Now they’re pissed at me for leaving them in the tool box for two days.
“We’re precision pieces of equipments!
We spent two nights in the company of common spanners, screwdrivers, hammers and a weird pokey thing with a twisty bit on the end which kept making improper suggestions!
‘Ooooo, show us your finger holes’ ‘Mmmm, that’s a lovely nut’ ‘Those shiny bits need a little grease on them’ ‘Hahaha, come and cut this…’ ‘Posh totty fancied a little bit of rust huh?’
And other horrible things. We’re absolutely disgusted. Next time you want to cut some paper, we’re going to be blunt and just put a nasty fold in it. That’ll teach you to treat us with the respect we deserve.
Now, excuse us while we go and bathe in mineral oil for 24 hours.
We feel dirty and we’re sure there is a bit of grease on one of our handles! It was bad enough that time you made us cut cheap cardboard, but this? This is the last straw!
Mutter, mutter, mumble, the cheek of it, mutter, grumble, our blades will never be the same, mutter, mumble.”
