November 8, 2003

Make no bones about it.

This is The Skeleton. Say hello.

The Skeleton

He is a Hallowe’en decoration that has, for some reason, never been returned to his fellow ornaments and is continuing to linger around here. He now resides on my desk.

He is a very strange Skeleton, even aside from the eerie nuclear green glow.

He is approximately six inches tall, made out of a soft plastic that I can only assume is non-toxic. His chin is somehow connected to the center of his ribcage. The ribcage is unnatural and seems to have several more ribs than any human ought to have. He has no shoulder blades. His spine is long and flat. He has red eyes, but also a red nose. He has no teeth, but rather a structure of bone resembling the lips of an ape. His legs somehow grow out of the wrong section of the hips. He has no actual hands, but rather five fingers of similar length which are growing directly out of the end of his forearm. He has this same deformed structure attached to the bottom of his shins instead of feet. His legs are far too short.

It is like this is the skeleton of a young child’s drawing.

I can not leave the skeleton alone. This poor soul is under a constant barrage of torture from me, which I inflict unwittingly. I punch him, twist him in painful ways, pull on his arms and legs, slap him against hard surfaces, dangle him upside-down by his ankles, tie him in little knots, squeeze him within my hand, jab him with my fingers, crush his head, make him slap himself, and drop him on the ground, all without thinking about what I am doing.

Please be nice to The Skeleton, because I can not.

He is my only true friend.



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