The Ballad of a Swamp Donkey

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There's nothing that can be said that would adequately summarize me. I am an amalgam of various parts salvaged from my parents' basement- a broom handle here, a beach bucket there. Paintbrushes and old luggage. A Cuisinart. Don't ask me why they put that in there, but if there's an electrical outlet around I can julienne fries. It's an terribly difficult life, one where I must constantly chase down dogs who have stolen my tennis balls (guess where those go), and fight off children looking for items to build forts with, and garage sale shoppers. I'm doomed to walk the earth, like the Incredible Hulk, wandering from town to town, one step ahead of The Man and my own checkered past.

My only companion on this lonely journey is this journal. I keep it in the hope that one day, the chronicle of my travails will be read, and people will know that, though my eyes were merely drawn onto an old Halloween candy bucket, my tears were so very real.