I'm sorry I neglected you for so long. We'll catch up soon. In the meantime, you can be amused by this.
Dear Kitten,
I don't really know how to tell you this but our romance is over. I think I realized it when your dog humped my leg at the Elton John concert. Carve your initials into my boyfriend. I'm sure you're scared enough to understand the middle-east is planning their revenge on you. I'm returning the couch cushions to you, but I'll keep the results of that blood sample as a memory. You should also know that I told in my confession today about the moose poaching and I'm scratching my ass as you read this.
Go drown yourself,
Katie
Now write your own!
dear (someone you recently talked to)
I don't really know how to tell you this, but (1). I think I realized it (2) (3). (4) (5). I'm sure you're (6) enough to understand (7). I'm returning (8) to you, but I'll keep (9) as a memory. You should also know that I (10) and (11).
(12)
your name
1) What's the color of your shirt?
Yellow - I'm in love with your cat
Red - Our affair is over
White - I'm joining the Convent
Black -Our romance is over
Green- Our socks don't match
Grey - You're a leprechaun
Blue - I'm selling myself for candy
Pink - Your nostrils are insulting
Brown - The mafia wants you
No shirt - You're mean
Other -I dislike your eyelashes
2) Which is your birth month?
January - That night you picked your nose
February -When I quoted Forest Gump
March - When your dwarf bit me
April - When I tripped on peanut butter
May - When I threw up in your sock drawer
June - When you put cuffs on me
July – When you smacked my ass
August - When I saw the purple monkey
September - Last year when you peed your pants
October - When we skinny dipped in the bathtub
November - When your dog humped my leg
December - When I finally changed my underwear
3) Which food do you prefer?
Tacos - In your apartment
Chicken- In your car
Pasta - Outside of your office
Hamburgers - Under the bus
Salad – As you were eating Kraft Dinner
Lasagna - In your closet
Kebab - With Jean Chrétien
Fish - In a clown suit
Sandwiches - At the Elton John concert
Pizza - At the mental hospital
Hot dog - Under a street light
Annat- With George Bush and Stephen Harper
4) What's the color of your socks?
Yellow - Ignore
Red - Put whipped cream on
Black - Hit on
Blue - Knock out
Purple - Pour syrup on
White - Carve your initials into
Grey - Pull the clothes off
Brown - bit of
Orange - Castrate
Pink - Pull the pants off of
Barefoot - Sit on
Other - Drive over
5) What's the color of your underwear?
Black - My boyfriend
White - My father
Grey – The Catholic Priest
Brown – The Montreal Canadian's goalie
Purple - My corned beef hash
Red – My knee caps
Blue - My salt-beef bucket
Yellow - My illegitimate child in Ghana
Orange - My Blink 182 cd
Pink – Your 'My Little Pony' collection
None – My prized statue of Michael Jackson in the nude
Other --The elephant in the corner
6) What do you prefer to watch on TV?
One Tree Hill - Senile
Heroes- Frostbitten
Lost - High
Simpsons- Cowardly
The news - Scared
American Idol - Masochistic
Family Guy - Open
Top Model - Middle-class
Annat - shamed
7) Your mood right now?
Happy - How awful you are
Sad - How boring you are
Bored - that your hair is too big
Angry - That your smell makes me vomit
Depressed – That we're related
Excited - That I may pee my pants
Nervous - The middle-east is planning their revenge on you
Worried - That your Ford sucks
Apathetic - That you need a sex-change
Silly - That I'm allergic to your earlobes
Cuddly - That Santa doesn't exist
Ashamed - That there is no solution to you being a dumb kid
Other - That your driving sucks
8) What's the color of your walls in your bedroom?
White - Your toe ring
Yellow - Your love letters to me
Red - The pictures from Vegas
Black - Your pet rock
Blue - The couch cushions
Green - Your car
Orange - Your false teeth
Brown - Your nose hair clippers
Grey - Our matching snoopy underwear
Purple - Your old New Kids on the Block blanket
Pink - The cut toenails
Other - Your Hannah Montanna underwear
9) The first letter of your first name?
A/B - My virginity
C/D - Your photo with the moustache drawn on it
E/F - Your neighbors dog
G/H - The oil tank from your car
I/J - Your left ear
K/L - The results of that blood-sample
M/N - Your glass eye
O/P - My common sense
Q/R - Your mom
S/T - Your collection of butterflies
U/V - Your criminal record
W/X – Your sucide note
Y/Z - Your credit cards
10) The last letter in your last name?
A/B - Love your sweetsweet ass
C/D - Always will remember the pep talks
E/F -Never will forget that night
G/H – Will not tell the authorities you stole the whale from the back yard.
I/J – Mocked you behind your back constantly
K/L - Hate your cooking
M/N - Told in my confession today about the moose poaching
O/P - Told my psychiatrist about the bruises
Q/R - Always wanted to break your legs
S/T - Get sick when I think of your face
U/V - Will try to forget that you broke my heart
W/X - Haven't showered in a month
Y/Z – am better off without you
11) What do you prefer to drink?
Wine- Our friendship is ruined
Soft drink – I'm off to lead a new life as a lemon
Soda – I will haunt you when I'm reincarnated as an Eskimo
Milk - The apartment building is on fire
Water – I'm scratching my ass as you read this
Cider– I have a passionate interest for mice
Juice – You ruined my attempts at another world war
Mineral water – You should get that embarrassing rash checked
Hot chocolate – Your Cucumber-fetishism is weird
Whiskey - I love Oprah Winfrey
Beer – Thanks for the Cocaine
Other – you should stop picking your nose
12) To which country would you prefer to go on a vacation?
Thailand – Warm tingly sensations
Australia - Best of luck on the sex change
France - Love always
Spain - With tears of sadness
China – You make me sick
Germany – Please don't hurt me
Japan - Go milk a cow
Greece - Your everlasting enemy
USA - Greetings to your frog Leonard
Egypt – Kiss my butt
England - Go drown yourself
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Monday, December 15, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Thoughts Of Two Dying Men
The headline screamed, "God! Not again!". The photo beneath it showed a man, lying in a pool of blood. Another man knelt beside him but the dying man showed no response. One look at his eyes and you knew he was gone. He was gone, yet there was still so much to read within those eyes. His face was familiar, it had been plastered across magazines newspapers and tabloids for years. A Senator, brother to the slain President, shown here, dying, in the morning news.
Minutes before, he had been greeting supporters, smiles and handshakes all around. His face beamed to match the faces of those around him. He just received news that he had won over California in the presidential primaries. He turns to greet another beaming face when it hits. Three shots, a fourth tearing through his jacket. Two to the head, one through the arm. He hits the floor and the people swarm. A scuffle occurs nearby as his friends and bodyguards wrestle the man with the gun to the floor. A circle opens up and the Senator is displayed. A man crouches near him, attempting to stop the bleeding. Cameras flicker.
What went through the mind of this man as he lay there, two bullets in his brain? Did he think, Oh God, what is happening? Was I just shot am I dying? Or did he know, did he know that he was about to die? Did he think of his killer and wish pain upon him? Did he think to try and stand? Did he think of his brother, slain five years before? Or his children, all ten, soon to be eleven, or his wife, his smiling blonde haired wife... Were his thoughts of his country? Did he wonder at who might take his place in the election, his seat in the Senate? Or was he gone the moment the shots were fired.
The man doesn't truly die until 26 hours later, in a hospital on June 6 1968. Yet you look at the photograph...and see that he is already gone.
It's dark. The street is empty, save for one; a young man in a ragged jacket, tousled hair and unshaven face. He stumbles down the sidewalk, bottle in hand. The neighborhood is derelict. Houses with broken windows and boarded doors flank the bare streets. Drunken thoughts play dice in the mans head, making foolish gambles and losing every time. He walks the streets at an early hour and sees no one.
Old memories glimmer within the alcohol haze. A birthday party, smiles and cake. His father, fist upraised.
The man takes another swallow of the vodka in his hand. He revels in the burn as it scrapes its way down his throat.
More memories. His mother crying at the table, bills all around and no money to spare. Long, hungry nights spent in parks and under bridges. His father again, the fist swinging down to meet the huddled form of his mother.
Bitter tears prick the corners of his eyes and etch a burning path down his cheeks.
An angry teen takes a swing at his father. The same teen is thrown against a wall. A woman screams. And screams. And screams.
The man is downtown. Blinding lights leave spots in his eyes. He pushes through the crowds, barely listening to their frenzied conversation.
Dead? He can't be...
How can he be alive, he was shot in the head twice-
I won't believe it-
Just like his brother-
Tragic-
Women were sobbing, men were shaking their heads and everyone looked panicked.
Kennedy? Bobby Kennedy? It can't be
He just won California in the primaries!
Who's the bastard that shot him, I swear I'll kill him
The man didn't know who Bobby Kennedy was or why he was so important. He drank more and continued on.
A teen living on the streets, scavenging and stealing to stay alive. Prison. Six months in, nine out, a year back in, three years out, three months and here he was. Walking in Los Angeles, not a penny to his name and a closet full of ghosts.
He wandered down the alleys, stumbling the whole way. He was awfully tired. Hadn't slept well in months.
There was a slight breeze on the warm June night. He reached a bridge. Cars roared across it, but barely registered in the young man's mind. He swallowed the last of the vodka, gritting his teeth while it burned.
A life of nothing. That's what he had. No family, no friends, no money, no job. Nothing. Filled with sudden fury, the man screamed. All his frustration, all his hate, all of his resentment was poured out in one agonizing breath. He flung the empty bottle off into the dark water.
There was stillness. He stopped and listened. He could feel his heart pound on every inch of his skin. He felt alive, truly alive, and in a moment of clarity mounted the rail of the bridge and stepped off.
Minutes before, he had been greeting supporters, smiles and handshakes all around. His face beamed to match the faces of those around him. He just received news that he had won over California in the presidential primaries. He turns to greet another beaming face when it hits. Three shots, a fourth tearing through his jacket. Two to the head, one through the arm. He hits the floor and the people swarm. A scuffle occurs nearby as his friends and bodyguards wrestle the man with the gun to the floor. A circle opens up and the Senator is displayed. A man crouches near him, attempting to stop the bleeding. Cameras flicker.
What went through the mind of this man as he lay there, two bullets in his brain? Did he think, Oh God, what is happening? Was I just shot am I dying? Or did he know, did he know that he was about to die? Did he think of his killer and wish pain upon him? Did he think to try and stand? Did he think of his brother, slain five years before? Or his children, all ten, soon to be eleven, or his wife, his smiling blonde haired wife... Were his thoughts of his country? Did he wonder at who might take his place in the election, his seat in the Senate? Or was he gone the moment the shots were fired.
The man doesn't truly die until 26 hours later, in a hospital on June 6 1968. Yet you look at the photograph...and see that he is already gone.
It's dark. The street is empty, save for one; a young man in a ragged jacket, tousled hair and unshaven face. He stumbles down the sidewalk, bottle in hand. The neighborhood is derelict. Houses with broken windows and boarded doors flank the bare streets. Drunken thoughts play dice in the mans head, making foolish gambles and losing every time. He walks the streets at an early hour and sees no one.
Old memories glimmer within the alcohol haze. A birthday party, smiles and cake. His father, fist upraised.
The man takes another swallow of the vodka in his hand. He revels in the burn as it scrapes its way down his throat.
More memories. His mother crying at the table, bills all around and no money to spare. Long, hungry nights spent in parks and under bridges. His father again, the fist swinging down to meet the huddled form of his mother.
Bitter tears prick the corners of his eyes and etch a burning path down his cheeks.
An angry teen takes a swing at his father. The same teen is thrown against a wall. A woman screams. And screams. And screams.
The man is downtown. Blinding lights leave spots in his eyes. He pushes through the crowds, barely listening to their frenzied conversation.
Dead? He can't be...
How can he be alive, he was shot in the head twice-
I won't believe it-
Just like his brother-
Tragic-
Women were sobbing, men were shaking their heads and everyone looked panicked.
Kennedy? Bobby Kennedy? It can't be
He just won California in the primaries!
Who's the bastard that shot him, I swear I'll kill him
The man didn't know who Bobby Kennedy was or why he was so important. He drank more and continued on.
A teen living on the streets, scavenging and stealing to stay alive. Prison. Six months in, nine out, a year back in, three years out, three months and here he was. Walking in Los Angeles, not a penny to his name and a closet full of ghosts.
He wandered down the alleys, stumbling the whole way. He was awfully tired. Hadn't slept well in months.
There was a slight breeze on the warm June night. He reached a bridge. Cars roared across it, but barely registered in the young man's mind. He swallowed the last of the vodka, gritting his teeth while it burned.
A life of nothing. That's what he had. No family, no friends, no money, no job. Nothing. Filled with sudden fury, the man screamed. All his frustration, all his hate, all of his resentment was poured out in one agonizing breath. He flung the empty bottle off into the dark water.
There was stillness. He stopped and listened. He could feel his heart pound on every inch of his skin. He felt alive, truly alive, and in a moment of clarity mounted the rail of the bridge and stepped off.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Dear Friday,
Um...come back in two weeks? Kthxbai.
Schedule for Friday is as follows...
7:11am Breakfast Club
9:15am Donate blood
10:30am Precalc quiz on trigonometric functions D:
11:45am Art History quiz
3:30pm One Act Meeting
3:30pm Italian
6:30 call for Once Upon a Mattress
Schedule for Thursday makes this stuff a problem...
8:25-11:05am Class
11:05-6:30pm Intense study session. Massive amounts of information need to be ingested an comprehended. Like, all trigonometric functions, 80 or so images for art history, plus vocabulary terms and central and basilican church plans.
6:30-10pm? Once Upon A Mattress. So, little sleep for the craziness that will ensue on Friday.
Ack. This uh...won't be fun. Maybe I'll go to bed early tonight. After I finish writing a page of bullshit for American history. Oh right, I just remembered, I need to have all 44 presidents memorized by Friday also. Huzzah.
Schedule for Friday is as follows...
7:11am Breakfast Club
9:15am Donate blood
10:30am Precalc quiz on trigonometric functions D:
11:45am Art History quiz
3:30pm One Act Meeting
3:30pm Italian
6:30 call for Once Upon a Mattress
Schedule for Thursday makes this stuff a problem...
8:25-11:05am Class
11:05-6:30pm Intense study session. Massive amounts of information need to be ingested an comprehended. Like, all trigonometric functions, 80 or so images for art history, plus vocabulary terms and central and basilican church plans.
6:30-10pm? Once Upon A Mattress. So, little sleep for the craziness that will ensue on Friday.
Ack. This uh...won't be fun. Maybe I'll go to bed early tonight. After I finish writing a page of bullshit for American history. Oh right, I just remembered, I need to have all 44 presidents memorized by Friday also. Huzzah.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Dear Puppeteer,
I wish more people could see who you really are. You are cold and you are manipulative. I watched that tonight, in that little microcosm I saw it, plain as day. And I saw how no one else did. They were amused little sheep and you were the crafty herder.
It was an impressive display don't get me wrong. But how can you justify that? In a game, it's fine, that's what that game is all about, but that isn't where it ends with you. It's cruel to continue playing a game after the game has finished and people no longer know they are playing.
You are the puppet master and they are the puppets. With a twitch of the line they dance, a sharp tug and they fall. You place yourself above people. In your own mind, you are above others. You watch as they swirl and tumble and you nudge them, here and there. You play God. How can you do that? How do you not see the cruelty? There is no reason to be that way. I've no objection to you sitting above people, watching, but when you intervene and push them to do your bidding, that I have a problem with.
Consider someone other than yourself once. Only once. And imagine yourself in their position.
It was an impressive display don't get me wrong. But how can you justify that? In a game, it's fine, that's what that game is all about, but that isn't where it ends with you. It's cruel to continue playing a game after the game has finished and people no longer know they are playing.
You are the puppet master and they are the puppets. With a twitch of the line they dance, a sharp tug and they fall. You place yourself above people. In your own mind, you are above others. You watch as they swirl and tumble and you nudge them, here and there. You play God. How can you do that? How do you not see the cruelty? There is no reason to be that way. I've no objection to you sitting above people, watching, but when you intervene and push them to do your bidding, that I have a problem with.
Consider someone other than yourself once. Only once. And imagine yourself in their position.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Dear Reader,
I am a coward. I was tagged one of those chain notes on facebook, you know the kind. I thought, hey, neat concept, but I lack the courage to actually post 16 things people don't know about me because they don't know them because I don't want them to. Oh well.
Dear sporadic reader,
I hope you enjoy reading these things few people know.
1. I have no faith. In anyone or anything. Living without faith is not an enjoyable thing and I am trying desperately to correct this.
2. TWLOHA Day only makes me more depressed. It's....it seems like a fad. How many people actually take the time to think about what it truly means. Writing love on your arm means almost nothing. It's a cute reminder but the marker or pen or whatever washes away and nothing is accomplished.
3. I am terribly afraid of falling in love again. I feel like if it happens again soon, I'll run away. As far as I can, just so I won't be hurt again.
4. I hate being alone.
5. I also hate how much of a hypocrite I can be.
6. I don't think I ever want children. I am too afraid that I won't love them or they won't love me or they'll grow up to be horrible little people.
7. I love teaching. I love it I love it I love it. I love the rush of joy I recieve from helping a child grasp a new concept.
8. My ultimate dream in life, is to start a refugee school for young children in the Middle East with their families. The school would be somewhere in Europe, Scotland hopefully :D, and I could then teach and help many many people. It would be beautiful. It's unlikely, but...I enjoy spending time in that daydream.
9. I am terrified of next year, when all of my close friends are gone. I don't know who I'll call when I need to be with someone I don't know who I'll talk to about things....It won't be fun....
10. I don't dare post more.
Dear sporadic reader,
I hope you enjoy reading these things few people know.
1. I have no faith. In anyone or anything. Living without faith is not an enjoyable thing and I am trying desperately to correct this.
2. TWLOHA Day only makes me more depressed. It's....it seems like a fad. How many people actually take the time to think about what it truly means. Writing love on your arm means almost nothing. It's a cute reminder but the marker or pen or whatever washes away and nothing is accomplished.
3. I am terribly afraid of falling in love again. I feel like if it happens again soon, I'll run away. As far as I can, just so I won't be hurt again.
4. I hate being alone.
5. I also hate how much of a hypocrite I can be.
6. I don't think I ever want children. I am too afraid that I won't love them or they won't love me or they'll grow up to be horrible little people.
7. I love teaching. I love it I love it I love it. I love the rush of joy I recieve from helping a child grasp a new concept.
8. My ultimate dream in life, is to start a refugee school for young children in the Middle East with their families. The school would be somewhere in Europe, Scotland hopefully :D, and I could then teach and help many many people. It would be beautiful. It's unlikely, but...I enjoy spending time in that daydream.
9. I am terrified of next year, when all of my close friends are gone. I don't know who I'll call when I need to be with someone I don't know who I'll talk to about things....It won't be fun....
10. I don't dare post more.
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