Saturday, July 14, 2012

Entry #11

I watched an ant struggle out of a water droplet for five minutes. I thought it futile, and I wasn’t sure if I should try to help it or end its misery. But, eventually, it got out. It didn’t give up, it struggled and struggled to escape, and finally, it did!
And then it walked right into another water droplet.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Entry #10

How do we solve unemployment, fight obesity, and save the environment all in one?

We create jobs by…hiring fat people to run generators. By run, I mean physically run, or bike of course. Imagine a factory…full of large hamster wheels…with fat people on them, running. This creates many jobs, fights obesity, and decreases the need to burn fossil fuels.

I suggested it to my dad and he said it would be unproductive because they would be too slow.
So he drew an “improved upon” mental image. Imagine the orcs of Mordor. They have whips. And they run these factories.
I’ll let your imagination take care of the rest.

Let’s say you find this absurdly offensive. Then let’s not fight obesity. Instead, let’s deal with prison overcrowding.
So instead, imagine criminals running these hamster wheels.

Someone explain to me why it is wrong to force criminals into harmless hard labor to serve our planet and people? If someone told me I’d have to go to prison and sit around all day, I wouldn’t mind too much. But if they told me that I’d have to run at least 5 hours a day? I’d straighten up.


Gerald B. Harrison brushed the dust off his desk and sighed. Kids these days did not know the true meaning of magic. He gazed across the rows and rows of shelves in his bookstore. They were full of tales of adventure and the unknown, yet his store was empty. He scratched his beard and grumbled to himself a little more.
When he was younger, he had traveled the world and children would flock to him, eager to have a chance to buy his books which they consumed voraciously. They had begged him to recount tales from his own travels, their eyes so bright with curiosity and wonderment.
Now though, kids had no use for old storytellers. They saw all that they wanted to see through those little portable screens they carried around in their pockets. He hardly ever came across one who bothered to stop and listen; they all just walked on with their eyes down.
In a few days, he would have to close down his shop. Business had failed, and so he would retire early. As he sat there dejectedly thinking, the door chimed and he looked up. However, it was only a small boy. So small, in fact, that Gerald could not even see his face as he approached his desk, only the curly locks atop his head. When the child spoke, Gerald just watched his lively tufts of hair bounce wildly like a box of springs.
The boy addressed him as mister and called himself Bill. He was searching for unusual tales of fantasy to take with him on a small journey. He stated this so collectedly that Gerald just had to chuckle. What an interesting child, he thought.
He directed him to an aisle and started to walk back to his desk, but the boy grabbed his sleeve. Bill suddenly looked nervous. He wanted Gerald to choose one for him, the best one. So Gerald found his personal favorite and handed it to him. The boy dropped his uneasiness immediately and a huge grin made its way across his face. Then he froze for a second and looked up at Gerald with a serious expression.
"Is it good?" he asked.
"Well, I certainly thought so," he replied.
The smile returned and he thanked Gerald, purchased the book, and left.
Gerald leaned back in his chaired and smiled. What an interesting child, he thought. As he closed his store that night, he was not quite so melancholy. Perhaps there were still many out there, he mused, those who cared to see that is. He needed only to meet them.

On Silver Streets

Forsake college and career
and become a travelling street musician.

share a cardboard box
with a friendly homeless man
and his faithful dog
and sing a song
under the night sky
where stars are not visible
from where you lay
on silver streets.

but when you look around you
and there is nothing there
that you can call your own
you can close your eyes
and find that you are your own.

but since you cannot live this way
for the world outside is too harsh
and the wind burns your skin
and the rain drowns your toes

let it be inside you
that cardboard box
where you sleep
a travelling street musician.

The Tale of Trapezoid Head and Four Others


“I am a trapezoid head-
“Help me, the room is slowly getting smaller and the ceiling is almost going to squish my head-
“can’t hold on much longer-
“limbs…becoming weak-
“please…help me…”
But no one did.
So Trapezoid Head god squished and died.

The end.


“It is me, Block Head.
“I am sad because I have a square head-
“and they call me Block Head.”

The end.


“Hi, it’s me. They call me Almost Normal.
“My head is almost normal-
“only it isn’t.
“And so I am only almost-
“almost normal…”

The end.


“Hi, they call me greedy-
“because my eyes make me look greedy-
“and I also happen to like money-
“a lot.”

The end.


“Hi, they call me Stupid-
“because my head looks stupid.
“Oh yeah also I’m stupid.”

The end.

Entry #9

Robots or Dinosaurs?
ROBOT DINOSAURS. Then, instead of becoming extinct, they would’ve jet packed into outer space and inhabited an alternate dimension! DINOBOTS, LET’S ROLL.

Swedish Berries

wake up
from this dream
for it has
eaten you up
my deer venison.
my dear venice sun.

left it behind.
my sweetish swedish berries.

life is a boulder
and when you take a break
from holding it up
it crushes you
to the sole
of your shoe.
one shoe.
for the other
wore away
long ago.

Time is a Bitch

The sun rises, the sun sets.
Light comes and night falls.
The days wear you away.
Your friends fall away.
Your beloved pet Fido
died yesterday.

Innocence is lost
Children now never have been.
From joyous songs
To bitter rambles.
Harmless ignorance
To vicious insolence.

You get hungry,
You get tired.
Leave out milk in the brilliant sunshine
And it spoils as if dipped in swamp.

Love you found false,
Lies, clearly your deception.
What is waste is long
What is great is gone.

Too late
For yesterday.

All that once was yours
Is now lost to eternity.
Dust in the wind.
Flying through the air,
Sinking into the earth.

Suddenly, you are old
and then you die.

Time is a bitch-
But now she is gone.

Entry #8

Oh life how you trudge on with not joy nor sorrow. How it all seems like too much yet all is nothing. How life is lifeless and I end each day without failure but never succeed. Alas, I find I grow stupider each day. Oh poetry, how full of shit and rainbows you are. Even chocolate brings no leprechauns, and all that remains are memories of their evil laughter.


we are forced to see,
what should have been forgotten.
But like all things lost,
it never leaves,
and soon becomes quite rotten.
Just like that time you went to bed to find Elmo trying to crawl through your window and he looked kind of angry so you freaked out and accidentally killed him with a staple gun. You panicked and feared his neighbors on Sesame would come after you if they ever found his body, so you stuffed his furry redness into your closet. Only--your closet was so full you couldn't close it all the way and one eye could still be seen through the crack of the door. Everyday, you're forced to see it, and you just want to forget it but can't. Though his life is lost, his presences never leaves and he watches you through that crack every night, slowly rotting away...
After such a situation, there are only two possibilities:
1) One day, his fuzzy corpse becomes so rotten and decomposed that he is no longer recognizable so you can finally throw him out your window and put the whole matter behind you.
2) You realize that Elmo is actually an immortal and cannot be killed by mere staples, so one night, he emerges from your closet in the dead of night and murders you in your sleep.


no wait, yes. too late
oh deer if only
twasn't so
tis so,
so berry munch too late
always far too late.

Entry #7

DEPRIVE ME OF MY FOOD AND I SHALL EAT YOUR BRAINS. THEN, in the dead of the night when you MOST suspect it, BOOM! I’ll break into your house and STEAL your chinchillas so we can FROLIC on the LAWN like leprechauns on CRACK.

What? I don’t know. Just shoot me. Or samurai slice me. But not just because I’m Japanese. That’s called racism.

The Hairy Potter

Gandalf pulled over at the nearest gas station. He got out of his brand new Prius and went inside the store to get a Snickers bar.

They were out of Snickers bars.

He sighed…if not for the bet he had made with Dumbledore—to see who could last the longest in not using magic to conjure up muggle products. They’d let him do it in Gondor, but noooo, stupid Dumbledore had eyes everywhere in this land. Where was that Dumbledore fellow anyway? He hadn’t seen him for quite some time now, ever since he met that funny looking fellow called Foldawart or something. And then that other lad…some hairy potter of some sort…

Gandalf sighed again. He really wanted that Snickers bar. Screw it, he thought to himself. He’s Gandalf for crap’s sake. He could have a damn candy bar whenever the hell he wanted a damn candy bar. He didn’t go to The Ultimate Wizard’s School for Ultimate Wizards for nothing. How could Dumbledore possibly find out?

He began to head towards the door of the store when suddenly, it opened from the other side. And who else but the hairy potter himself to show up.

Gandalf tried to turn away quickly, but it was too late. Shit, Gandalf thought. He had seen him.

“Yo nigga! Hey, ‘member me?”

Gandalf sighed again…what a stupid kid.

“Oh, hello there potter boy,” he responded politely.

“It’s Harold to you, old man,” the boy responded cockily. He still hadn’t taken off his sunglasses. ”What’re you doin here anyway?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. I was just leaving in fact.” It began to rain outside. The sun hadn’t been out all day.

“Swaggg,” Hairy said as he walked past.

Gandalf stopped and turned around. “What?”

“Eh?” Hairy turned back. “Oh, naw, I just said swag is all.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”


“Oh…nothin nothin, nevermind.”

“No, I want to know.”

“Yeah?" Hairy laughed. “Whatevss,” and he turned back around.

“Hey!” Gandalf shouted.

Harold rolled his eyes and turned back. “What?”

Gandalf’s fist was in his face before he saw it coming.

“SHIT OLD MAN. WHAT THE HELL ARE Y’DOIN? You broke my shades damn it.” He was holding the pieces and staring at them.

He punched him in the face again.


“Make me,” Gandalf laughed.

Hairy began to draw his wand. Gandalf laughed again.

“Not man enough?” he taunted.

Hairy threw his wand aside and launched himself at Gandalf. The old man dodged him, but the kid still managed to grab hold of his beard. He pulled and Gandalf’s face went smashing into a bottle of gin behind the counter and he fell to the floor. The terrified store clerk had already run away. Gandalf lay on the floor as Hairy looked into a piece of broken glass, trying to fix his nose. Under the counter, Gandalf saw the traditional store clerk’s shotgun. Quietly, he grabbed it and then shot Hairy in the foot.

With a girlish yelp Hairy fell to the floor crying.

With one last kick to the gut of the sobbing potter, Gandalf grabbed a bottle of scotch and left the store, shotgun still in hand.

Reign of the Octopi

“Send them to the cow ward! It’s cow tipping time people! Move it!”

“NOOO, don’t shake the milk!”

“I will not sacrifice cream, cheese, or cream cheese for the sake of the happiness of cows! We will milk them for all they’re worth. Or else…to the butcher’s.”

“Why are you so cold?”

“Quit spoiling the fun. All cows belong to me, and I will do with them as I please. That will never change. Because of your insolence, I must punish the cows to set an example. We set them afire tomorrow, before dawn. Are you happy now?”

“You go too far! You know what happened last time we lit the cows. They contain incalculable amounts of methane! Do not underestimate it. We cannot control it. They will burst before they reach the river.”

“So what? So what if a few of them explode? We will collect their hides and use them like we once did in the olden days. We will roast their rumps and eat them like we once did in the olden days. You cannot possibly think we can set them free. We made them. We invented the cow. They exist for us and us alone. They are nothing without us.”

“You have lost your way, my friend. I shall have nothing to do with this. I didn’t want it to come to this, but tomorrow, I shall leave to the land of the chickens. Do not blame me for where your actions take you. The cows will not stand back and let you use them like this forever. Just you wait.”

“Wait for what? Wait for them to swish their tails at me? For them to MOOO their loudest? Ha! I don’t fear the cow. Go ahead and leave. I thought we were in this together, but I guess you’ve changed.”

“Yes, yes I have changed. But only because the cows have. They have evolved. For Pete’s sake, they walk on their hind legs now! Does that mean nothing to you? We may have invented them, but they have taken on a life of their own. You can’t just tip cows that walk on their hind legs! It just isn’t right.”

“Four legs, two legs, what difference does it make? They will always be just cows. Nothing more.”

“One day…one day you will regret this. And I will not be there to help you fix it. This is your last chance friend. Do not shake the milk.”

“I’ve had enough of you! Just leave! I will not let you get in my way or weigh me down with guilt. I have made up my mind. I will tip the cows, I will shake the milk. Their udder juice is gold. You will be the one who will regret this. And when you come crawling back like the octopus you are, I will not let you in. Good-bye.”

Entry #6

There are times I kind of want to laugh evilly and maniacally and then curl into a ball in the corner and cry and then get up and run around the house and down the street flailing my arms screaming/making weird sounds. Then I want to lay down flat on my back with my arms and legs splat out, just out in the middle of a street without moving. Maybe I'll be smiling. And if anyone stops to look at me, I'll look at them and frown until they go away. Then I will go back to smiling.

Sitting Quietly

I think it's good I don't talk in class
Because I'd bother lots of people
and say lots of stupid, obnoxious, irrelevant things
someone would punch me in the face
and there'd be blood everywhere
so I'd have to say I'm sorry
that their parents didn't raise them
to be more tolerant of annoying people
and so I'd get punched again.
So instead I just sit quietly
til the stupid teacher says to "discuss" with a partner~


I've been drinking too much
and I think I have to pee.
But I'm too lazy to get up.
There's a bottle next to me
but seeing as how I'm not a dude
I decided to drink some more.
This is what I think about
when I do my homework.
It's not very deep
but neither are toilets.

Hair for Breakfast

Once upon a time, there was a girl called Rapunzel. But she did not live in a tower. No, she lived in an agrarian economy and therefore, had to make her living as a farmer.

Now, Rapunzel was not a very good farmer. She was successful in growing her crops, but often they were dry and not at all delicious. Eventually, she decided to stop harvesting them. If she waited long enough, she thought, then maybe eventually her crops would grow to be the largest and so she could finally sell the surplus for lots of money. Others might have harvests of higher quality, but hers would be worth more because of its unimaginable height. So she waited.

Over the years, Rapunzel neglected her crop, only watering it when it was about to die. In fact, she almost would forget about her crop entirely until a passing traveling would remark, “Why, what an abundant harvest you have!” Yes, at first glance it appeared bountiful, but upon further scrutiny by the travelers, they would always discover their crops to still be of higher quality and therefore still superior. So Rapuzel would let it grow some more.

Then one day, a sickly old lady and her two grandchildren passed by. All of them looked very ill, but a smile appeared upon their faces when Rapunzel’s farm came into view. They admired it so, and even after looking more closely, they still thought the crop to be the most beautiful they had ever seen.

Finally, after seeing them gaze at her crop for 30 minutes, Rapunzel came to greet them and asked, “What so pleases you about my crop? Though it may be tall, it is dry and brittle, and no one sees any value in it.”

“Why,” the old lady replied, “it is the most wonderful farm I have seen since we lost our farm last year!”

The old lady went on to tell Rapunzel their story. Last year, a grumpy little asian man named Elmo Yang had invented something called a “nukular bum”, just for the fun of it. Unfortunately, while Mr. Yang was eating his watermelon and spitting the seeds out, one of the seeds hit the bum and it exploded. While Elmo was instantly blown to smithereens, all the surrounding farmland suddenly experienced a widespread epidemic. Both the people and the crops were affected by the side-effect of radio-asian poisoning, and many died. No crops could grow again, and as most everyone was too sick to work, many slowly died out. The children of the town were unaffected, but as their parents could no longer work, they slowly starved to death. The old lady and her grandchildren were out of town that day, and so suffered less of the after effects. After her daughter/their mom died, they finally decided to leave that place and seek their fortunes elsewhere. Now, a few hundred families still remained, with hungry children caring for their dying parents as they faced impending death.

Rapuzel felt so sorry for the sickly old woman and grandkids so she gave them a bushel of her harvest as a gift before they left. Seeing the gratitude in their eyes made her feel like a good person for once in her life.

However, the old lady was so grateful word spread like bunnies on fire. Children came, all looking so sad and tired. If Rapunzel gave some to all of them, she would have none left for herself. But she decided that money wasn’t important anymore. She would have to sacrifice the wheelbarrow she had been saving up for.

So she harvested her entire stock and gave it to all the children to take back to their families. Then they left. They took it all and left. And Rapunzel had nothing left for her years of patience.

A few months later, she received a note that read: “Thank you Rapenzal for the food. It was very dry, but the thought was appreciated. However, if you haven’t noticed, we’re all very sick and we needed medicine. Selling your harvest and using the money to buy us medicine would have been smarter and a lot more helpful. Now we’re all going to die anyway. But thanks for the food.”

A depressed Rapunzel, desperate to feel good about herself, wrote back a letter of apology and signed off her farm to the children of the sender of the letter. With no home and no source of food, she became a homeless beggar, offering people her hair in exchange for cookies. No one wanted to give up their cookies.

Essay on the Pickle Man

Directions: Analyze the following passage and write an essay explaining what the author is trying to convey to the reader:
The pickle smells bad.

The author doesn’t like pickles?

Wrong. The author never said he/she didn’t like pickles. You have to think critically. Analyze it carefully.

First, notice the diction. The author writes, “The pickles”. Right away, he/she starts with the subject, being very direct. The sentence itself is not complex, meaning that he/she meant this as a very blunt, straight foward message. “The”, not “A”. Why? Because, the author doesn’t just mean any pickle. It is THAT pickle. And just one. Not “the pickleS”, probably signifying either loneliness or abandonment. Why else? Why not all pickles? Perhaps he/she does not find ALL pickles to be stinky. Perhaps this is the only pickle around. There is something unique about this pickle that causes him/her to remark upon it, so keep that in mind as we read on.

The pickle also represents change. All pickles are born as cucumbers. Some remain that way until the end, but others, such as this one, are left to undergo a long process, resulting in entirely different smells, tastes, textures, etc. So, this cucumber was abandoned, left alone, and because of its environment, changed into a different type of food. People who once liked it may not like it anymore, while others who never looked twice at it now see it in a whole new way. This may symbolize the author’s reflection on his/her own life. Perhaps he/she was abandoned, and because of it, became a whole new person.

Now, let’s look at the next word: “smells”. Again, why? There are so many other senses, why pick scent? Did the pickle not look different? Did it not taste different? We may be able to infer that the author was perhaps blind. He/she relies on his/her sense of smell to judge this food item.

Finally, the word “bad”. Why is it such a simple word? It is probably one of the first words we learn as children to describe our disliking of something. This could reflect innocence. A simple disliking, rather than a murderous hatred. The cucumbers do not wish to kill the pickle. The author conveys to the reader that the pickle smells bad, but not that he/she does not like the smell of that pickle, even though it is obvious that it is so. It is stated simply as a fact of their society, rather than opinion, so that it cannot be detected as a judgement and the others cucumbers need not feel guilt for labeling the pickle.

Summary: If we replaced the word “pickle” with “man”—

The man smells bad. He was once a “cucumber”, but left abandoned, he became a whole new food item. He does not try to deny it though. He is very straightfoward with the facts. But at the same time he feels judged. People automatically “smell” him as fowl, before they ever “taste” him, or see what is inside him. His old raw vegetable friends no longer accept him even though in all honesty, he is still made of the same stuff. He hasn’t fogotten what it’s like to be a cucumber, but just because he’s different on the outside now, he has to find a new a new part of the refridgerator to live in. At the same time, it is not personal. It does not state “I do not like the pickle because it smells bad”, delineating that the man’s simple existence (not any of his actions) is a negative thing, and is not merely the opinion of another person/vegetable. Little did anyone know that cucumbers are actually fruits. His cucumber family works hard together to fool the other vegetables into thinking that they’re vegetables too, otherwise they’d all be kicked out. They wouldn’t fit in with the other fruits because they just aren’t sweet enough. So when the “pickle” of the family becomes obviously different, they ostracize him even though they are more like him than all the other vegetables— even though they came from the same roots. All for the sake of fitting in…

What the author is trying to describe here is: racism, and betrayals within own families to avoid the sufferings of being different--to simply belong. And how hard and lonely it is for the man who has been ostracized by his family, when he has already undergone so many hardships to become the pickle/man he is today. He never wanted to be a pickle. It wasn't his fault. Ah, the poor much pain for one fruit to bear...


One bright and sunny winter evening:
Understanding and Acceptance married and a wimpy child named love was born. Ignorance and Selfishness had a quite scandalous affair and a devilishly hot child named Hatred was born. Now, they face off in an epic battle that will last till the end of time.
As of this moment, Vanity and Destruction have joined forces with Hatred and have at their command B40 RPGs, semi-automatic machine guns, and Taylor Lautner. Compassion and Happiness have allied with Love and together they have developed the weapons of…hugs and Dumbledore. Though Dumbledore kicked the crap out of Lautner, the attempt to hug the semi-automatic machine gun was a fail.
As Taylor Swift rises to the occassion and takes the place of Lautner*, Love has recruited an army of puppies. Taylor Swift* sings her song “Love Story”. The puppies’ ears bleed and they writhe on the ground in pain. She is joined by Justin Beiber*. The puppies die.
The death of the puppies sent chaos throughout the land of Love. The body of Hope lay dead among them, followed by Happiness who committed suicide by watching a marathon of all three High School Musicals. Every hug shot at Hatred has been deflected by their wall of emo teenagers who have learned to redirect their self-loathing towards the meaningful cause of ending love on Earth.

But, amidst the turmoil, a spark of light did arise. As the puppies fell to their deaths, Taylor Swift saw from across the battlefield a little man. A little man with no shoes and curly hair. And that little man was Frodo Baggins. With one look, she tripped and fell into the land of Love.
Straight toward him she ran, until finally collapsing in gasps at his feet. His beautifully large and hairy feet. Slowly, she lifted her gaze and met his eyes which had begun to fill with tears. He had to turn away for a second with a cough of disgust before he could meet her subconscious gawking stare once again.
With great desperation, Swift declared her love for Frodo who remained expressionless as he watched the droplets of spit fly from her mouth. He had greater callings. Where was a Nazgul when he needed one? He could not waste his time with this…
Suddenly, a small light flickered from across the grounds. Frodo peered closer. Yes, he had finally come. Charging at him at full speed was Harry Potter, riding his demonic unicorn with its sharpened spiral horn and gleaming ice-cream-white mane.
Frodo knew it would take more than just hugs to take care of Potter. Much more. He sprang foward with the agility of a man who’s bunny had caught on fire. Leaping off the head of one of his fellow companions who went face down into the mud, Frodo did a flying tornado kick straight into Potter’s anger-twisted face, knocking him off his steed with his powerfully over-sized feet.

Potter was not fazed. In seconds, he was on his feet, his wand out and ready. However, Frodo was faster. He had already knocked out one of Hatred’s minions and gotton himself an RPG. He fired. But with a swish and flick, Winnie the Pooh shot out of Potter’s wand, making contact with the grenade before reaching him. Fluff and stuffing rained down upon them. Frodo, at first horrified, became enraged. Pooh was like a father to him, and he had taken him away from him…forever. Now it was personal.

Entry #5

*chuckles lightly at the madness*
-Whatever way he triumphs.
-Obviously you shan't be able to see it.
-Surely there must be a way?
-Only if you stop looking.

Entry #4

Ahaha, ants rampaging my home...
Your strength may lie in numbers, but I will find your colonies and slay your queens, along with all your maggoty offspring!
So bring it on. I can go all night.

Entry #3

Those dolls that blink by themselves are really creepy. But if they know you're afraid they'll follow you home and you'll wake up in the morning with their eyes staring and blinking at you. And they'll latch on to your face saying oh so sweetly, "Don't you love me?"
"NO," you'll say, "NO," you'll scream, but alas, to no avail. They have trouble letting go. Stab and tear at them all you want. It does no good. They do not die. Unless...unless you burn them. That is the only way.

Entry #2

When I turn 21, I'm going to go to Ireland and go to an Irish pub and drink life away. Or seem to. Actually, I will sneak a bottle of...brown fluid...and pretend to get extremely drunk and start a bar fight. But since I'm not actually drunk, I'll win.

Entry #1

"We think hobos have a better grip of reality than you do."
I can't disagree. Hobos weren't always hobos you know. They used to be chinchillas experimented on by professors, but they got too smart, so they were kicked out in the form of "smelly humans" so that no one would believe their tales. That's why there are always hobos around college campuses. They know more things about the universe than you or I can imagine. At least--more than you can imagine. Losing my grip on reality allows me to be a little more creative.