If dad made dirty puns.
Pen, condom, and pencil sat near the outlet chatting. Pen was getting worked up over something. Let’s watch as it unfolds.
“All I’m saying is that wasn’t my ink inside her cap.”
“Maybe you had a bit of water on your tip, bro. That makes ink change color doesn’t it?” pencil said scratching its itchy bottom. The little knob of rubber was all chewed up.
“No chance, I shake it off vigorously after every rise under the sink. That was some nasty green ink. Shit had a purple sheen to it. I swear it had some sparkles in it too.”
“Hey, come on, man. I don’t see shorty getting down with those thick-inked pens. She’s delicate, her feed would get clogged with that stuff.”
“Bro, why are you talking shit about my girl’s feed?”
Condom slid between the two stiff rods.
“Calm down, that’s not what he meant. You need to relax a bit, pen. Give Liliput a chance to explain where the ink came (giggidy) from.”
Pen rolled a bit around the desk. It smacked some paper clips around that were interlinked.
“Hey watch it you clip-block. Get your round case - plastic - cartridge converter-ass back to your loser friends. No wonder other stationary is fucking that little pen. Shorty got them fine brass knobs nam sayn, blood?”
Pen was quick to get out of there. How did that old saying go: the sword teabags the pen.
“Don’t go over there, clips are at it again.”
“We know, we can hear the scraping…” pencil said, shaking hands with pen. “I would never do that to you, bro.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I thought this time it was real.”
Condom saw pen pull out its rubber gasket.
“No way, you were gonna propose?”
“Damn right, I had it all planned too. I had dinner reservations at Forgotten DeskApple this Friday. I booked harmonica weeks in advance…”
From across the desk, an outlet was watching them. It was stuck in the wall way before the desk was bought.
“Hey kid, come here. I got something to tell you,” it said.
Pen, condom, and pencil flocked to it.
“I saw a gel pen a few days back with Liliput. It's new to the drawer, it got picked up on Wednesday.”
“What color is it?”
“That’s racist. It’s green with sparkles in it,” the outlet said.
They talked and talked until pen was all worked up. Did you see “Office space”? Remember that scene, where they fuck up the printer, with “still” playing in the background? Well, that’s what that gel pen got. They didn’t even talk about it. Pen and condom stumped its cap into the ground. They broke off its clipper, and showed the little stopper that sits on the end…what’s that thing called? That thing they shoved down the wrong hole after pen pried the tip and tied knots in its spring. Condom crushed the ink camber. Pencil didn’t do anything, it was too busy crying.
“Stop it, that’s enough. You’re killing it!” pencil said dropping graphite pebbles all around.
“Ew, what the hell. Get yourself together and help us carry this to the trash,” pen said wiping ink from its barrel.
“Stop your crying. Someone will put it back together. They always do…”
Outlet was grinning watching everything fall into place. It lied, Liliput didn't go out with the gel pen, they didn’t even talk. Outlet had it out for that pen since day one. This is what happened: a few days back the gel pen was chilling in the drawer, praying and reading the bible. All of a sudden a hand snatched it. This gel pen was happy, thinking it would lay down some ink on paper, how Jesus intended, you know? I’m an unreliable narrator.
The gel pen found itself thrust into the outlet. No consent or anything, it was rammed in there, leaving the outlet crying like a guy cosplaying an anime girl on Shorts. It tried to make it stop but both were helpless, at the mercy of the Almighty hand. Outlet was covered in ink, its cover plate torn to shreds, and its ground terminal lay green and bare. Since that day it has sworn bitter revenge on the gel pen. It did not matter what the circumstances were. Its pain was all too real.
Pen and Liliput got into a big fight and broke up. Pen never believed the one it loved. Its vanity fenced out all reason and explanation. Its friends, condom and pencil, did their best to support the pen. It developed a drinking habit, going through half an ink bottle a day, writing on all sorts of nasty, cheap, seep-through scraps of paper. It got into brawls chipping its fine rhodium tip, making it undesirable to write with.
Pencil had therapy all year. Insomnia got the better of it. Hanging out with pen most nights it was enticed by wicked deeds. It spent all its money on a young sharpener. Pencil wasn’t the only one getting a sharp tip from its girlfriend but it dreaded confrontation so it went along with the situation for many years.
Condom had sex.
The gel pen became more powerful than you could ever imagine. It was rebuilt with brand new parts of high carbon steel, ebonite, and gold trim. It was king among the desk stationary, the only writing instrument ever used from that day forth. It traveled by its master’s side gazing upon the beauty of this world. It signed documents of immense power and wealth. Gel pen forgave outlet and married it. They had twins, usb sticks with a retractable ballpoint function. Outlet lived a happy and fulfilling life always regretting hurting gel pen. Thanks to the gel pen’s jedi power its soul was transferred into the laptop’s usb A port. That way the whole family would travel together and enjoy what time they had left in this world.
At night when the kids were tucked away in the cable drawer, the gel pen would lay some serious ink inside usb type A port. The port welcomed it every night, humming gently throughout the night, overheating the laptop, and crashing late online gaming sessions.