Chilled Out Bearded Man

Alright… I didn’t make him. But I knew him before he was what he is today. Don Hertzfeld was just a plain old dull pencil like the rest of us. From the moment we were placed in the same class, I knew that Don Hertzfeld would be something special – a step up from me – better at making things clearer. After years of honing, the sharp Don that you know and love was finally created. He went from being a standard number two to number one in the class. I had been number one, but he erased me, plain and simple. He just wiped me right off the board. My remains were left outside with the other rocks to fend for myself. Don would stare out the window now and again to check on me, but I had known from the day he came into that class that he would be the teacher’s pet. I knew that, because I was at the head of the class and he was merely writing on a boring desk. But I liked him. I really did. Everyday was a new day for Don. Everyday he would come in a little sharper, a little more prepared for the day’s work. And everyday, I felt a little more worn down, a little shorter and with less to give. One day, first thing in the morning, Don came running into the room. Someone tripped and sent Don flying four feet through the air. He landed below me sprawled out like a tree with no branches. Someone could have been injured pretty badly, but alas, all eyes were spared from such a disaster. He was lucky to still be in one piece after a fall like that. But I knew that was the end for me. I had been worn down to nothingness. That day, Don was picked up. He was looking extra sharp in his yellow suit. I knew that my position at the head of the class was over. I stepped aside – or I should say I was wiped aside - my remnants thrown out to the dogs and Don took his rightful position as the lead of the class. His taste was very stylized. His descriptions of things were impeccable. A part of me was still in that class, but mostly, I had been blown to the wind. What remained of me faded away slowly. Don Hertzfeld, the sharpest pencil in town, took my job.

I know this story makes no sense whatsolutely. But sometimes, thats the point. What’s the point? Don’s the point. He uses points to draw points with points. You probably get it by now. The end will come, even for Don the pencil. Come back next to see Don reach his end, as the shiny Ben Pic roles his way past Don.

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 2nd, 2009 at 12:25 am and is filed under Thoughts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.