KEYHOLES 

While not considered objects per se, keyholes belong to a parasitical variety that relies on real objects in order to survive. It includes shadows, smells, reflections, speed, and others, though keyholes are unique in that they’re able to develop symbiotic relationships with keys.

Sometimes called negative spaces or peep holes, keyholes are often mentioned in mystery novels, and used as metaphors (“the thick, long key slowly penetrated the tight keyhole…”)

Unfortunately, keyholes are now an endangered species. With the advent of magnetic cards, millions of keyholes have lost their jobs in hotels worldwide. The predicted adoption of keyless combination locks might be the next, and final, nail in their coffin.

SPIRAL NOTEBOOK COVERS 

They used to have a hundred pages between them.

But spirals lose their pages over time. They may be torn off precociously to destroy evidence, or develop paper fatigue by being handled back and forth excessively.

When the last page is gone, back and front covers meet for the first time. This might be a happy occasion, if they happen to be feeling lonely and empty inside. Or it could be a troubled one, in case they’ve become too well adjusted to their isolation.

In either case, they’re handcuffed to sturdy spirals, unable to go anywhere.

SPIKE RECEIPT HOLDERS 

Thanks to recycling, spike receipt holders now descend from anything metallic, from paper clips to cars, and thus carry their souls. True evil holders from the past, forged from virgin steel with the specific purpose of stabbing innocent receipts and memos are found only in antique stores or offices that haven’t been renovated in decades, and are probably blunt.

A spike holder recycled from a pair of scizzors, for instance, has no idea why it’s putting holes through paper, instead of cutting it.

A recycled steel paper tray could be driven to insanity by having to impale the very things it was conceived to protect.

Even recycled frying pans, hardened by the hellish reality of stovetops, can’t understand what kind of dish you get by skewering pieces of paper.

As expected, recycled swords and hunting knives experience a much smoother transition into their new role.

ALPHABET 

Capital letters think being big and tall gives them the right to ridicule their lowercase counterparts. The following offensive words were heard within the pages of a book:

B to b: Jeez, what happened to your other butt cheek?

F to f: Looks like you need Viagra up there.

H to h: I’m so tired, do you mind if I sit on you?

J to j: I don’t get your point.

L to l: Sorry you lost your foot, but trying to look like number one doesn’t help at all.

It’s not funny. If lowercase letters decide to leave, imagine what kind of world we’ll be living in, with nothing but big, screaming, capital letter ruffians populating all our reading materials.

BEACH CHAIRS

The Portendorfers packed the car with their clothes, a dog bed, a giant bag of dog food, a baby stroller, grandma’s wheelchair, beach toys for the other two children, a big beach umbrella, and matching beach chairs. As expected, the whole paraphernalia didn’t fit in the trunk, so Mr. Portendorfer tied some of it to the roof of the car. The family, including the dog, squeezed into the vehicle and left their suburban home for the beach.

Well into the trip, one of the chairs became loose and fell off the car. That was when the Portendorfers were all singing together, so they didn’t hear a thing.

Luckily for the chair, the impact made it roll all the way to the side of the road before getting hit by other cars. It stayed there for a while, folded as it had been packed. Its aluminum frame had suffered a few dents and the seat was torn. But it was all in one piece.

When the dust settled, the chair stretched its four legs and started walking in the direction the car had gone. Its frame was so badly bent, the only way it could move forward was by limping sideways like a crab.

Night fell, but it was still bright with the moon, and the headlights.

Later, black clouds covered the moon, and the rain fell hard on the forest, drowning the sounds of crickets and cicadas. Sometimes the chair stumbled on a rock or a ditch, but it was important to keep its balance: flipping on its back meant never being able to stand up again.

The Portendorfers arrived at the beach house. While unloading the car, Mrs. Portendorfer noticed that one of the beach chairs was missing, and asked her husband to drive back and try to find it. But Mr. Portendorfer didn’t think that a cheap old beach chair was worth his trouble, especially at this time of night, and with all the rain.

As the Portendorfers slept, the chair dragged itself through the storm. When it arrived at the beach house, the sun was shining and the Portendorfers were eating breakfast.

When the family came out, they found the missing chair on the grass, all twisted and crooked, covered with mud and weeds. The other chairs had gathered around it, to hear its story.

I wish I could say that the family was ecstatic to see their loyal beach chair back, that the children jumped with happiness, that their parents had tears in their eyes, that they all got together and washed it, fixed it, and took it to the beach with them. Yes, I wish I could say that.