WD-40 is one of the most mysterious, and useful, chemical compounds in the Universe. Matched only by Duck tape in its utter indespensibility, it has long lurked in the dark cabinets under sinks in the most respectable of houses. The wonder, intrigue, respect, gratefulness, and absurd after-dinner-but-before-pie talk it generates surpasses even that of the amazing and beloved digital watch (though digital watches still have those darling buttons and cute beeps while WD-40 merely has a blue-and-yellow label).
WD-40 is one of those rare substances that inexplacably appear for a certain purpose and somehow evolve to a level at which they can do almost anything (that is, except the specific purpose for which they were originally designed, though most of the time that purpose was rather silly anyway). The WD stands for "water displacement" and the 40 tags along in honor of the number of times it took before the chemists got it right and found the perfect balance of ingredients; however, no one really knows what those happen to be, or whose idea it was to put them together in the first place.
Often, the only question that can be asked about WD-40 (that can have a definite answer) is "Where do you keep your WD-40?" to which should always be replied "Right next to the Duck tape," or "Under my pillow." Other questions lead only to long, boring and repetitive conversations where one person insists on being as vague as possible (so as not to disclude any helpful information) and the other usually resorts to picking up near-by folding chairs and hurling them across the room at unreasonable speeds. One such conversation began with this simple question:
"What does it do?" asked person A.
"Why, everything," replied person B with contempt, "Haven't you ever heard of WD-40?"
"No."
A pause.
"Well, what does it do?" pressed person A again.
"Everything."
"What specifically?"
"I don't know. Whatever needs to be done."
"Well, what is it?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?!"
"I don't know."
"But what does it do?"
"I told you," said person B, "everything."
At this point, person A became very frustrated and noticed a folding chair out of the corner of his eye. The folding chair, sensing the imminent danger, tried to hold absolutely still and be as inconspicuous as possible.
"It can't possibly do everything," protested person A.
"Well, not everything... in that sense."
"Then what does it do?"
"Whatever you need it to do."
"Light a lamp?"
"Well, no."
"Make jello pudding snacks?"
"No."
"Teach Advanced Trigonometry and Calculus BC?"
"Of course not."
"Simulate the mating cry of a male Canadian moose?"
"I don't think so."
"Tell me the time in four different major cities around the world while beeping every half-hour and telling me how far I've gone at a pace of three steps a second if I'm twenty-three?" asked person A, looking admiringly at his digital watch. "Glow in the dark?"
"Nope, neither of those."
Person A, now convinced that WD-40's only use was to perpetuate and intensify the inherent confusion of an already chaotic Universe, asked one last question.
"Can it get rid of that dorky bumer sticker that says My Other Car is a Porche' that's been stuck on my car for seven years and two weeks?"
"Yes," said person B. "Actually, it can. It can also get rid of the tasteful ones, and the ones that say 'My kid got your Harvard grad pregnant' and 'Hang up and Drive!'" At this point, the folding chair let out a huge sigh of relief as it saw the violent look fade from person A's eyes. "It can also be used as a paint-stain-rust-squeak-glue-gum-dirt-odor-and-uninvited-guests-remover, water-proofer, and a replacement for wax on skiis and surfboards."
"O," said person A. "Wow. That stuff really does do everything."
And that was the end of that conversation. Luckily, no folding chairs were harmed during this particular incident, but unfortunately, all over the world, similar conversations are beginning or continuing, and some may be spinning wildly out of control. Do your part. Spred the news of this wonderful substance to every corner of the Earth and beyond. In every house, under every pillow, in every bag next to the Duck tape, should be a can with a blue-and-yellow label that proclaims boldy in big, inconclusive and utterly useless letters "WD-40"! Preserve our folding chairs!
Note:Because Duck tape and WD-40 are so often kept in close proximity to one another, they have a tendency to fall in love. While a long-lasting companionship is often successful and completely healthy, they should be strongly discouraged from entering into a romantic relationship, and under no circumstances should they mate. ONly once in the history of the Universe did a roll of Duck tape and a can of WD-40 fall in love and mate, and the result was devastating. The story goes: A poor, thinning roll of Duck tape once happened upon a friendly can of WD-40 just when it felt it had no purpose any longer to exist. The two household products fell in love at first sight, and one fateful night decided to go all that way. Because of its inherent quality of removing stickiness, the WD-40 quickly reduced the Duck tape to a mere quivering strip of shiny gray plastic, and now compeletely stripped of its old self, it wandered off in search of some ultimate purpose. The can of WD-40, out of grief and guilt, imploded into itself, consequently causing a vacuum in the space-time continuum which was filled imediately with a modest, and quite startled, collection of pogs which only a moment before had been resting nicely in oblivion (this, incidently, is the reason for the sudden re-emergence of the Pog Fad in the mid-'90s, which was also incidently sucked back out of reality when a small, remote star on the outer rim of our Galaxy committed suicide after hearing the news of the pog's return, because of the sole fact that nobody can stand the thought of more pogs, no matter how remote or modest they may be).
