my stuff box- denim a happy camper.

Alright, I'll boot-cut the puns. (Or not. Sorry, I tried.)

Anyway, I don't remember much about my beginnings. I was stiched into existance many, many wash cycles ago. I remember the big, scary, metal machines that growled and whirred as my last bits got pinched together, leathery hands of some human man-handling my young body, until I was carted away in a vast sea of blue confusion, off in some truck to our first foster home.

I'd hang around there for a while, get to know some of my buddies around me. I'm not sure how I got so lucky- most of my friends were a little ways away, stuffed into cubbyholes, piled on top of each other. I got to hang around all day, held by my shoulders, taking in the soft breeze of the stale, recycled air that blew through that home.

Every once in a wihle, I'd get a vacation to the fitting rooms, as I think the humans calle them. It was always a different experience. Some of it was great, like the constant fondling and hugging... and some of it, like some of the smells... are best forgotten. I could always count on one thing, though- at the end of the day, I'd meet some new, interesting friends from foreign lands. We'd get to learn a bit about each other, mingle for a little while, and then be whisked off back home in wait of the process starting all over again.

(By the way, Ty, if you read this and ever wanna hang again, look me up! Drop me a line and we'll find some place to hang out. If you'd rather knot, I understand.)

I got to know all sorts of interesting types back at that home. Friends would come and go on the racks and tables, but for some reason, I always stuck around. As time went by, I started worrying. Was I discolored? Was my button too big?

I was really turning (even more) blue. I was growing tired of hanging around, and started shrugging my shoulders more and more, longing to lay on the table where new arrives came and got adpoted every day. The stale air had lost its appeal, and humidity had worked its way itno the place, too. I'd dealt with a few people that had no idea how much fabric their body really needed, and it was stretching my patience. I felt so tired, so drained, so worn thin, that I expected to break.

Then one day, it finally happened. Again with the bad ideals of who should even bother taking me off the rack! This time, though, it was too much. Squeeze, squeeze, strech, stretch, and finally.... AYYYYIEEEEEE! I heard the tearing as pain wrackde through my being. A chubby finger through one belt look had pulled it totally off as more and more of me was crammed tight with too much human.

But, the pain didn't stop there. The message wasn't received. Another seam burst, and again, blue threads poured out of my sides. Make it stop! Make it stop!

It felt like forever, but I got my wish. Something finally got through to that monstrosity, and they surrendered. I felt one final breeze across my tender rips and tears, before I was dumped unceremoniously to the floor, clumped in a pile like yesterday's trash. Eventually, the pain stopped, and everything faded to black.

I awoke later to a softer handling. Rescued from the cold floor, I was looking forward to the tpicalvisit with my home's various friends again. But, it never came.

*RRRRIIIIIIIIIPPPPPP* "Got the label and UPC, they're marked for a loss. Go 'head and get 'em back, Joe."

That was the last I'd see of that evil place. I returned to where I was born. The scary machines seemed oddly comforting. Hands were all over me, stitching me up, making me feel like new again. Err, well, not new, but a lot better than I felt when I thought my end had come.

I left on another trip, and ended up in a similar foster home. What'd I do to deserve this? ...Except, something was different. The whole place felt different, a sadness and a hurting like the pain I'd gone through, but also a sense of happiness to still be around. This didn't feel like a home, it felt like a shelter. We were all packed in so tight! But, we didn't care.

My stay there was pretty short-lived. I didn't even have time to make many friends before some human found me and took me home. We've done so much together! Baseball games, bike riding, hiking- all sorts of new experiences!

So, I guess I really can't complain too much. Yeah, it's dark and boring in here, but I sometimes forget the grim fate I almost encountered. I've got a few good buddies, and we've alwyas got stories to tell when we're together.

Now, if only we didn't have to endure that bath every week....

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