Hello friends, welcome back to another episode of Crayons are Delicious. If you have been following me for a while, thank you. If this is your first time reading – what took you so long?
If you remember my last article, we talked about making edible crayons. Well actually, the last article talked about making crafts with crayons. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then stop right now and go online to The Criterion website and read the article about Artoberfest.
Anyway, today we aren’t going to talk about eating crayons. Let’s talk about making the best pet ever.
The best pet ever is a rock. Before I explain my reasoning for this, first go get a rock. Remember the crayons that we cut the wrappers off and set aside from last week?
Well good – because now those crayons have their opportunity to sparkle like the floor does when you spill an entire one-gallon jug of glitter on it. We can use these crayons to decorate our rock. Draw a face. Give it some hair, some ears, a nose, mouth, eyes, weird facial expressions, so on and so forth. You can even get some googly-eyes and make it extremely fun.
Okay, now that we all have our new friend made, this is why a rock is the best pet ever.
First and foremost, your rock is very old and wise. That rock has been around for thousands upon thousands of years and if my one semester in Geology taught me anything, its probably been here for millions.
That makes your rock very in tune with feelings. It knows when you have a bad day and will smile at you to let you know you’ll get through it. When you’re happy, it will smile at you because it’s happy that you’re happy. No matter what mood you’re in, it will smile back at you because it is a Gneiss rock. A Geology joke, haha.
Side note: drawing anything other than a smiley face on your rock is a tell-tale sign of a psychopath.
Secondly, your rock has been alive way longer than you, me, that person buying coffee right now and anyone else alive today. After we are all gone from this world, that rock will still be here thriving and will tell the tale of our souls.
Also, they don’t eat much – I actually don’t know what rocks eat. They also only drink water during bath time so feel free to set them in the sink and turn the faucet on for them once every month or two. They don’t use soap, as it rinses off their extra layer of protection against the forces of evil. So don’t add soap, only water.
With that being said, you don’t have to worry about someone watching them while you are out of town on an extended vacation or weekend getaway or something. Rocks are very self-sufficient, so they will be fine, and when you come back home, they will be happy to see you.
Rocks are also great protectors. Let’s say I’m out walking my rock on a nice spring afternoon. Yes in my fantasy its spring where everything is sunny and green. If you don’t like it then use your own wild imagination. Anyway, as we’re walking down the sidewalk, some guy wants my wallet.
I keep telling this guy no, but him and his knife keep insisting that they want it more than I do. Well my rock isn’t going to take that crap from them. The leash isn’t to make the rock look cool, it’s actually for everyone else’s protection. Let’s face it, getting hit with a rock really hurts.
In any case, my rock will insist that it can beat up both the mean old man and his knife friend. Not only can he do it, he won’t really get a scratch on him. He will just tell me to throw him at them both and run like crazy while he stays behind and defends my honor.
Afterwards, he will take the back streets home in case the rock catcher is looking for him and he is not with his owner or on a leash. Eventually, though, he will ring the doorbell and I will gladly let him in.
Okay, I think my imagination ran too wild on that one. I was picturing someone holding a knife with googly eyes glued on it and mouth with jagged teeth painted red and white. Also, my rock had a rock-sized hoodie on and was crawling? Sliding? Crab-walking? I don’t know – moving between buildings in an alley and peeking out between them.
Then I would be laying on the couch all sad and everything because my rock is gone. I would hear the doorbell ring. I would fear the worst because I left my rock alone to face off against a maniac with a knife and as I opened the door, my rock would pull his hood down from over its head and I would be filled with so much joy as I shout out loud “Maurice, you came back!”
Wow, the imagination is a weird thing. Anyways, take it from the guy who just bought a pet fish named Flapjack over the weekend, rocks make the best pets in the world.
