Da guy in da antique store gave Brumby a slanty kinda curious look when I walked over to dis old Smith-Corona manual typewriter and asked: “Doez it work?” Da guy just look at me and sayz: “What doez it matter? You’re not gonna type with it, are you?”.

Dis kinda bothered Brumby. After I ask da guy a few questionz Brumby realized dat da store owner had no idea why somebody would want to uze such an old machine. He figured people would just put da writer on a shelf or someting and have peoples walking buy and sayin: “Gee! Dat a nice typewriter!” and den keep on walkin.

Brumby don’t get it. Now, unless Brumby mistaken, da purpose of da typewriter was to type with clickity-clicking on da little piece of paper. It don’t seem to make a whole bucket full uv sense if da typeriter don’t do dat. It a TYPEWRITER, for criminy sakez!

See, Brumby wanted da typewriter cuz he don’t like to write Brumby Poetry (coming soon) on a computer. See, poetry supposed to come from da heart. It not supposed to be edited or word processed or cutted and pasted. When da poetry hitz da paper, it supposed to stay there. Even if it sux. At least datz Brumby’z opinion.

Wit a word processor, it too easy to erase. With da typewriter, it is there and it ain’t goin nowhere. (And for doze of youze wonderin how a troll like Brumby can type witout breakin everything I just like to say dat, even though Brumby’z handz are big and strong, even a troll like me self can have a gentle touch when needed. Just ask Brumby’z girlfriend. :)

Anyways, Brumby has forgotten what da hell this writing was supposed to be about. I think da moral was supposed to be something like: “Just becauze it old, don’t mean it no good.” or “Just becauze it old, don’t mean it just dere to look at” or something to dat effect. Make up your own moral or something. Brumby has to go type....

click, click, clickity, click click..........