How Pat tamed the fountain pen and rode off into the sunset...

This story is completely true, and we all have one. More to come…

The pen was a fountain. But for ink it used a certain combination of base and acid, which was more or less water. When you placed this liquid on paper, invisible words would appear and disappear at random, intentionally forming no sense at all. When Pat came upon this self-propelling machine of non-purpose, he immediately saw the potential that it held. He tried to put the pen to use by writing the most comprehensive study of humankind ever written from the perspective of a dragonfly. Sometimes the words would flow like something that flows really well, and at other times they didn’t. In frustration, he threw up.

Next, he decided that he would consult his brother Jeff. This had to be done in secret, in order to protect Jeff’s identity…but that is another story. In the end, he couldn’t think of anything that would solve the problem, and suggested that Pat become a hermit in Mauritania to think this over.

“I suggest you go become a hermit in Mauritania,” said Jeff, “to think this over.”

“No,” said Pat. “That is a terrible idea.”

In desperation, Pat finally discarded the pen. He threw it away with such enthusiasm that a nearby blacksmith was inspired do something that no smithy has ever done: a job for free (most people will agree that smithies are stingy). He took the pen, and worked it over. Bending and tweaking. Hammering, breaking, twisting it here and folding there, until he forged a guitar the likes of which had never been seen. He strung it with fragments of statues and cast a pick out of an eagle's beak. Then, one night, he left it on Pat’s doorstep. Actually, he just put it on the floor outside the door. Because apartments don’t have doorsteps.

A breeze stirred the guitar’s strings, and they sang out in a frequency that Pat’s oddly shaped ears are particularly suited for hearing. He rushed to the door and upon seeing the pen his hair stood on end and shot out of his head and imbedded themselves in the ceiling. His nose spontaneously combusted. And he suddenly realized for the first time that he was not double jointed. Thinking it an appropriate moment, he commandeered a horse and rode off into the sunset. He later admitted this was a mistake, because it was a long ride back and he had only minimal equestrian experience.

And thusly went going just so did the story go, and so it is today.