Goddammit! Someone broke my orange crayon! Nurse! NUUURSE! Someone broke my orange crayon! Did you see who did it? This is so wrong! Nobody else should even have been looking at my crayons, let alone using them! And I can tell they were using them because the plumb is next to the lemon yellow and the violet is worn right down to the paper—I don’t even use violet! You must have seen who was using my crayons. Why won’t you tell me who it was? I’ll bet it was that cactus-face Ralph. It was him wasn’t it! Show me where he is; I want to smell his hands! I know they’ll be reeking of Crayola. His family only ever brings him that Rose Art trash—that’s not my fault. That bastard owes me a new pack of crayons!
Cripes, settle down! Just go to a pancake place and ask for a new crayon.
Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You used my crayons. Prepare to die!
A rather off color remark if you ask me.
I guess we all enjoy watching Inigo wax wroth, eh?
Just make sure that he doesn’t leave them in the sun.
At least now we know what to give Inigo for Christmas…
Why is a nurse in charge of your crayons? She’s busy. Mind your own crayons. And don’t tear the paper off them!
Inigo, does your mouth taste funny again? You know the crayons are not for eating…
I had a dream about crayons last night. Someone was juggling them, and then arranging them into boxes in color order behind their back as each one mysteriously disappeared from the juggling rotation. The judges weren’t impressed with the skill with which this was happening.
With enough ear wax and orange Gatorade, I suspect one could manufacture a new crayon.
Sorry, I took the Burnt Sienna. I didn’t think you’d miss it because it’s Burnt Sienna, who uses that? I was going to return it but I eated it instead.
However, I did not touch your orange crayon … or shoot the deputy.