I draw a lot at my desk at work (receptionist, remember?) and it occurred to me today just how much eraser dust I've accumulated on my desk and in every surrounding nook, cranny and crevice. I erase A LOT.
To an eraser this must be the equivalent of witnessing the aftermath of a particularly violent battle. The detritus of themselves and their loved ones scattered like crumbs across the faux wooden landscape. Such a sight would do irreparable damage to their poor little rubbery minds.
Which is why this is called "Why Won't She Stop?" and boy howdy did I add to the casualties during the process.