(gah, sorry I keep missing days. I blame it on the holiday spirit >.>)
The electrical adapters flew across the sky with a mighty WHOOSH. Nobody knew how they could fly, but they could, and their flight was amazing to see. It put many young people in awe of their abilities and it was fantastic. The only problem was, now nobody in America could power their European products in their own homes anymore. It made a lot of people irritated, but the flight of the electrical adapters was too beautiful and strange for anyone to complain too much, so they simply watched in silent awe as the adapters flew across the night sky.
Showing posts with label write. Show all posts
Showing posts with label write. Show all posts
Monday, April 18, 2011
Daily Story 46 - Uhh
A quiet night in the darkened streets, it felt so strange to all.
A group of friends began to sing, and felt their spirits rise.
They sang a song of prettyful songness, and boy they sang it good.
They ran through town as they sang their song, and many joined with them.
It echoed through the snow-filled streets and reached so many ears,
It was remarkable how pretty it was when everybody cheered.
I'm not sure why they cheered, though. I mean, it was a good song and all, but not really fantastic...
A group of friends began to sing, and felt their spirits rise.
They sang a song of prettyful songness, and boy they sang it good.
They ran through town as they sang their song, and many joined with them.
It echoed through the snow-filled streets and reached so many ears,
It was remarkable how pretty it was when everybody cheered.
I'm not sure why they cheered, though. I mean, it was a good song and all, but not really fantastic...
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Daily Story 41 - Ladder Lamp
Once upon a time a strong young man worked on a farm as a lumberjack. Evidently there were a lot of trees that needed cutting on this farm, as the lumberjack worked there for a very long time. He would chop down trees, cut them into logs, and bring the wood up to the barn to store for when the farmer's family needed firewood. He would climb the ladder into the barn loft and stack the logs in the far corner. There they would rest until it was time to be used.
This man worked late into the nights sometimes, and he would bring a lamp with him to light his way from the forest to the barn loft. While he stacked logs in the far corner, the lamp and the ladder would tell each other stories of days long past, and over time, they slowly began to fall in love.
One day, the lumberjack stopped coming into work. He had finished his job on the farm, and he took his lamp with him to his new workplace, leaving the ladder alone with only one thing to remember its dear lamp. Not long after the lumberjack had left for good, the ladder gave birth to a shining little ladder that looked so much like the lamp that the ladder could not bear to let the poor thing out of its sight. Now there are two ladders in that barn, and one provides illumination as long as one hits the switch on the side.
This man worked late into the nights sometimes, and he would bring a lamp with him to light his way from the forest to the barn loft. While he stacked logs in the far corner, the lamp and the ladder would tell each other stories of days long past, and over time, they slowly began to fall in love.
One day, the lumberjack stopped coming into work. He had finished his job on the farm, and he took his lamp with him to his new workplace, leaving the ladder alone with only one thing to remember its dear lamp. Not long after the lumberjack had left for good, the ladder gave birth to a shining little ladder that looked so much like the lamp that the ladder could not bear to let the poor thing out of its sight. Now there are two ladders in that barn, and one provides illumination as long as one hits the switch on the side.
Daily Story 40 - Be Strong, Little Sister
"Is that her?" Kyle asked his father, looking curiously through the window from his father's arms.
"Yes, that's her," his father replied. "That's your little sister Molly."
"She's tiny."
"I know," his father said. "That's because she came out too early. Babies are supposed to grow more inside their mother's bellies."
"So how come Molly didn't?"
His father sighed. "Sometimes things don't work out the way they're supposed to. You came out early, too."
"I did?" Kyle asked, looking up at his father.
"Yeah, you sure did. In fact, the first time I ever held you, you were lying back in the corner over there. You were just as tiny as Molly, maybe even tinier. You grabbed my big finger and didn't let go."
Kyle looked back through the glass. "Can I hold her?"
"In a little bit. We have to wait for the doctors to finish checking up on her."
He fidgeted in his father's grasp as they waited. When it was finally time for them to go in, he stared down at his little sister in amazement. Her eyes were barely open, but she looked straight at him. He smiled and waved, and she moved her little fist up and down.
"She waved at me!"
"She must know you're her big brother," his father said quietly. "Here, put your hand through here... yeah, there you go, now you can hold her like this, see?"
"Wow... she's really light!"
"She'll get heavier. Here, let's slowly put her down... yeah, good job. You're going to be a great big brother. See, look, she's already reaching for you."
Kyle put his hand down right in front of his sister's hand, and he smiled as she grabbed onto his finger. "She's holding real tight, daddy."
"I guess that means she's strong."
"That means she's getting better, right?" Kyle asked.
"I hope so. Come on, we need to check up on your mother before Mr. Tibman takes you home."
Kyle looked back at his little sister and smiled at her. "Keep being strong, Molly. I've got a lot of games I want to play with you when you're bigger."
"Yes, that's her," his father replied. "That's your little sister Molly."
"She's tiny."
"I know," his father said. "That's because she came out too early. Babies are supposed to grow more inside their mother's bellies."
"So how come Molly didn't?"
His father sighed. "Sometimes things don't work out the way they're supposed to. You came out early, too."
"I did?" Kyle asked, looking up at his father.
"Yeah, you sure did. In fact, the first time I ever held you, you were lying back in the corner over there. You were just as tiny as Molly, maybe even tinier. You grabbed my big finger and didn't let go."
Kyle looked back through the glass. "Can I hold her?"
"In a little bit. We have to wait for the doctors to finish checking up on her."
He fidgeted in his father's grasp as they waited. When it was finally time for them to go in, he stared down at his little sister in amazement. Her eyes were barely open, but she looked straight at him. He smiled and waved, and she moved her little fist up and down.
"She waved at me!"
"She must know you're her big brother," his father said quietly. "Here, put your hand through here... yeah, there you go, now you can hold her like this, see?"
"Wow... she's really light!"
"She'll get heavier. Here, let's slowly put her down... yeah, good job. You're going to be a great big brother. See, look, she's already reaching for you."
Kyle put his hand down right in front of his sister's hand, and he smiled as she grabbed onto his finger. "She's holding real tight, daddy."
"I guess that means she's strong."
"That means she's getting better, right?" Kyle asked.
"I hope so. Come on, we need to check up on your mother before Mr. Tibman takes you home."
Kyle looked back at his little sister and smiled at her. "Keep being strong, Molly. I've got a lot of games I want to play with you when you're bigger."
Daily Story 39 - Taco Tuesday
They always serve tacos on Tuesday. It's a strange and often horrifying kind of taco, but nevertheless it is still a taco. The people like to eat these tacos, but they prefer a less disgusting type of taco, so they often decide to eat tacos elsewhere. The Tuesday tacos are free, though, so anyone who doesn't like to spend money will stop caring about how disgusting these tacos are and eat them anyway.
Tacos like to be eaten. They also like to dance. They dance a lot, and life is good until the day they are eaten, at which time they are no longer tacos but whatever tacos become after they are eaten. Tacos do not know what happens to them after they are eaten, but they like to think it involves potatoes. Nobody knows why they like to think this, but it doesn't really matter to the tacos. They just like to have fun until they are eaten. They dance around, and sometimes they poke things.
The life of a Tuesday taco is very special indeed.
Tacos like to be eaten. They also like to dance. They dance a lot, and life is good until the day they are eaten, at which time they are no longer tacos but whatever tacos become after they are eaten. Tacos do not know what happens to them after they are eaten, but they like to think it involves potatoes. Nobody knows why they like to think this, but it doesn't really matter to the tacos. They just like to have fun until they are eaten. They dance around, and sometimes they poke things.
The life of a Tuesday taco is very special indeed.
Daily Story 31 - The Kittens of Evergreen Ponyland
There was once a bright and beautiful land known as the kingdom of Evergreen Ponyland. It was filled with rainbows and sunshine, and ponies frolicked happily through the fields of fabulous flowers. They played merry games and danced joyous dances, and all was well in the kingdom of Evergreen Ponyland. Until, that is, one dark, stormy day, when the kittens invaded.
They came at midnight, and they brought with them storms of a horrible sort. The ponies had to cancel their pony games because the rain would have soaked them through to the bone. The kitten waltzed through the fields to their own sick, diabolical music and laughed maniacally as they took over the grand pony arena. Things were looking quite grim for the ponies of Evergreen Ponyland. Yes, quite grim indeed.
That is, until one lone pony stood up to the kittens, who were setting up their evil game of yarn batting in the grand pony arena. This pony stood with head held high, and he neighed with the might of a grand pony prince. For indeed, this was the lost pony prince, the only son of the great pony king and queen who had disappeared and had thought to have been lost forever. However, he had simply been wandering the countryside, learning all he could about his country so that he might become a great king himself one day. He had seen the kittens coming and had raced to the grand pony arena to face them.
"Leave this place!" the grand pony prince demanded, his mane blowing dramatically behind him in the wind. "Leave this place now, or forever be shamed for your transgressions!"
"Never!" the kittens proclaimed. "This land is just what we needed, since the malicious bandicoots of Northland invaded our home of Kittania!"
"The bandicoots of Northland, you say?" the grand pony prince asked, hardly believing his ears. It seemed the situation was more dire than even he could have imagined. "This is terrible! Can you not fight back against them?"
"No, we cannot, for they have stolen all our milk and tuna factories, and we are weakened beyond repair," the leader of the kittens explained.
"Then apologize for your rudeness in intruding upon this country, and you shall be welcomed as guests while we find a way to retake your lost homeland," the grand pony prince said.
"We apologize," the kittens said, bowing their little kitten heads in unison. "Thank you for your kindness and generosity. We shall repay you when this is over."
"Then it is settled," the grand pony prince said, then whinnied a whinny so great that all the clouds disappeared. The fields of Evergreen Ponyland became bright and cheerful once more, and the grand pony prince played a grand game of joyous splendor with the kitten king until the sun set on Evergreen Ponyland.
They came at midnight, and they brought with them storms of a horrible sort. The ponies had to cancel their pony games because the rain would have soaked them through to the bone. The kitten waltzed through the fields to their own sick, diabolical music and laughed maniacally as they took over the grand pony arena. Things were looking quite grim for the ponies of Evergreen Ponyland. Yes, quite grim indeed.
That is, until one lone pony stood up to the kittens, who were setting up their evil game of yarn batting in the grand pony arena. This pony stood with head held high, and he neighed with the might of a grand pony prince. For indeed, this was the lost pony prince, the only son of the great pony king and queen who had disappeared and had thought to have been lost forever. However, he had simply been wandering the countryside, learning all he could about his country so that he might become a great king himself one day. He had seen the kittens coming and had raced to the grand pony arena to face them.
"Leave this place!" the grand pony prince demanded, his mane blowing dramatically behind him in the wind. "Leave this place now, or forever be shamed for your transgressions!"
"Never!" the kittens proclaimed. "This land is just what we needed, since the malicious bandicoots of Northland invaded our home of Kittania!"
"The bandicoots of Northland, you say?" the grand pony prince asked, hardly believing his ears. It seemed the situation was more dire than even he could have imagined. "This is terrible! Can you not fight back against them?"
"No, we cannot, for they have stolen all our milk and tuna factories, and we are weakened beyond repair," the leader of the kittens explained.
"Then apologize for your rudeness in intruding upon this country, and you shall be welcomed as guests while we find a way to retake your lost homeland," the grand pony prince said.
"We apologize," the kittens said, bowing their little kitten heads in unison. "Thank you for your kindness and generosity. We shall repay you when this is over."
"Then it is settled," the grand pony prince said, then whinnied a whinny so great that all the clouds disappeared. The fields of Evergreen Ponyland became bright and cheerful once more, and the grand pony prince played a grand game of joyous splendor with the kitten king until the sun set on Evergreen Ponyland.
Daily Story 24 - The Time Traveler
Once upon there was a woman who could travel in time. She left on a Friday and returned on a Saturday, and thus her story for the previous day had been delayed. She really didn't mean for it to be delayed, it was all the time travel's fault.
So, she put on a wig and danced around for a while, hoping her transgression would be forgiven. She also gave out candy to people. But not really, because she didn't have any candy to give out and there was nobody around to give it to. So she simply danced around in a wig until she decided she was bored and wandered off to go eat some food.
So, she put on a wig and danced around for a while, hoping her transgression would be forgiven. She also gave out candy to people. But not really, because she didn't have any candy to give out and there was nobody around to give it to. So she simply danced around in a wig until she decided she was bored and wandered off to go eat some food.
Daily Story 21 - Retarded Misconception
(This one's... a lot more of a rant than usual, but there have been a few times I've wanted to say this to someone (more than one person, actually) and I figured I should just get it out of my system before I snap and go bat-shit crazy on someone for a harmless comment. That, and after I wrote this I didn't really have the energy or the inspiration to write something else for today's story. And no, there wasn't anything that happened today that triggered this, just thinking about earlier in the semester when I tried to explain that being 'retarded' (nowadays the correct term is 'having a cognitive delay') was a very specific type of mental disability and didn't necessarily apply to someone who was showing signs of having some kind of mental disability. The first paragraph is what I just now realized I could have said, and the second paragraph is how I would have reacted if someone had asked me 'what's the big deal,' but only if I were the kind of person who actually went off on angry tirades (the ones in my head don't count because I'm the only one who can hear them).)
Just because someone can't display their intelligence in a way that everyone else expects them to doesn't mean they're incapable of intelligent thought, and just because they have trouble doing things that the rest of us can do doesn't mean they don't have anything else to give to the world. Even people who do have a cognitive delay, all they need is more help and more time than the rest of us. Stop looking at what they can't do, and start looking at what they can do. People can't just up and change the way they think, so give them a break. God knows they need it.
Yes, it might just seem like a simple mix-up of definitions, it does bother me, because I've spent my entire life being lectured and mocked because I'm afraid, because I can't concentrate, because I can't do things the way everyone else does, and I hated it, I hated people lecturing me, I hated being constantly reminded that I wasn't good enough, and I believed it. I knew there was something wrong with me, I got reminded every day, I thought it was my fault, I wanted to change, I was sick of feeling that way, but I couldn't change it because I didn't even know what the goddamn problem was, so how the hell was I supposed to fix it, but they kept criticizing me, getting pissed off at me for something beyond my control even though it was obvious, it was fucking obvious that I couldn't do what they wanted me to, how did they not see that I needed help? But they were right, I needed to change, and that hurt. It hurt so fucking bad, I hated myself, I couldn't see anything but failure, and it never stopped. And now, now I know, and now I'm sick and tired of hearing people telling me that I should stop being so anxious and that this it's not a big deal, because it is. I just want to scream at them, stop telling me what to do, I can't start thinking that way, I can't change that easily, I can't do these things that everyone else can, I need help, stop judging me for what I can't control, stop telling me to change, I'm trying, it's hard, stop forcing me to be like you, stop it, just stop, just stop, just- just shut up, just leave me alone, just let me live my life, just shut up, shut up, just shut up, just stop, stop, shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!
Because, honestly, I don't want to deal with this anymore.
Just because someone can't display their intelligence in a way that everyone else expects them to doesn't mean they're incapable of intelligent thought, and just because they have trouble doing things that the rest of us can do doesn't mean they don't have anything else to give to the world. Even people who do have a cognitive delay, all they need is more help and more time than the rest of us. Stop looking at what they can't do, and start looking at what they can do. People can't just up and change the way they think, so give them a break. God knows they need it.
Yes, it might just seem like a simple mix-up of definitions, it does bother me, because I've spent my entire life being lectured and mocked because I'm afraid, because I can't concentrate, because I can't do things the way everyone else does, and I hated it, I hated people lecturing me, I hated being constantly reminded that I wasn't good enough, and I believed it. I knew there was something wrong with me, I got reminded every day, I thought it was my fault, I wanted to change, I was sick of feeling that way, but I couldn't change it because I didn't even know what the goddamn problem was, so how the hell was I supposed to fix it, but they kept criticizing me, getting pissed off at me for something beyond my control even though it was obvious, it was fucking obvious that I couldn't do what they wanted me to, how did they not see that I needed help? But they were right, I needed to change, and that hurt. It hurt so fucking bad, I hated myself, I couldn't see anything but failure, and it never stopped. And now, now I know, and now I'm sick and tired of hearing people telling me that I should stop being so anxious and that this it's not a big deal, because it is. I just want to scream at them, stop telling me what to do, I can't start thinking that way, I can't change that easily, I can't do these things that everyone else can, I need help, stop judging me for what I can't control, stop telling me to change, I'm trying, it's hard, stop forcing me to be like you, stop it, just stop, just stop, just- just shut up, just leave me alone, just let me live my life, just shut up, shut up, just shut up, just stop, stop, shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!
Because, honestly, I don't want to deal with this anymore.
Daily Story 19 - Paper Towel Drama
(Note: this isn't completely 100% accurate, but the ideas behind the thoughts are the same as what went through my head just before I wrote this.)
I go to the bathroom, I wash my hands, I pull the paper towel and it tears, not at the perforated edges, but right in the middle of the sheet.
Oh, I should probably pull the rest.
Nah, this way it'll save paper.
But now it's all funky with half a sheet.
I toss the half-sheet I used into the trash can.
So? It's saving paper.
But now that half-sheet's going to feel sad. It really ought to be reunited with its other half.
Oh, for- really? Are you really going to go down this road again?
It's so lonely!
I exit the bathroom.
Forget about it! Those two halves didn't get along anyway.
Yeah, okay, I guess you're right- but wait, how do you know that? You're just making things up!
I walk down the hallway.
Oh, God, not this stupid argument again.
Oh yeah, you're right. IT'S JUST A DAMN PIECE OF PAPER TOWEL! IT DOESN'T HAVE FEELINGS!
That's just mean!
IT'S NOT A REAL PERSON! IT'S AN INANIMATE OBJECT!
Okay, yeah, you're right... but still, it just doesn't feel right to have a torn half-sheet hanging there...
It. Saves. Paper.
Actually, whoever uses the bathroom next will probably just take that and the next full sheet, so it's not really saving anything.
Oh, for- IT DOESN'T MATTER! IT'S ONE IN THE MORNING! STOP DOING THIS TO YOURSELF AND GO TO BED!
I'm trying! It's hard not to think about it, though!
Hey, I should write this down, it's kind of funny.
I get back to my room.
Yeah, actually I forgot to write today's daily story. Guess I should've waited to turn the computer off.
I think about it, and I admit, I really don't know what's wrong with me. Oh wait, yes I do. Never mind.
Good night, everyone.
Ha ha, my thoughts are talking to you. I am communicating with you telepathically. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I finish this story, upload it, and go to bed.
I go to the bathroom, I wash my hands, I pull the paper towel and it tears, not at the perforated edges, but right in the middle of the sheet.
Oh, I should probably pull the rest.
Nah, this way it'll save paper.
But now it's all funky with half a sheet.
I toss the half-sheet I used into the trash can.
So? It's saving paper.
But now that half-sheet's going to feel sad. It really ought to be reunited with its other half.
Oh, for- really? Are you really going to go down this road again?
It's so lonely!
I exit the bathroom.
Forget about it! Those two halves didn't get along anyway.
Yeah, okay, I guess you're right- but wait, how do you know that? You're just making things up!
I walk down the hallway.
Oh, God, not this stupid argument again.
Oh yeah, you're right. IT'S JUST A DAMN PIECE OF PAPER TOWEL! IT DOESN'T HAVE FEELINGS!
That's just mean!
IT'S NOT A REAL PERSON! IT'S AN INANIMATE OBJECT!
Okay, yeah, you're right... but still, it just doesn't feel right to have a torn half-sheet hanging there...
It. Saves. Paper.
Actually, whoever uses the bathroom next will probably just take that and the next full sheet, so it's not really saving anything.
Oh, for- IT DOESN'T MATTER! IT'S ONE IN THE MORNING! STOP DOING THIS TO YOURSELF AND GO TO BED!
I'm trying! It's hard not to think about it, though!
Hey, I should write this down, it's kind of funny.
I get back to my room.
Yeah, actually I forgot to write today's daily story. Guess I should've waited to turn the computer off.
I think about it, and I admit, I really don't know what's wrong with me. Oh wait, yes I do. Never mind.
Good night, everyone.
Ha ha, my thoughts are talking to you. I am communicating with you telepathically. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I finish this story, upload it, and go to bed.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Daily Story 14 - My Best Friend the Piano
I have a friend named Piano. She is a piano. I like her very much. She plays music for me sometimes, but mostly I have to do all the work because she is a piano. She is a player piano, actually. She can play music all by herself.
But you know what? I want to learn how to play the harp. That would be cool. Then Piano would have a friend. I'd name the harp Harp because that way it would be clear what Harp is just by hearing his name. And then I could play the harp while Piano plays a song. Or maybe I would play the piano and Harp could just sit around and be a harp. That would be cool, too.
I like music. It's musical, and music is good. Therefore, I like it. I might go beyond just having a piano and a harp and get another musical friend named Accordion. Accordion would be an accordion, obviously, and she would sound like an accordion, except for when I'm not playing the accordion. Then she would sound like nothing. How about that?
Maybe I'll go find myself some magic balls, too. Then all my musical instruments would be protected, because magic balls protect things. Though not everything, since nothing is safe from the terror of being ruined by Hollywood. Oh well, I doubt they'd be able to make a movie out of this story, seeing as there is no discernible plot to speak of, nor is there any sort of significant character development or deep meaning to be found within these words. That being said, if you start reading into this, you need help. Seriously, it's just a story. This is the real world, people. Get used to it.
But I still want Piano to have her friends Harp and Accordion. That would really be nice. She deserves nice things. After all, Piano is my friend, and I like having friends. Friends are nice. Musical instruments are nice as well. Therefore, having three musical instrument friends would be awesome. Don't you agree?
Of course you do.
But you know what? I want to learn how to play the harp. That would be cool. Then Piano would have a friend. I'd name the harp Harp because that way it would be clear what Harp is just by hearing his name. And then I could play the harp while Piano plays a song. Or maybe I would play the piano and Harp could just sit around and be a harp. That would be cool, too.
I like music. It's musical, and music is good. Therefore, I like it. I might go beyond just having a piano and a harp and get another musical friend named Accordion. Accordion would be an accordion, obviously, and she would sound like an accordion, except for when I'm not playing the accordion. Then she would sound like nothing. How about that?
Maybe I'll go find myself some magic balls, too. Then all my musical instruments would be protected, because magic balls protect things. Though not everything, since nothing is safe from the terror of being ruined by Hollywood. Oh well, I doubt they'd be able to make a movie out of this story, seeing as there is no discernible plot to speak of, nor is there any sort of significant character development or deep meaning to be found within these words. That being said, if you start reading into this, you need help. Seriously, it's just a story. This is the real world, people. Get used to it.
But I still want Piano to have her friends Harp and Accordion. That would really be nice. She deserves nice things. After all, Piano is my friend, and I like having friends. Friends are nice. Musical instruments are nice as well. Therefore, having three musical instrument friends would be awesome. Don't you agree?
Of course you do.
Daily Story 13 - Kyle's Grandpa
(Okay, so apparently I didn't even last two weeks with this challenge. Oh well, I call artistic license and am altering the rules so I don't go crazy with self-inflicted guilt. Have a story I wrote a few weeks ago instead, featuring Kyle again.)
Grandpa lost his head just after I was born. The rock that hit him was big and fast and it made his brain all jumbled up and nothing makes sense in there anymore. He’s lost a piece of his mind in the mess. Mom and Dad are trying to help him find it. Grandma is trying to help him find it, too. They all want to help him find his missing piece so that he can be Grandpa again. But he still can’t see it. It’s gone. Mom and Dad don’t think it’s going to come back.
Grandma told me that a long time ago, they had to hide themselves from the white men in the government who wanted to make all the native people go away. So they put away all their traditions in a big box and pretended they were white until they could be themselves again. Lots of other people fought against the government. But my people, we hid. We always hide. We’re wolves, and wolves know to stay away from danger. It’s the way we survive.
I got jealous of Grandpa when I learned he knew a whole ‘nother language that was different from English and Irish. I asked if he could teach me. Dad says if he hadn’t lost his head he would have said yes, but his head was lost and Grandpa said no.
“When are you going to teach that boy some sense?” he asked Mom and Dad.
Dad didn’t know how to speak Grandpa’s language. Grandpa wasn’t used to speaking his language because he’d been hiding it for so long, so he didn’t get to teach Dad that much of it. Plus Dad was really bad at languages. But that was okay. There were others in the town that knew it. I just asked them instead.
Grandpa didn’t like it, though. His head was missing the part that told him it was safe to be native again. He yelled at everyone to leave me alone. He was afraid of what would happen to me if I started talking like them. So everyone kept teaching me, but they made me swear to keep it all a secret. Which I did. I never told Grandpa I knew his language. I pretended I was all white whenever I was around him. And he was happy, because I was safe from the white men.
There was this one time that I tried tried talking to Grandpa in his language, though. He got real mad about it and started yelling at me. He grabbed my shirt and slammed me against the wall and screamed at me. He called me stupid and he said I was going to get everyone killed. I was really scared. I screamed and cried and peed my pants. Grandma came in and she got real scared when she saw me crying. She tried to pull Grandpa away from me but she wasn't strong enough so she called the neighbors in. Then when Grandpa let go I ran all the way home, but he chased after me. Mom and Dad yelled at him when he got to our house. Dad was the most mad he'd ever been ever. He screamed at Grandpa but Grandpa didn't know what he'd done wrong so he screamed at Dad. I hid up in my room and Katie's mom came up to take care of me while Mom and Dad kept yelling at Grandpa. I didn't really want to learn much of Grandpa's language after that.
It made Dad cry. Dad never cried, but he cried for Grandpa. Dad hated to see his father like this. He wished over and over again that I could meet his real Grandpa. The one who was proud of where he came from. The one who had taught Dad to embrace all the good parts about anyone he met. The one who knew how to shoot a bow and make cool-looking native stuff and tell stories about a Coyote who did cool things. The one who said not to worry about me, for the blue wolf would bring great joy and prosperity to our town.
Grandpa still thought the same things about the blue wolf. He still thought I was a wonderful gift to my family and to everyone in Oakwood. But he didn’t like that I wanted to be like him. He was afraid that the white men would take me away. He was so fierce about it that he made me cry sometimes. And that’s why Dad cried. Dad cried for me and my Grandpa who had lost his head.
Mom never yelled at Dad when he was crying. She’d hug him and kiss him and promise to never stop looking for Grandpa’s lost head. Then she’d tell me to come join them and I would hug my Dad. He didn’t cry so much when we were all together. He’d tell me stories about what Grandpa used to be like. He’d cry a little, but he would be smiling. And he would say just how wonderful it would be when Grandpa got his missing piece back and how much I would learn from him.
I know it’s bad, but I like when Dad cries about Grandpa. It makes Mom be gentle and kind, and when Dad stops crying, we’re all happy for a while. They don’t yell. They don’t scream. They just talk nicely to each other and keep saying that everything’s going to be okay.
Everything’s going to be okay. Grandpa’s going to find his lost head, and Mom and Dad are going to stop fighting all the time. I know it’s going to happen.
Everything’s going to be okay.
Grandpa lost his head just after I was born. The rock that hit him was big and fast and it made his brain all jumbled up and nothing makes sense in there anymore. He’s lost a piece of his mind in the mess. Mom and Dad are trying to help him find it. Grandma is trying to help him find it, too. They all want to help him find his missing piece so that he can be Grandpa again. But he still can’t see it. It’s gone. Mom and Dad don’t think it’s going to come back.
Grandma told me that a long time ago, they had to hide themselves from the white men in the government who wanted to make all the native people go away. So they put away all their traditions in a big box and pretended they were white until they could be themselves again. Lots of other people fought against the government. But my people, we hid. We always hide. We’re wolves, and wolves know to stay away from danger. It’s the way we survive.
I got jealous of Grandpa when I learned he knew a whole ‘nother language that was different from English and Irish. I asked if he could teach me. Dad says if he hadn’t lost his head he would have said yes, but his head was lost and Grandpa said no.
“When are you going to teach that boy some sense?” he asked Mom and Dad.
Dad didn’t know how to speak Grandpa’s language. Grandpa wasn’t used to speaking his language because he’d been hiding it for so long, so he didn’t get to teach Dad that much of it. Plus Dad was really bad at languages. But that was okay. There were others in the town that knew it. I just asked them instead.
Grandpa didn’t like it, though. His head was missing the part that told him it was safe to be native again. He yelled at everyone to leave me alone. He was afraid of what would happen to me if I started talking like them. So everyone kept teaching me, but they made me swear to keep it all a secret. Which I did. I never told Grandpa I knew his language. I pretended I was all white whenever I was around him. And he was happy, because I was safe from the white men.
There was this one time that I tried tried talking to Grandpa in his language, though. He got real mad about it and started yelling at me. He grabbed my shirt and slammed me against the wall and screamed at me. He called me stupid and he said I was going to get everyone killed. I was really scared. I screamed and cried and peed my pants. Grandma came in and she got real scared when she saw me crying. She tried to pull Grandpa away from me but she wasn't strong enough so she called the neighbors in. Then when Grandpa let go I ran all the way home, but he chased after me. Mom and Dad yelled at him when he got to our house. Dad was the most mad he'd ever been ever. He screamed at Grandpa but Grandpa didn't know what he'd done wrong so he screamed at Dad. I hid up in my room and Katie's mom came up to take care of me while Mom and Dad kept yelling at Grandpa. I didn't really want to learn much of Grandpa's language after that.
It made Dad cry. Dad never cried, but he cried for Grandpa. Dad hated to see his father like this. He wished over and over again that I could meet his real Grandpa. The one who was proud of where he came from. The one who had taught Dad to embrace all the good parts about anyone he met. The one who knew how to shoot a bow and make cool-looking native stuff and tell stories about a Coyote who did cool things. The one who said not to worry about me, for the blue wolf would bring great joy and prosperity to our town.
Grandpa still thought the same things about the blue wolf. He still thought I was a wonderful gift to my family and to everyone in Oakwood. But he didn’t like that I wanted to be like him. He was afraid that the white men would take me away. He was so fierce about it that he made me cry sometimes. And that’s why Dad cried. Dad cried for me and my Grandpa who had lost his head.
Mom never yelled at Dad when he was crying. She’d hug him and kiss him and promise to never stop looking for Grandpa’s lost head. Then she’d tell me to come join them and I would hug my Dad. He didn’t cry so much when we were all together. He’d tell me stories about what Grandpa used to be like. He’d cry a little, but he would be smiling. And he would say just how wonderful it would be when Grandpa got his missing piece back and how much I would learn from him.
I know it’s bad, but I like when Dad cries about Grandpa. It makes Mom be gentle and kind, and when Dad stops crying, we’re all happy for a while. They don’t yell. They don’t scream. They just talk nicely to each other and keep saying that everything’s going to be okay.
Everything’s going to be okay. Grandpa’s going to find his lost head, and Mom and Dad are going to stop fighting all the time. I know it’s going to happen.
Everything’s going to be okay.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Daily Story 7 - Mr. Scooter's Funeral
(This one is dedicated to my super slick ride.)
Mr. Scooter was a very fine scooter. He scooted along with great scooting skill, and he scooted with the passion of his family's dedication to the fine art of scooting. But then one day he committed suicide by scooting in front of a speeding bus.
Many people were sad. Many people were also confused, because they had no idea how a scooter could possibly commit suicide, nor were they sure how the scooter had been alive to begin with. It was a very complicated issue.
He had a funeral with many people in attendance. Some cried. Some wailed. Some mourned in silence. Some became so enraged that they had to be restrained and taken out of the building. Others simply watched the event and wondered why an inanimate object was being treated like a real person.
They played sad music at Mr. Scooter's funeral. It was very sad, especially for the people who were actually sad. For the people were confused, it wasn't quite so sad, but they still found it sad.
After dinner, which happened after the funeral, people went back to their lives, while the children of Mr. Scooter scooted along the streets with sad scoots, for they would always miss their beloved father. This, of course, confused a lot of people, because they weren't quite sure how these miniature scooters were able to scoot along by themselves. Or cry. Or have such big, sad eyes. Or be alive in general.
Nevertheless, Mr. Scooter's wife and children were all alive through the magic of magic, and while they continued to grieve for Mr. Scooter, they lived on, scooting with great scooting skill, and scooting with the passion of their family's dedication to the fine art of scooting. And so, they continued on with the tradition of scooting, all the while confusing many people.
Mr. Scooter was a very fine scooter. He scooted along with great scooting skill, and he scooted with the passion of his family's dedication to the fine art of scooting. But then one day he committed suicide by scooting in front of a speeding bus.
Many people were sad. Many people were also confused, because they had no idea how a scooter could possibly commit suicide, nor were they sure how the scooter had been alive to begin with. It was a very complicated issue.
He had a funeral with many people in attendance. Some cried. Some wailed. Some mourned in silence. Some became so enraged that they had to be restrained and taken out of the building. Others simply watched the event and wondered why an inanimate object was being treated like a real person.
They played sad music at Mr. Scooter's funeral. It was very sad, especially for the people who were actually sad. For the people were confused, it wasn't quite so sad, but they still found it sad.
After dinner, which happened after the funeral, people went back to their lives, while the children of Mr. Scooter scooted along the streets with sad scoots, for they would always miss their beloved father. This, of course, confused a lot of people, because they weren't quite sure how these miniature scooters were able to scoot along by themselves. Or cry. Or have such big, sad eyes. Or be alive in general.
Nevertheless, Mr. Scooter's wife and children were all alive through the magic of magic, and while they continued to grieve for Mr. Scooter, they lived on, scooting with great scooting skill, and scooting with the passion of their family's dedication to the fine art of scooting. And so, they continued on with the tradition of scooting, all the while confusing many people.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Daily Story 6 - AmIdoinitrite, Mr. Alexie?
(This was written after I read Sherman Alexie's poem "How to Write the Great American Indian Novel." I think it's just about perfect, don't you?)
Once upon a time there was a beautiful Indian Princess Lady named Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie. She was pretty and she had long, dark hair and pretty brown eyes and pretty dark skin and she was like a mountain of pretty dewy grass blowing in the wind while clear water splashed everywhere down into the fertile grass of brown hill prettyness (in other words, she was hot). She was really pretty and all the men loved her because she was so pretty and she was an Indian with a horse that followed her around and said "neigh" whenever appropriate. The horse knew when to say "neigh" because he was a smart horse and Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie was so beautiful that she had a connection with all animals and all horses everywhere always knew what she needed them to do because Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie had that special power and she was awesome.
One day she went out to the forest of happiness and met a very handsome man. His name was Joe Beard. He had a beard and he was an Indian but he was also a White person and he was very sexy and he wore jeans and a t-shirt because that's what White Indian men wear. He also cried a lot because his life was so tragic and he was very sad because his horse had died and he was from a tribe that loved horses a lot so he was really sad about his horse. They fell in love with each other instantly and they kissed and were happy even though their lives were so tragically tragic. They had an Indian baby named Winter Flower because she was born in the winter and Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie loved pretty flowers and then they had a white baby with pretty blonde hair and pretty blue eyes and they named him Schmoogalof because Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie was too exhausted to speak after giving birth to him and Prince Joe Beard was drunk because he was an Indian and Indians drink a lot.
One day, when Schmoogalof was seven and Winter Flower was eight and they were frolicking gaily in the fields together because they were bestest friends even though Winter Flower was an Indian and Schmoogalof was white because they were gifted with the magical ability to see beyond skin color and they were wonderful, perfect children who loved everybody and were never mean because being mean wasn't something that you do when your mom is a princess, also Schmoogalof wasn't really white because he had an Indian inside him that was really cool and he was a warrior and he was so cool because he was an Indian warrior and he did cool dances and shot stuff with arrows and all that stuff that's really cool because it's Indian warrior stuff, something incredibly tragic happened to Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie. Some evil people came up and tried to rape Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie and she was really sad because she didn't like being raped and so it was really tragic. Then she had a vision that her children would be next so she mounted her horse (tee hee, mounted) and her horse galloped across the fields while Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie had a vision of the future that told her that her children would grow up to save the universe but in a very tragic way because of the sacrifice she would have to make to save them. She arrived just before the evil people and saved her children by throwing herself in front of them before the evil people shot their evil guns of evilness. Her children cried because Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie had been murdered and they were sad. The evil people laughed maniacally and kidnapped the children and did bad things to them because that is what evil people do. When Prince Joe Beard heard this horrible news, he killed himself because he was very sad.
Then Winter Flower and Schmoogalof escaped the evil people after Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie and Joe Beard appeared to them in a vision of epic proportions and told them how to escape and where to go and what to do and all that stuff, and when Schmoogalof and Winter Flower were safe and living tragic lives in a safe place with other Indians who had tragic lives because they were Indians and people were mean to them, Schmoogalof and Winter Flower forgave the evil people of their sins and everything was happy except for all the tragic stuff. Which was tragic.
Once upon a time there was a beautiful Indian Princess Lady named Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie. She was pretty and she had long, dark hair and pretty brown eyes and pretty dark skin and she was like a mountain of pretty dewy grass blowing in the wind while clear water splashed everywhere down into the fertile grass of brown hill prettyness (in other words, she was hot). She was really pretty and all the men loved her because she was so pretty and she was an Indian with a horse that followed her around and said "neigh" whenever appropriate. The horse knew when to say "neigh" because he was a smart horse and Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie was so beautiful that she had a connection with all animals and all horses everywhere always knew what she needed them to do because Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie had that special power and she was awesome.
One day she went out to the forest of happiness and met a very handsome man. His name was Joe Beard. He had a beard and he was an Indian but he was also a White person and he was very sexy and he wore jeans and a t-shirt because that's what White Indian men wear. He also cried a lot because his life was so tragic and he was very sad because his horse had died and he was from a tribe that loved horses a lot so he was really sad about his horse. They fell in love with each other instantly and they kissed and were happy even though their lives were so tragically tragic. They had an Indian baby named Winter Flower because she was born in the winter and Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie loved pretty flowers and then they had a white baby with pretty blonde hair and pretty blue eyes and they named him Schmoogalof because Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie was too exhausted to speak after giving birth to him and Prince Joe Beard was drunk because he was an Indian and Indians drink a lot.
One day, when Schmoogalof was seven and Winter Flower was eight and they were frolicking gaily in the fields together because they were bestest friends even though Winter Flower was an Indian and Schmoogalof was white because they were gifted with the magical ability to see beyond skin color and they were wonderful, perfect children who loved everybody and were never mean because being mean wasn't something that you do when your mom is a princess, also Schmoogalof wasn't really white because he had an Indian inside him that was really cool and he was a warrior and he was so cool because he was an Indian warrior and he did cool dances and shot stuff with arrows and all that stuff that's really cool because it's Indian warrior stuff, something incredibly tragic happened to Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie. Some evil people came up and tried to rape Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie and she was really sad because she didn't like being raped and so it was really tragic. Then she had a vision that her children would be next so she mounted her horse (tee hee, mounted) and her horse galloped across the fields while Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie had a vision of the future that told her that her children would grow up to save the universe but in a very tragic way because of the sacrifice she would have to make to save them. She arrived just before the evil people and saved her children by throwing herself in front of them before the evil people shot their evil guns of evilness. Her children cried because Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie had been murdered and they were sad. The evil people laughed maniacally and kidnapped the children and did bad things to them because that is what evil people do. When Prince Joe Beard heard this horrible news, he killed himself because he was very sad.
Then Winter Flower and Schmoogalof escaped the evil people after Princess Prettyful Rivertree-Horsehoovesgallopfastontheprairie and Joe Beard appeared to them in a vision of epic proportions and told them how to escape and where to go and what to do and all that stuff, and when Schmoogalof and Winter Flower were safe and living tragic lives in a safe place with other Indians who had tragic lives because they were Indians and people were mean to them, Schmoogalof and Winter Flower forgave the evil people of their sins and everything was happy except for all the tragic stuff. Which was tragic.
Daily Story 5 - Cat Poop
(This one is dedicated to my brother.)
Once upon a time there was a cat. He was a grey cat. His name was Gandhi. He liked to meow at people, and he liked to play. He was a big cat, and all his long fur made him look incredibly fat. He enjoyed life because he didn't have to worry about food or water. He had a warm home and his human didn't pester him with stupid prissy outfits or annoying cutesy voices. Yes, life was good in his little home in Munich.
However, there was something missing in his life. There was a treasure he'd been seeking, ever since he was a tiny little kitten with tiny little pawsies. No. Paws. He was not going to sink to the level of those pesky guests his human allowed into his home from time to time. He was a dignified cat, the pride of the apartment, even if he wasn't allowed out of his human's small room half the time...
Nevertheless, Gandhi was master of the house. There was no denying it. After all, if the humans tried to poison him with disgusting food, he could easily get revenge by having an 'accident' on the living room floor. Sure, he could avoid the mess by lurking near his commode, but what was the point in making things easy for the humans? No, he was certainly the one in charge.
Unfortunately, this was not enough to ease the uncertainty that gnawed at his mind day after day. He knew not where he could find that treasure he sought, only that it was somewhere out of reach. And so one morning, while his human was away, Gandhi left his warm and comfortable home to find what he was looking for.
He searched in the alleys, and he searched in the streets. He searched the U-Bahn, and he searched the S-Bahn. He searched through stores, and he searched through parks. He searched everywhere a cat could go, and he found nothing. Eventually he gave up and returned home. His human had not returned, so Gandhi decided to leave a message for him on the middle of the dining room floor before returning to the comfort of his bed.
His human was very baffled as to how Gandhi had managed to get out of his room and poop on the dining room floor when the door was shut just as tightly as it had been when he'd left.
(note: this was written when Gandhi was still alive. He passed away this January. :( )
Once upon a time there was a cat. He was a grey cat. His name was Gandhi. He liked to meow at people, and he liked to play. He was a big cat, and all his long fur made him look incredibly fat. He enjoyed life because he didn't have to worry about food or water. He had a warm home and his human didn't pester him with stupid prissy outfits or annoying cutesy voices. Yes, life was good in his little home in Munich.
However, there was something missing in his life. There was a treasure he'd been seeking, ever since he was a tiny little kitten with tiny little pawsies. No. Paws. He was not going to sink to the level of those pesky guests his human allowed into his home from time to time. He was a dignified cat, the pride of the apartment, even if he wasn't allowed out of his human's small room half the time...
Nevertheless, Gandhi was master of the house. There was no denying it. After all, if the humans tried to poison him with disgusting food, he could easily get revenge by having an 'accident' on the living room floor. Sure, he could avoid the mess by lurking near his commode, but what was the point in making things easy for the humans? No, he was certainly the one in charge.
Unfortunately, this was not enough to ease the uncertainty that gnawed at his mind day after day. He knew not where he could find that treasure he sought, only that it was somewhere out of reach. And so one morning, while his human was away, Gandhi left his warm and comfortable home to find what he was looking for.
He searched in the alleys, and he searched in the streets. He searched the U-Bahn, and he searched the S-Bahn. He searched through stores, and he searched through parks. He searched everywhere a cat could go, and he found nothing. Eventually he gave up and returned home. His human had not returned, so Gandhi decided to leave a message for him on the middle of the dining room floor before returning to the comfort of his bed.
His human was very baffled as to how Gandhi had managed to get out of his room and poop on the dining room floor when the door was shut just as tightly as it had been when he'd left.
(note: this was written when Gandhi was still alive. He passed away this January. :( )
Daily Story 3 - Three Friends
Three friends were hanging out at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to go to their music class. One of them, a 17-year-old named Jeff, wanted to light a cigarette, but he had no cigarettes, nor did he have a lighter. So he decided to go without. His friends hated the smell of smoke anyway.
His friend Susie decided to play the guitar. It was raining, but they were sitting on the bus stop's covered bench, so she pulled her guitar out of its case and started playing. She played a song about kittens and another song about death. Her cat had just had a litter of five kittens, and two of them had died. It was quite upsetting to Susie, because she had been working so hard to keep all of the kittens happy and healthy. According to the vet, however, the two that died had had problematic birth defects that had prevented their hearts from working the way they should. So Susie sang about her dead kittens, and she cried.
The third friend, a girl named Janie, cried as well. Her grandmother had just passed away and she was having other family troubles. She and her siblings just weren't getting along, her mother had recently lost her job, and her alienated father was refusing to pay child support.
Things weren't going well for any of the three friends. Jeff was struggling in school and he barely had time to hang out with his friends. What little time he did have was spent trying to keep Janie from becoming too depressed, which only stressed him out even more. He didn't give up on her, though. He wanted to see her smiling again, because when their group was happy, their time together was probably the best in the world.
The bus drove up and stopped in front of them. Susie put her guitar in its case, Janie wiped her tears away, and Jeff paid for their tickets. They sat together on the bus in silence, looking out the window as the bus drove through the city.
"Hey, look, it's a double rainbow," Janie pointed out after a while.
Susie groaned and braced herself for Jeff's inevitable response. Sure enough, Jeff grinned and exclaimed, "A double rainbow? Oh my God, what could it mean? Oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!"
"Wow, Jeff, you're such a fucking loser," Susie said.
Janie laughed. It caught both Susie and Jeff by surprise, but they still smiled and laughed as well. After all, if Janie could laugh, then that meant they hadn't reached the point of no return. Things were going to get better.
Someday.
(Sometimes when I start writing a funny story, it turns serious all of a sudden. Like it did with this one. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an essay to write.)
His friend Susie decided to play the guitar. It was raining, but they were sitting on the bus stop's covered bench, so she pulled her guitar out of its case and started playing. She played a song about kittens and another song about death. Her cat had just had a litter of five kittens, and two of them had died. It was quite upsetting to Susie, because she had been working so hard to keep all of the kittens happy and healthy. According to the vet, however, the two that died had had problematic birth defects that had prevented their hearts from working the way they should. So Susie sang about her dead kittens, and she cried.
The third friend, a girl named Janie, cried as well. Her grandmother had just passed away and she was having other family troubles. She and her siblings just weren't getting along, her mother had recently lost her job, and her alienated father was refusing to pay child support.
Things weren't going well for any of the three friends. Jeff was struggling in school and he barely had time to hang out with his friends. What little time he did have was spent trying to keep Janie from becoming too depressed, which only stressed him out even more. He didn't give up on her, though. He wanted to see her smiling again, because when their group was happy, their time together was probably the best in the world.
The bus drove up and stopped in front of them. Susie put her guitar in its case, Janie wiped her tears away, and Jeff paid for their tickets. They sat together on the bus in silence, looking out the window as the bus drove through the city.
"Hey, look, it's a double rainbow," Janie pointed out after a while.
Susie groaned and braced herself for Jeff's inevitable response. Sure enough, Jeff grinned and exclaimed, "A double rainbow? Oh my God, what could it mean? Oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!"
"Wow, Jeff, you're such a fucking loser," Susie said.
Janie laughed. It caught both Susie and Jeff by surprise, but they still smiled and laughed as well. After all, if Janie could laugh, then that meant they hadn't reached the point of no return. Things were going to get better.
Someday.
(Sometimes when I start writing a funny story, it turns serious all of a sudden. Like it did with this one. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an essay to write.)
Daily Story 2 - The Pretty Princess
Once upon a time there was a Pretty Princess. "I am a Pretty Princess," the Pretty Princess said one day. "I shall go off and do Pretty Princess things, for that is what Pretty Princesses do."
"But you have to go to Pretty Princess school today," his mother said. For this Pretty Princess was indeed a boy. Don't ask me how that works, because I don't have a goddamn clue. This Pretty Princess was still quite pretty, however, otherwise he wouldn't have been a Pretty Princess.
"Oh, all right," the Pretty Princess said with a sad voice. "I'll go to Pretty Princess school, but afterward I will do many Pretty Princess things."
The Pretty Princess went to school with a pretty pink princess dress and a pretty blue princess bow in his hair. He arrived at his classroom and sat down in his pretty white princess chair next to his best Pretty Princess friend, Susie.
"Oh, my, what a pretty pink princess dress you're wearing today!" Pretty Princess Susie exclaimed as she looked at her Pretty Princess friend.
"Thank you! And what a pretty yellow princess dress you're wearing today!" the Pretty Princess said.
Class began, and all the Pretty Princesses took their seats and listened to their Pretty Princess teacher. All the other Pretty Princesses were girls, because girls have vaginas and boys have penises, and all the other Pretty Princesses had vaginas. *But nobody noticed that the Pretty Princess was a boy, because Pretty Princesses never took their clothes off except to bathe in their private bathtubs where nobody else could see their external genitalia. That just wouldn't be proper for Pretty Princesses.
"I am going to throw a slumber party this evening," said the Pretty Princess once school was over. "And you are all invited!"
"Huzzah!" cried the other Pretty Princesses, and they all scurried home to make themselves proper for a Pretty Princess slumber party.
The Pretty Princess was very happy because all his Pretty Princess friends enjoyed the slumber party. They did many Pretty Princess things and didn't go to sleep until late at night, when they finally changed into their pretty rainbow princess pajamas and went to bed. The Pretty Princess snuggled happily under the covers of his pretty pink princess bed covers. Today was a good day, he thought. Oh, how I love being a Pretty Princess.
Daily Story 1 - Timmy the Football
Timmy the Football did not like being kicked around.
He wasn't always a football, though. He used to be a squirrel, but he got into an argument with a squirrel. It was a different squirrel. It wasn't Timmy. He didn't argue with himself. Much.
So he got magically turned into a football. Because that other squirrel was mean.
So Timmy was a football now. All the kids at the school used him when they played after school, during gym, at recess, and during football practice. One kid named Joey had found Timmy in a magical forest in the library.
The school had some strange things going on inside.
The student had hugged Timmy and brought him to his gym teacher. The gym teacher knew that Timmy had been a squirrel but he didn't care. They needed a football at the school. So Timmy was put in the equipment room.
Joey didn't like to play football before he found Timmy. Joey liked football after he found Timmy, though. He played with Timmy all the time. Timmy was losing his brain with all the games kids played with him. But Joey was gentle. Joey didn't throw Timmy around so hard. When they finished playing football after school, Joey would stay late to have tea parties with Timmy. Timmy couldn't drink the tea because he was a football. He just sat there while Joey splashed tea on him. Joey would wash the tea off of Timmy before he went home, because Joey was polite and well-mannered and he took care of his things.
One day the kids were playing with Timmy and someone kicked him over the fence. Timmy got run over by a truck. Now he was Timmy the Flattened Football. It didn't hurt because he was a football. None of the kids wanted to play with him anymore, so Joey took him home and put him in a dress. Joey thought the dress looked very pretty on Timmy.
From that point on, Timmy sat on Joey's dresser and thought about the meaning of life. He didn't have any major epiphanies, though. He was a flattened football with major brain damage who had once been a squirrel.
He wasn't always a football, though. He used to be a squirrel, but he got into an argument with a squirrel. It was a different squirrel. It wasn't Timmy. He didn't argue with himself. Much.
So he got magically turned into a football. Because that other squirrel was mean.
So Timmy was a football now. All the kids at the school used him when they played after school, during gym, at recess, and during football practice. One kid named Joey had found Timmy in a magical forest in the library.
The school had some strange things going on inside.
The student had hugged Timmy and brought him to his gym teacher. The gym teacher knew that Timmy had been a squirrel but he didn't care. They needed a football at the school. So Timmy was put in the equipment room.
Joey didn't like to play football before he found Timmy. Joey liked football after he found Timmy, though. He played with Timmy all the time. Timmy was losing his brain with all the games kids played with him. But Joey was gentle. Joey didn't throw Timmy around so hard. When they finished playing football after school, Joey would stay late to have tea parties with Timmy. Timmy couldn't drink the tea because he was a football. He just sat there while Joey splashed tea on him. Joey would wash the tea off of Timmy before he went home, because Joey was polite and well-mannered and he took care of his things.
One day the kids were playing with Timmy and someone kicked him over the fence. Timmy got run over by a truck. Now he was Timmy the Flattened Football. It didn't hurt because he was a football. None of the kids wanted to play with him anymore, so Joey took him home and put him in a dress. Joey thought the dress looked very pretty on Timmy.
From that point on, Timmy sat on Joey's dresser and thought about the meaning of life. He didn't have any major epiphanies, though. He was a flattened football with major brain damage who had once been a squirrel.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)