CAN’T DRAW FOR SH*T
Copywriting? Great. A+. Drawing? Yikes.
See more of my illustrations (read: bad drawings with cute stories) over on Instagram at @showencantdraw.
“Lenny, listen to me,” Officer Polanski said, “this is very important.”
He was speaking slowly and loudly, unsure that anything was getting through.
“After the man ran out of the bank, which way did he go?”
Lenny’s eyes blinked independently. He was otherwise still, surrounded by the crumbs of a french fry gorge.
“Come on Lenny, you were sitting here all day. We know you saw him. Now. Can you do us a big favor and stop wasting out time?”
Polanski’s partner tapped his shoulder, signaling to cool it.
“Lenny, please.”
Lenny stared blankly, then lifted his wing to indicate which way the fugitive fled.
The officers exchanged a nod and ran.
Little did they know they had been led astray by Lenny, who actually saw the man round the corner in the other direction.
Lenny ain’t no snitch.
Deshaun’s first day at Google was even more humiliating than he could have imagined. Throughout the interview process he made a point to ask whether the antiquated hazing rituals from the old start-up days had been put to rest. He didn’t like that type of attention, the “all the staff at the restaurant sings happy birthday” type of attention, especially at work. He had hoped to fly under the radar and spend his first few days settling in at his own pace before the inevitable team meeting where he’d have to say something interesting about himself to a group of strangers. Who’s to say what they’d find interesting? What an odd way to welcome a new person–by putting them on the spot. The thought alone made him tense.
To his horror, he arrived to find desk covered in welcome signs, balloons and a small crowd of his coworkers clapping and chanting his name. He could feel the blood rushing to his face and his palms start to sweat. His new manager approached and ceremoniously placed a spinning hat on his head.
“I thought... I mean, I asked specifically about these rituals. You said you hadn’t done them in years,” Deshaun said, eyes darting around the crowd.
“We haven’t, but you just seemed so interested, we thought we’d make you feel special! Now hope you’re warmed up, karaoke starts at 11!”
The crowd let out a collective “woo” and dispersed, laughing.
Deshaun sighed and sat at his craft-bombed desk. His nameplate wobbled in a bowl of jello. This was easily the worst day of his life.
“Should I quit my job?”
“Does that person I’m pining after think about me? Ever?”
“Will I miraculously loose twenty pounds?”
“If I start that project, will it fail?”
Shut up. Life is fleeting. Make it happen.
Danny knew his therapist was right: he needed to take some time for himself. “Self-care,” she kept saying “is just as important as diet or exercise.” If only a massage burned calories, he thought.
After a long week of mind-numbing work, Danny decided to take Dr. Thonnary’s advice. He stopped by Walgreens on the way home and bought the only bubble bath he could find, something called “SupaBubs” in a bright pink bottle.
When he got home, he pulled a book from his shelf he had been meaning to read for some time and started the bath. He poured what seemed to be a reasonable amount of the bright, sticky liquid into the bottom of his tub and turned on the water. He made a cup of tea and returned, lowering himself into the bath. “Quite nice,” he thought to himself. The water continued to run as he dove into the first chapter.
Several pages later he reached for the faucet to stop the water and realized he had lost sight of it: an enormous wall of white foam had developed all around him. A symbol? “Perhaps I’ve overdone it.”
Things started going downhill pretty quickly for Edgar after his wife left. She made an ultimatum: it’s me or the booze, and when he came home the next night smelling of whiskey and cigarettes, she left. Probably staying with her sister. He thought of making a big gesture, running over there in the rain with flowers and jewelry, but it wasn’t raining and Edgar was broke. He’d been out of work for months, naively believing that Sherry hadn’t noticed. Now sitting in his favorite stool at The Bog, he was seething with self-loathing. All it took was a simple statement: “she finally left you, huh.” A brawl, police, a mug shot. Who could he even call? Edgar had finally found the bottom of the rabbit hole.
The room was quiet, a rarity for a room full of advertising executives. This was supposed to be a brainstorming session for the newest, hottest soda, and instead... Finally, after a few concerned looks, Nathan broke the silence.
“Harris? Buddy? You ok?”
Harris sighed as he stared out the window, his hands in his pockets.
“Nah. I quit.”
He swung open the glass door and walked down the hallway towards the exit.
And just like that, he was gone.
Terrance should have been more careful purchasing his costume on Amazon. “Witch costume for moose” is dangerously close to “witch costume for mouse,” which would earn him great ridicule at the office party. A stronger, more interesting person would have played it off and had a great time in spite of the mishap, but instead Terrance spent the better part of the party sitting at his desk drinking sickly sweet punch and filing expense reports.
An Ode to The Bobby Pin
From your head
To the bed
To underneath the cabinet
In your pocket
By the faucet
It’s just a force of habit
I’m in your hair
I’m everywhere
Even on the dirty ground
But like a ghost
When you need me most
I’m nowhere to be found
“...Larry?”
“Yeah, Carl?”
“Am I a joke to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at this. This was supposed to be fun, Carl. Festive. We were supposed to be FESTIVE TOGETHER, LARRY.”
“...I made a tree... some snowflakes... candy canes, I just-... oh my gosh, Carl, are you Jewish? Wow, I really learn something new about you every day.”
“I’M NOT JEWISH LARRY, I’M LUTHERAN. THAT’S NOT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT.”
“Well then what, Carl? You don’t like my tree?”
“OF COURSE I LIKE YOUR TREE. I just... you come into my house... and you make all these perfect holiday decorations and make me look like an absolute bozo during the most wonderful time of the year! God, some friend you are!”
“Oh come on, yours are great! Look at that melting snowman! How creative!”
“IT’S NOT MELTING I JUST USED TOO MUCH GLUE!”
“Well ok, but what about your drunk Rudolph? Hilarious!”
“THATS... ARE YOU... HOW DARE YOU, LARRY.”
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about, this is supposed to be fun. The decorations don’t matter, it’s just about being together. You’re my best friend, Carl. And hey, so you can’t make a normal looking... anything. That’s ok, you’re good at other things.”
“...like?”
“Oh, uh, like... oh, always knowing what to wear. Like the difference between Connecticut casual and backyard formal.”
“Mhm, yes, I’m a smart dresser, yes...AND...”
“AND... oh boy, there’s just... so many to choose from... OH. Your potato salad. So unique.”
“The secret ingredient is maraschino cherries.”
“Right... unique.”
“That’s... that’s actually really nice, Larry. I’m sorry. I just expected you to be worse at this.”
Silence.
“Hey Carl.”
“Yes, Larry?”
“I made a bunch of little gingerbread men holding hands.”
“DAMMIT, LARRY.”
“Oh, hey, didn’t see you there. “
Silence.
“Well I just needed to grab a sweater... cooler than I thought it’d be this morning.”
Silence.
“...not much of a talker, huh. Heh.”
Silence.
“Your fur looks great... my curls get so dry when the seasons change. What do you use?”
Silence.
“What, you think you’re better than me?”
Silence.
“Ok, well screw you, my dude, I was just trying to be polite and you’re just being a jerk so... have a great frickin’ day.”
Silence.
“...asshole.”
He didn’t care what the other chipmunks thought, Oliver knew this was love. They met at the Lackman Street Carnival. Oliver had been feasting on kettle corn when, like a gift from heaven, Philippe fell from the sky. He approached with hesitation and removed his hat out of respect. Philippe didn’t move. Oliver was smitten. He gingerly placed his hat atop his warm, bready love and vowed to care for him always.
“Really, Larry? REALLY?!”
“Carl seriously, I thought it was-“
“Oh, let me guess, you thought it was black tie.”
“...I thought it was black-“
“DAMMIT, LARRY.”
“...you look great, Carl.”
“Larry, I will kill you in your sleep if you don’t get me a red wine in the next 3 minutes.”
“...I can take the hat to coat check if-“
“YOU KNOW IT COMPLETES THE OUTFIT. YOU KNOW THAT.”
“Red wine it is.”
“Cheating?! Wha, pft, what do you mean cheating? How is morphing into bat-form to get on base cheating?! How–ok, did I or did I not hit the ball? Ok, and what does being in human-form for that part and being in bat-form for this–EXCUSE ME, are you DISCRIMINATING against vampires?! What kind of referee are you?! Where’d you come from, Indiana? If you’re saying you can’t accept me for who I am then I think this is a bigger issue than this stupid game, WHICH WE’RE WINNING BY THE WAY. No, I think it’s YOU who’s being unsportsmanlike, you jackoff! REF SUCKS. REF SUCKS. EVERYBODY, REF SUCKS. You know what, no. I’m, leaving. And NOT because security is coming, because this is ridiculous. Forget you and your stupid game, asshat. SLEEP TIGHT, CLOSE YOUR WINDOWS.”
Vinny was not invited back to the office baseball team this year.
The turn of summer into Fall always filled Quincy with angst. What should have been a time of warm fuzzy feelings and tart cider instead made his palms sweat and his throat feel tight.
It had been years since the accident, but the reemergence of plaid and flannel made the memories clear as day: he’s a small child hiding in the endless racks of clothing in Elder-Beerman while is mother perused sweater sets and pencil skirts. It happened in an instant, really.
Acting on impulse to jump out and startle his mother, the loop of his corduroys caught on a tall display of scarves and shawls which came tumbling down upon him. The sudden blackness and heat produced instant panic in Quincy, who struggled to free himself from the mountain of wool and cashmere. He gasped for breath as he further entangled himself trying to escape.
He’s not sure how the rest of the story went... perhaps his mind protecting him. All he knew now is the Fall was not to be trusted.
“Larry? Come in, Larry!”
“Oh hey Carl, hows it going?”
“Are you serious Larry?! I’m terrible! I’m truly awful!”
“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that, is it your eczema again?”
“Dammit, Larry, no, I’ve got a cream for that. God. Are you forgetting something?”
“...I don’t think so, did I miss a new episode of something? Aw man, is it your birthday? Happy birthday, Carl!”
“CHRIST, LARRY, I’M A VIRGO. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE TO PLAN.”
“Plan... your birthday?”
“LARRY. THE PLAN. THE EVIL PLAN.”
“...oh, the plan! Right! Is it Tuesday already? Oh man, I think I missed a dentist appointment.”
“LARRY.”
“Yes, Carl?”
“GET OVER HERE SO WE. CAN. PLAN.”
“Right.”
“...and bring ice cream cake.”
“Sure thing, Carl.”