Things to Do With Things You’re Not Doing Anything With

Cluttered Garage

Air Mattress Pump: Toss into a nearby occupied room and roleplay a biological terror attack.

Ashtray (But You Quit Smoking): Scooby Doo-style secret passage? Turn for adventure.

Bachelor of Fine Arts: I wish I could help you with that one.

Comb: Ladybug crucifixion hill. *for pre-teen psychopaths only

Dreamcatcher: Mail it to the White House. They need all the help they can get.

Expired Condom: Sneeze guard. 99% effective.

Floss: An excellent wig for Japanese ghost girls.

Guitar Pick: Something to keep behind your ear that won’t fall apart when you start to sweat under police interrogation.

Half a Twister Tarp: Tie it to a flagpole and your neighbors will have mad respect for how seriously you take fun and games.

Incense Holder: You can keep artisanal Slim Jims therein.

Jack-o’-Lantern, Plastic: Kick that commercialized poseur crap.

Jack-o’-Lantern, Real Deal: Same as above except, depending on how long it’s been since harvest time, you might need a new pair of shoes after.

Mastodon Tusk: Mount it to your living room wall and hang your favorite hoodie off it.

Nightstick: Patrol the vicinity of a yoga studio to keep negative energy far from their vulnerable chakras.

Pile of Rubber Bands: Create a voodoo doll of your most unreliable friend and bounce it against the wall of adult responsibility.

Plastic Coat Hanger Mini-Hook: Honor Jesus by gluing His First Initial to the ceiling fan chord.

Quill: Stab grapes with a late 18th century diarist’s flourish.

Random 90’s Issue of Spider-Man: Even the most creatively bankrupt and over-speculated of comic books will be priceless in the post-apocalyptic horrorland that awaits us.

Recycling Bin: You can do a lot of good for the environment if you can just find a safe way to dispose of all that leftover uranium.

Tarot Cards: Cut and paste in order to make a collage that represents a waste of $22.54 (cost of glue and poster board not included).

Tennis Racquet: Stick your tongue against the mesh and practice being so dangerously dehydrated in a third-world prison that you’re desperate to catch a raindrop that fell through a hole in the ceiling and onto a bar of the cell. Avoid shanking.

Trapper Keeper: Just hold it for a while and reflect on how far you’ve come since that time in seventh grade when that pen exploded in your pocket and all the other boys said you were on your period.

Typewriter: Heavy enough to press some hash. And that’s one Great American Novel your friends might actually read.

Vacuum Cleaner: Pretend to play the upright bass. Empty bag periodically.

VCR: Feed it your fingernails and marvel.



Lee Blevins

Author: Lee Blevins

Lee Blevins lives in Lexington, KY. You can follow him on twitter @BleeSevens or visit his sad, bare-bones website

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