Saturday, October 29, 2005

Scrappleface scores (again)

Although it is a bit old, this Scrappleface post shows why Scrappleface is one of my favorite blogs to read.

Psp Poetry

Hey, sorry I haven't been blogging lately. Let me start off by saying that this is one of the first, if not the first, blogs ever written on a psp.

Realitys occuring,
And everyone's stirring,
Up to see,
What it could be?
It's a preacher who's preaching,
And he's teaching,
The word,
Ya heard?
Now believe in it,
Or go be a witt.

Various "weak" jokes

I am the type of person who enjoys telling jokes that can only be described as either "weak" or "corny". It's definitely hereditary; my dad and grandpa do the same things. I have been in rare form lately:

When my friend Flamallaitian, in a conversation about the RTS (Real-Time Strategy) game Empire Earth: The Art of Conquest, said he packs a punch, I replied: "You pack a punch? Tropical or Island?"

You know you're in a small town when your annual family picnic is also the annual town picnic.

Q: Do you know why so many kids in American schools are fat?
A: Because if they come with a six-pack, they could get thrown out of school.

I apologize for all the corny jokes, but what can I say; I am from the Mid-West.

Freshmen Song

For school this week, my class (the freshmen class) had to come up with a class cheer/song.
I felt inspired. Here is what I came up with:

We are Freshmen (to the tune of We Will Rock You):

We are, we are freshmen, freshmen
We are, we are freshmen, freshmen

We came to school to get an education
We've learned about grammar and creation
We've learned a lot of stuff
It's been really rough
But we'd like to say, bring it on, we're tough

We are, we are freshmen, freshmen
We are, we are freshmen, freshmen

We like to talk a lot
Quiet we're not
It's not so bad unless we're caught
We're not so bad though
As our teachers know
We know they'll all cry when we go

We are the class of '09
We will all turn out fine, out fine

"Harlan McCraney"

Those of you who enjoy Bushisms will enjoy this comedy short (hat tip to EightIron for introducing me to it). Warning: Brief Mild Language

Prey Alone

I found this short film recently (thank you Locusts and Honey). It is awesome!

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

The Superhero with a Beard

It started out with my older brother's need for a superhero with a beard for Superhero Monday. We therefore googled superhero and beard. Lo and behold, we found this, the site for Clothman, the only superhero with a beard. Although it turns out that Clothman isn't really a superhero, his blog is still lots of fun to look at.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Feeling poetic tonight...

As the title says, I am feeling poetic tonight. Here are some of my poems:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
1 squared is 1
And 1.4 something squared is 2

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Don't get high
By sniffing glue

Roses are red
Grass is green
Gas is released
When one eats beans

Roses are red
Carnations are pink
I know I am
Because I think


Violets are blue
Roses are red
I'd rather lead
Than be led

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

The Old Man and the Sea: Alternate Ending


After having fought off the last of the sharks, the old man was thoroughly exhausted. He continued to sail towards the harbor. He slept soundly, dreaming of lions, but it seemed the lions began to waste away and become skeletal like the remains of the great fish. When the old man woke up, the sun was already almost straight up. He soon arrived back in the harbor.
“El mar is so evil sometimes,” the old man said, thinking aloud. “Sometimes he gives, sometimes he withholds. But he seems to have found a way to destroy me. He gave, only to take away what I had to fight for during so many days. I almost died catching my brother, the great fish, and he took him. And not dignified like something with so much grace deserves. No, he disgraced it. But he would not have disgraced it if I had not gone out too far and killed it. I am responsible for my brother’s disgrace.”
The small skiff slowly limped through the harbor with the remains of the great fish alongside. The old man didn’t look at his mutilated catch. He instead looked all around at nature’s beauty, hoping it would comfort him as it usually did, hoping it would tell him that he did nothing wrong. It had the opposite effect. No longer interested in mating or catching food, the seagulls instead circled the old man and accused him with their high pitched squeals.
“Thief! Murderer!” screamed the birds. “You violated that fish’s right to live! You broke an unspoken law of nature! You went into that fish’s own territory, his own home, and you killed it. Not only that, you submitted it to the disgrace of being eaten by the shark! Murderer! Killer! Assassin!”
The birds were not the only ones to accuse the old man. As the old man walked through the market on his way home, the eyes of all the dead fish seemed to stare at him. They bored into his very soul and understood what he had done. They accused him silently while the birds announced their anger loudly. As soon as he was a short distance from the market, he broke into a run. But his guilt could not be outrun. The waves joined with the birds and fish in attacking him. “Murderer, murderer…” they echoed as they crashed onto the beach. The old man ran inland, trying to escape his accusers. But no one can escape one’s own mind. The accusations continued, even as the man put more and more distance between himself and the waves. The noise grew, becoming so loud that he could not hear the sound of far off engines, or the noise of the market, or even the sound of his pounding heart.
“Stop!!” cried the old man, desperately trying to end the cacophony. The noise wouldn’t stop though; if anything, it increased. He dropped his mast and clutched his ears wildly. The noise continued. He writhed with pain and continued to scream. The noise did not end. He grabbed a handful of grass and tried putting it in his ears to end the racket, but the noise would not stop. He closed his eyes and tried to think of the lions, but there were only skeletons on the beaches where his lions once ruled. The lions’ remains joined in the accusations. The old man was in agony. Nothing he did even diminished the noise that originated not in the birds or the waves or the lions, but in his head.
The old man saw a rock with a sharp edge nearby. He seized it, hoping it would release him. He took it and smashed it against his temple, and the noise ceased. It was replaced by a peaceful silence. He was aware of pain, but only for a few minutes. The old man became ageless.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Camp Zoranj: Hope for Haiti

I have recently found this site for a summer camp in Haiti. It is things like this camp that give me hope for the future. Showing kindness to children and giving them fun experiences can only yield positive results. This is the kind of support that America should be providing. Not large gifts that go through governments that may or may not be corrupt, but instead go through private citizens. This camp means hope for Haiti.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

When political figures collide...

This just in: Al Gore invented the internets.