Artist and musician Keith Larsen decided to illustrate inanimate objects in a cartoonish way and write little stories about them to bring them to life.
Grab my beak if it’s laundry you seek. You barely see me, maybe once a week. How can I not have this disappointed look? I dry your clothes as you read a book. I’m dryer duck, and for a buck, I dry the shirts you tuck. Handle my bill if you will, tweak left for your garments. I’ll see you next week, but please, no more vomit.
Not everyone knows what my nose holds. My eyes stay forward minding my own business as you conduct yours. I am a conductor myself being metal and all, you lock the door as your pants fall. I hold your jacket, or whatever you pack, yet I get no recognition as you carry out your mission. You flush and rush as if you have somewhere to be. Next time we meet, please, stare back at me.
GAHAYUCK! Hi there! I have some stuff to share! It’s ice and water, and I suggest in that order. If it’s the latter first, by all means quench your thirst! But let it be known, YAHUH! You’re in the splash zone. My uneven teeth dispense your desires, push my eyes is what I require.
Love can open many doors. We’re often used to open albacore. I’m Jan, and this is Fran. We’ve been told no, again and again. Many against us, our life is a sin. But in the end, love always wins.
I’m ripe. Teeth rotten. My other half, forgotten. This crescent face is only recent. But not to panic, by botanic rules my seeds will sprout. More tomatoes to creep you out. Though there will be none like me, I’m one of a kind, you won’t find me in a bottle of Heinz.
I’m a dandy dapper dampener. Fires tickle my fancy, those are no match for me. Remove my monocle you must, for the water to flee. When it comes to parking, I know I’m a nuisance. But when your dog pees, I’m somehow translucent. I’m a damn dampened hydrant.
Yeah, I’m Frankie the furnace, who’s askin’? Short arms with anger fueled by fire, a bowler hat is my only attire. Burning wood is what I do. For cookin’ stew or warming you. But don’t feed me too much, I’m warning you. I’m an earnest furnace, and frankly, I couldn’t care less about burning you.
You’re in the bathroom at the urinal urine spilling. A sloth in transit with its oxygen filling. Arms resting in place, smile on its face, slowly but surely, it’s no race. Happy you’re there, the sloth happily stares. As you finish and flush, to the cosmos, no rush.
I’m just a bag takin’ a drag. Greaser hair, pull string flair. I’m not full of myself as I may look. I’m filled with your belongings, like pencils and books. Give me a chance doll face, I’m not a cheater. We’ll hold hands at the drive-in theater.
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