Once upon a time there was a smiley face that lived in a small apartment on the edge of town. He lived by himself and he was the most lonesome smiley face in Smiloville.
It was a damp and dismal day as Smiley mad his way to work, which was a coat-hanger factory. He walked in the presence of his favorite inanimate object, his blue and pink polka-dotted umbrella. As usual he walked with his smiley head down, watching his smiley feet rhythmically plunk down onto the sidewalk. On particular days like this, Smiley might talk to his umbrella as he would to a fellow smiley.
“Oh umbrella,” he would say soberly, “how I do wish I could have a companion that talks back to me – not that I don’t enjoy you” he added hurriedly, “but I want someone that does more than just shield rain.”
Smiley was so caught up in his monotonous thoughts that he didn’t notice the stray mothball that lay dying in his path. Mothballs are not the same in Smiley World as they are in Human World. I guess you could compare a mothball in Smiley World to dogs in the human world. Mothballs are a common Smiley household pet, and the smartest ones can talk. This particular mothball was a slight greenish – yellowy color, with big triangular eyes and big round ears, like a cola bear.
Spotting the mothball at the last minute, Smiley managed to evade it. “Sweet spaghetti leftovers!” he gasped, “The poor dear, I must save it!” Completely forgetting his umbrella he gingerly picked the mothball up and carried it back to his apartment, leaving his umbrella behind. Little did Smiley know, the umbrella was feeling sad and discarded and angry. Deep down, the umbrella was crying and having a fit. Even deeper down the umbrella promised revenge for being left and forgotten.
After weeks of the similes full attention, the mothball became well. For the first time in his smiley memory, Smiley had someone to talk to! The mothball was the perfect listener, making “tsk tsk” noises at just the right moments, and laughing at all of Smiley’s jokes.
Smiley was becoming much more self assured and outgoing, with the help of the mothball, which he presently named Spot. Smiley even started to socialize with his co-workers! Imagine that! On a particularly sunny day in June, Smiley came home singing, only to find his apartment in tatters.
“NO!!” he screamed, “BUT WHERE IS MY SPOT???” Agonizingly, he ran from room to room frantically searching for his dear mothball. This is where we find him in the kitchen, lying on the floor, beating his fists upon the linoleum floor tiles that his mothball suggest he put in after he got sick of getting splinters from his wooden floor. If you look up you will see his new smiley microwave, shiney on the outside except for a single umbrella picture stamped onto the corner, the inside you couldn’t see, for blood coated it. You can presume what smiley found inside of there. There is no need to go into graphic details; your imagination should be enough.
This is the end of the story, or at least of Smileys. There is nothing more to say about it. You heard the only interesting part of his life. I will not bore you with the uninteresting details of his everyday life, but I want you to know that smiley spent the rest of his days much the same as he had before he found his Spot. But of course, in the absence of his blue and pink polka dotted umbrella.
