Here be Dragons

Thursday, June 11, 2009

fifth grade writing assignment


There was once a grasshopper named Gregg, who lived in Grassland, Pennsylvania during the years of the great grasshopper social uprising. Gregg was a preteen lime green member of the well-known Long-hopper family. Coming home from school one afternoon, Gregg nonchalantly dropped his backpack on the floor and caromed out the door. "Where are you going, and do you have any homework?" inquired his concerned mom. Although Gregg was usually truthful, he told her he only had one small requirement for history class, and asked if he could please go to the movies with his friends. His mother, as pleased as a porcupine in a salt mine, was satisfied with this answer because it was very respectful, and instructed him to be home by 6:45 for dinner. It was a whopper. But it worked. He went.

Here was the first catch. Gregg did not actually plan to go to the movies; instead he had a date to spray-paint the home of his enemy, Nick, who was a member of the arch-rival ant clan. Gregg had endured months of torment from the foul-mouthed ant. Clandestinely, Nick learned of the plot against him while intercepting notes in history class. Nick decided to follow Gregg and foil their plans. While Gregg continued his devious preparations, Nick videotaped their mischief because he planned to show the tape to the long-hopper tribe. Quickly, Nick took his evidence to Gregg's home and presented his tragic story to Mrs. Long-hopper. He showed the videotape. Not finished, he also announced the history class assignment. Gregg walked in just in time to hear his cover story unravel as unstoppably as a domino maze. "Write eight paragraphs which compare and contrast the contributions of four Roman senators, and present it as a play. Provide original design costumes, background, and props. Reserve the theatre, prepare invitations and marketing posters. Hire actors. Produce. Direct."

"Is that the thirty minutes of homework you mentioned earlier?" she shrieked to her son. Overwhelmed by the enormity of her failures as a mother, Mrs. Long-hopper grew pale and faint. After sipping some peppermint tea to revive herself, she thanked Nick for his information  apologetically.  Turning to Gregg, she declared, "Now I realize that I have truly failed you, my long legged son. I must repent. You shall be homeschooled from now until you are 25." Subsequently, and without delay, she retrieved the pristine spanking spoon. Because it was never used, it sported a trail of cobwebs as tangled and sticky as a young girl's hair after a bout with cotton candy and lollipops. After cleaning it off, she beat his little bum like a drum. The final blow came when Mr. Long-hopper, who for many years had been a detached workaholic, arrived home from work at 8:30. Upon hearing the dismal news, he reluctantly agreed that their son would be home educated. Additionally, he decided to have Gregg work with him every afternoon in the mail room, and to ground him for two months. Gregg's gig was truly up.

Moral: If you have a delinquent son or daughter, home school is a cool tool.

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Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Madness


why do you look to me as if I could bring you any happiness?
don't you realize I'm just as broken as the rest of them,
and the best of them
you blindly falter in the pieces of your frame
don't look to me and expect me to care

I can't help you, we're all mad here

why do you look to me as though I could alleviate your pain?
don't you realize I'm just as hurt as the rest of them,
and the best of them
you blindly walk through shattered glass and cry out
don't look to me and expect me to care

I can't help you, we're all mad here

we're all helpless here..
don't you understand?
we're all mad here

I wish I could help you, but we're all mad here
god, are you out there?
save me from this insanity

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Wednesday, June 3, 2009

[snow patrol albums do weird things to me. i have no idea.]

my life is, yes, is, a state of being
i exist.
i think.
haven't you heard of descartes?
but i'm getting off track.

my life is, yes is,
what...?
...what?
another quality demolition project
day by day I'm a work in progress.

progress is, yes is, a state of being
but a state of being progressing towards
destruction
is that an oxymoron?
i forget.

progressing towards destruction,
yes that's me
I've been told I'm dying with each breath I take
each moment I waste
why bother with rhyme and meter?

I'm sure you noticed there's no flow
it's because there's no time, don't you see?
I'm deteriorating before your face
not sure if I can take the anticipation

somehow I don't think
well, I do descartes, but just let me finish
I don't think that I'm what they planned
and by they I mean them

my forefathers
the ones who gave me this life to die
i don't think they'd like what they see
I hope they can't see me from where they are

their toil and strain, I don't know if they'd do it over
could they tell me if it's worth it?
just another wanna be poet
stumbling through overcooked slop in the pot

the leftovers, it's all I got
as I crumple paper after paper
i should take out the trash
i think.
you happy, descartes?

my life is, yes is, another quality demolition project

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