Where The Fuck Is My Pencil?

Or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb.

In addition to having a stormtrooper on my bathroom sink by my toothbrush and a pencil sketch of Burt Reynolds above my kitchen sink, I have a few oddities or rather uniquities about me.

At work, when I write up a draft of anything or am writing code, I always use a number 3 pencil. They don't work on ScanTrons, you've been warned. I have a case of them. I'm not sure how many that is, but they all say [Hugh's Company] on them. Oooooh. I'm going to get some with my name on them or maybe just hand drawn dicks. I think I'll go with handdrawn dicks. God, they never get old, but I will admit that they look best on golfballs and golf scorecards. It's like guy getting kicked in the balls funny. Never gets old.

So, anyway, there's just something about using a good old fashioned fucking pencil. I've got mechanical ones. I've got pens. I'm actually a bit of a pen aficionado, to be completely honest. If you look up my Amazon.com wish list, which is kind of a life grocery list, you will see a box of pens on there. I seriously get semi-aroused when looking through the Corporate Express catalog. It's all about fucking highlighters, sharpies and the Uni Jet Stream in black ink, 0.7 gauge. That is a motherfucking pen that you would sleep with. It was where I graduated to from a Paper Mate Flex Grip. They are just a'ight. They are what you fill forms out at the doctor's office with. There is no elan about it. It's just not a writing experience.

Anyway, seriously, try getting back into pencils. Trust me, though, get a kick ass pencil sharpener first. A lot of people forget about that and end up using some fucking Chuck E. Cheese, 50 ticket sharpener and it just cheapens the experience.