Your Imagination Is Not The Only Limit

So anyway, I ended up with a magic sketchbook. That’s right, magic. You know, you draw in it, the drawing is made real, etcetera etcetera. I’m not going to go into how I got it or how I discovered its magical powers. If this was I novel I’d have more space for that, but it’s not. Deal with it.

Anyway, this magic sketchbook. I was a little scared of using it, so I called my friend Frank. I didn’t tell him I had a magic sketchbook. I figured his response to that would be, tell me to fuck off, then hang up. That what i would have done in that situation. So I told him I won the lottery.

So the first thing he said when he got here was, how much? As in money, obviously. Well obvious to you maybe. By that point I’d been so wrapped up in thinking about the sketchbook that I’d forgotten the whole lottery thing. Anyway we had a whole argument about that, I won’t relate it here, but it ended after I demonstrated the power of the book by drawing a bouncing ball, which then materialised in front of us.

“How’d you do that” Frank said, not taking his eyes off the ball.

“Like I told you. You draw it in the book and it appears in front of you.”

And all you’ve done is bouncing balls.”

“I did some cutlery.”


“I needed some cutlery.”

“It just seems like a waste of the unlimited potential of this thing.”


Franks said we eeded more space, so we went behind the house- I still wanted some privacy. Frank took the sketchbook and started working, his brow furrowed the way it always does when he’s getting serious about something. After a couple of minutes he stopped, and looked at me. “Now what?”

“If you finished drawing, it should appear any second.”

And moments later it did. Although, what ‘it’ was, was hard to say.

“What the fuck is that?”

“It was supposed to be a car.”

“I guess those things are wheels or something.”

Frank tossed the book back to me with a sigh. “I knew this was bullshit.”

“Hold on.” I picked up the sketchbook and opened it. “Yeah, I see what happened.”


“It might not look like a car,” I said, holding up the book. “But it looks exactly like what you drew.”

Frank looked at the sketch, then back at the thing it has summoned forth. “I guess this thing does have limitations.”

“Not it, man. Us. This thing makes whatever we draw.” I looked up at the house. “Guess this explains why most of the bouncing balls I made came out egg-shaped.”

“So what now?”


And that was how we ended up enrolling in art school.

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