It's not every day your pancakes point at your toast and yell "EAT ME!" spitting buttery saliva at it. Well unless you're me, then it happens almost daily.

That guy, sitting at the table playing with his pancakes and toast, flipping them on top of each other, talking to himself, yeah, that's not me. Unlike me he is pretty normal. That guy sitting in the corner all alone with his "friends" walking and screaming all over the table, yeah, that one's me. I use the term "friends" lightly here, because, well you see, I sort of brought them to life. Well more like I animated them.

That smiling spoon, that's Commodore Remington, he's made it through the facility's dishwasher thousands of times. I'm still not quite sure how he's never managed to drown. His brother Frank Forkmarshall Remington has pretty much the same story; they are twins after all, well sort of. Their older brother Knuckles the butter knife, he's been missing for quite some time now. (Rumor has it, he ended up in dumpsterland. He's a poor soul really.) I never really bothered naming the food, because well, food gets eaten. I'd get more attached to my food if I named it, and gave it a back story, like a wife or kids. I'd probably end up pretty hungry in that case. I didn't bother naming any of the others either, since I have so many friends...

...it's just a shame none of them are human.

Now I feel that you're scratching your head thinking, how did all this come about? I mean how is it ######## that you're able to bring these said objects to life? Well, that's a very good question because it's not exactly an easy topic to discuss. In fact there are times I don't even really know. I will say however, that the first time I noticed it, well maybe "noticed" is the wrong terminology, let's say the first time I got freaked out by my "gift" was at a very young age.

I mean honestly what kid wouldn't be freaked out by happy smiling airplanes and trees spinning around their head on tiny little strings, saying in their chipmunk like voices, "HELLO!" and, "it's a beautiful day!". I mean I've been terrified of crib mobiles to this day. It was like living a reoccurring, freakish nightmare where you live inside a Bob Ross painting with 'all the little happy trees'. Great, now you're probably wondering who Bob Ross is. Look him up, otherwise all you need to know is he's a goofy, white man with a fro, who paints "happy trees" or "happy rocks" with a single brush stroke. It's kind of creepy. Just wait until he meets a happy tree. Man I really would love to meet him, you know, to show him a real happy tree. That oughta wipe that smug look right off of his happy little face. I forgot to mention the little gerbil he feeds, who resides in his pocket. (Oh yeah, who am I to talk, my "friends" usually reside in Napkins).

Ah yes, gerbil, the other time my gift really mortified me. Our family owned a gerbil. Rusty, that was his name. One day Rusty left the cage. We searched high and lo, I was devastated, my beloved gerbil, running lose in the house. Then, tragedy struck, Rusty was found dead, under my bed. I remember crying, holding onto my mother's skirt, using it as my Kleenex as I bawled my eyes out with tears. She grabbed a shovel and started to dig a hole for the box we were going to bury him in. As she shoveled dirt onto the box I did what any 5-year-old does when he loses his gerbil. I asked god why, why didn't he take me and let Rusty live. I screamed and called god a doodie head, and kicked and cried (My mom said I over-reacted, but I have no recollection of those events, just what I was told). Then, as if by some miracle the lid to the box popped up, out of the ground. Rusty climbed out, well what was left of Rusty anyway. He gave me that one-eyed look (literally) and said, "Hi #######, I'm alive." I screamed! My mother screamed! She smacked Rusty in the face with the shovel! I am screaming and crying; my mother is panicking and screaming. I mean this went on for about 5 minutes, until a hawk finally swooped down and flew off with old Rusty who was screaming at the top of his dead lungs, "SAVE ME!"

Those were his last words. How a gerbil spoke in the first place was beyond me.

I do sometimes wonder though how I do animate the objects. I mean I hypothesized many options, diet, lack of sleep, hallucinations. Then I realized well it can't be hallucinations because other people have noticed it too, unless they were hallucinating with me. One thing that really stuck out to me though, was that objects would come to life when I was in a day dreaming like state. Usually when I am day dreaming, I am just staring off into space, or at some random...

...object.

Now, granted Rusty was an accident because I had no idea about my "powers", but the "accident" I had when I was well of my powers was a little more, let's say terrifying. I should never be allowed to re-animate the dead let's say. It's definitely my least favorite thing to animate, seeing as how I am not a fan of death.

My ex-friend Steve, (I say ex-friend because of what happens next) invited me to come with him to his grandfather's wake. Mind you, Steve was not really all that close to his grandfather, but didn't want to look like a jerk to his family by not showing up, and he really didn't want to be alone with no one to talk to so he invited me along. Steve made a joke by saying how funny it would be if gramps had sat up when one of the family members went up to view the body. It really doesn't take much but a thought that evolves into a daydream, and sure enough, low and behold gramps is struttin' his dead stuff down the aisles and greeting people. My eyes widened and out the door I went. The room gasped loudly as gramps fell motionless to the floor after I left. Steve's family figured that I was a witch or something (Last time I attend a funeral in Massachusetts). Needless to say the restraining order from Steve and his family was enough to realize we were no longer friends.

Now you're thinking, "But you have friends, so why do you have to 'Make' fake ones"? Well let's just say, Steve isn't the only one who has gotten spooked by my talents. Friends instantly become enemies when they realize you're the one who animated their toothbrush, soap, food, and/or various other toiletries (why I can't hang out with females at "that time of the month'). Granted sometimes I wasn't aware I was actually animating anything, but didn't stop them from calling me a "freak", "creep", "witch", etc.

I guess having this power isn't all bad though. It landed me a temporary job at a local toy store when the manager of that store saw me animate a crane game full of stuffed animals after a young girl tried to catch one.

The girl moved the claw, dropped it way too early and missed the first catch. She was about to walk away until a bear waved its paw at her. She fished for some more quarters and put them in to try again. As the claw went down the second time, the bear hugged the claw and up he rose. He traveled hugging that claw the whole way until finally the claw dropped him down the prize shoot. The girl smiled and was so happy. The manager noticed that as I smiled walking away, the bear died and became motionless, confusing the poor girl who was frantically trying to find the button or batteries that surely operated the moving bear.

"How do you do it?" he said as he approached me.
"Do what?" I said walking away from him as I thought, 'what does this creep want?' "That bear, he came to life but died when you walked away. It had to be you, there's no one else is around"
"It was a battery operated bear," I say trying to get him away as I walk faster, "the batteries probably died."

The last thing I wanted was some creepy guy to think that I needed help or that I was a freak who belonged in a "home".

He pursued me even more, "It JUMPED into that claw, it GRABBED that claw," he continued getting right in my face.

He wasn't going to let up. I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around extremely disgusted and upset and said in an annoyed tone, "and if I did, why would you even care?"
"Because you're gonna work as a salesman with me," he smirked, "with con skills like that, I'll... no we'll be rich!"
"I'm not a con-artist," I remarked with a look of disgust.
"Damn, that's too bad you see. I work for the toy company up the road. Coning these little brats into buying "living" toys could make us MILLIONS!"
I turned around and continued walking, "whatever."
"I'll pay you good," he continued. "You can't afford me," I said sarcastically.
"$15 an hour,"
"you're sick," I commented back.
"Fine 10% of all sales of whatever you end up selling, plus the $15 an hour".

I couldn't believe it at the time, but I took the job. Coning children into thinking their toys were alive, only for them to "die" once they got home, seemed barbaric. Several parents had complaints that the toy companies kept saying their toys were never an "electronic toy" or that the toys didn't move on their own when calling their support lines. It wasn't until I got my first check that I stopped feeling sorry for the customers. $1100 ($600 for the wage, 500 for the 10% sales) for 1 week wasn't so bad, and I was making out with the cash pretty well. I decided to try other methods outside of work to make more money, by coning people on the street. Life surely was getting better.