The Rake and the Umbrella- Crapter IMature

It's awesome.

Once upon a time, in a shed, there were two inanimate objects that (for the purposes of this tale) could talk and move. They lived in a utopia of paint, gardening tools and unwanted junk.
First of all, there was a rake, he was a tall, lanky looking object, with a permanently spiked head, the rake enjoyed his spiked head, as it enabled him to fondle with dead leaves, which was his purpose in life, he was a happy tool.
Then, there was an umbrella, the umbrella was always depressed, since umbrellas do not normally reside in garden sheds, she was missing her friends in the cupboard under the stairs. She had been put in the shed because she was old and inside out, the bin men had forgotten to take her away, so the people who lived in the house put her away in the shed until the following monday, when the bin men would arrive again.
It was a mild summer evening, the lawnmower had been the last one into the shed after cutting the grass, and as always had forgotten to close the door behind him.
"Oi, you stupid green bastard, close the damn door!" said the spade, who had been woken from his slumber in the ruckus.
"Sorry, it's not my fault, I have the turning circle of the titanic!" cried the lawnmower, who was visibly upset by the spades insult.
"Shut it, the both of you" said the rake, who calmly shut the shed door.

Meanwhile, in the corner of the shed, the lowly umbrella sobbed more than she ever had done before, because it was Sunday night, and she was due to be collected and taken to landfill the next morning. Luckily for her, the rake pointed out that it had snowed 2 feet of snow in 10 minutes, so the binmen will not be coming to collect her until next week at least.
"Bahh Heck!" cried the old shears, "that were a bit o' bad snow eh?"
"Bullshit!" exclaimed the spade, knowingly about to break the fourth wall, "How can it snow on a mild summers evening?! and even in winter, how could it snow 2 feet in the space of 10 minutes?!, the consistency in this story sucks my handle!" 
"I thought I sucked your handle?" said the garden hoe, who had conveniently fallen on her back in front of the spade
"Not tonight baby" said the spade, still frustrated by the narrative
"Maybe we should just call this Chapter 1 and work something else out tomorrow?" suggested the rake who had obviously had enough of not being a very centric character, even though the story is named after him.
"Amen to that" chorused around the shed.
So with that, a silence fell across the small, dingy cabin, as everyone inside, went to sleep, except for the umbrella, who had been dead for the past 10 minutes, after contracting hypothermia. To be continued... (or not)


The End

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