Battle Piece

One, two, three, four.
I am a bad sophomore.
Five, six, seven, eight.
Battle starts and ends really late.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
Yoni just fell off his shelf.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,
E-Lims just ate a giant big bean.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.
Sophomores just lost by plenty. :'(

Sonnet of Tigers and Dinner

Wacky Wednesday video’s galore.
I look around the room in fear.
Glance to the left, right; the room is a bore.
So very happy that I shed a tear.
Eeney meeny miney mo.
I see a cuddly baby tiger.
I caught this tiger by the toe.
And took it home and shoved it in the fire.
With a knife, I skin the little cub,
Picking eyeballs and internal organs.
Into the trash to be recycled with love,
I put on my purple cardigan.
The guests come into the dining room;
“Let’s eat!” they say, as they smell the fumes.

Random Poem

Every tear; a lesson learned.
Every tear dropped; forgotten.
Every good time golden,
Every second; cherished.

Me & My Wet P.J.'$

Scolded by the steaming water,
I have awaken.
I have not put on clothes,
Nor removed them.
I have showered in Pajamas.

I arrive at my door
Dripping wet.
I ready for school.


Mix and match
My broken patch
Ripped pants and shorts
My shirt is bored.
Bored of lying in this bed,
So I get up and lift my head

Pieces, Parts, and Open Hearts

My eyes closed tightly,
I’m marching blindly;
Pretending that everything is fine.

With eyes wide open;
Fire and families.
Tell me when, where, and how.

Close my eyes again
And imagine tranquil scenery.
The sirens ring
And shatter my broken dream.

Pieces, parts, and open hearts
Spilled out onto the empty floor.
Ripped open by my broken dreams.

We’ve come to face reality;
Shit happens.
But keep your head held high.
Not today, not yesterday, and not tomorrow.
We were born to lead.

Father.

Father
Day after day
You come home as the sun goes to sleep.
You’re wondering why the lights are off;
You look at the clock,
It’s pretty damn late.

You walk to the dogs,
And kiss them goodnight.
You walk into your room
To let out a sigh.
You let out a sigh of disbelief.
You’re thinking why,
Why is life so hard on me?

You take off your boots,
Walk into my room.
You call out my name with no response.
I am sleeping, but I can sense your presence.
Wake up, you fool.

He leaves as he lets out a little cry.

I thought to myself,
Sometimes all you need
Is someone to tell you
Three simple words
That everyone struggles to speak
But it’s so easy to take in;
I love you.

I heard the footsteps become louder as he made his way back to my room.
He opened the door and said, “I love you.”
I smiled.

Moving Forward

At least I’m moving forward.
To my destination? It’s unknown.
But to get away from you, I will move onward.

Moving through the ruff of the course,
The grass is statuesque and overgrown.
At least I’m moving forward.

With my head held high, I move toward
The singing darkness where I’m all alone.
A nightmare that is aged and effortlessly abhorred.

To extinguish that glare in her eyes
From this brain of which is my own.
At least I’m moving forward.

Tongue tied and pinned down by my old ladies sword
Closer to death than I’ve ever been blown
What once was a sharp blade transformed into a gourd.

So you can just disappear
To your destination? It’s unknown.
At least I’m moving forward
To the mountaintops where I have once soared.

Sports Day

Some might call our sport “gay”
But we like to run it anyway.
Short shorts, spandex, and paper-thin shoes
Running to run whatever you choose.
Jumping and sprinting through the deadly water-pit
Frozen areas; you throw a fit.

Yes, we run miles a day,
Some people call us crazy in dismay.
A loving team is what we can be
So close to each other, like family.
No putting us down, we come to win.
Winning first place by a hair or a pin.

We are the ones;
We are the strong.
There’s nothing left to live for
And nothing left to lose.

Final project

My idea is to make a few pieces of music or "poetry" as so we call it in this class. I want one of my pieces to describe what we have already and how we take it for granted, but I haven't seem to come up with any ideas yet. Another piece, would be something about living how you want to live and not how others want you to live it. I mean, it's your life, so live YOUR life, not someone elses. Fulfill YOUR dreams, and not others.

Moving Forward: Re-edit

At least I’m moving forward.
To my destination? It’s unknown.
But to get away from you, I will move onward.

Moving through the ruff of the course,
The grass is statuesque and overgrown.
At least I’m moving forward.

With my head held high, I move toward
The singing darkness where I’m all alone.
A nightmare that is aged and effortlessly abhorred.

To extinguish that glare in her eyes
From this brain of which is my own.
At least I’m moving forward.

Tongue tied and pinned down by my old ladies sword
Closer to death than I’ve ever been blown
What once was a sharp blade transformed into a gourd.

So you can just disappear
To your destination? It’s unknown.
At least I’m moving forward
To the mountaintops where I have once soared.

Moving Forward

At least I’m moving forward.
To my destination? It’s unknown.
But to get away from you, I will move onward.

Moving through the ruff of the course,
The grass is tall and overgrown.
At least I’m moving forward.

With my head held high, I move toward
The singing darkness where I’m all alone.
A fear that is old and easily abhorred.

To extinguish that glare in her eyes
From this brain of which is my own.
At least I’m moving forward.

Tongue tied and pinned down by my old ladies sword
Closer to death than I’ve ever been blown
What once was a sharp blade changed into a gourd.

So you can just disappear
To your destination? It’s unknown.
At least I’m moving forward
To the mountaintops where I’ve once soared.

I Dislike You.

You look so stupid behind that computer screen
With your fake glasses and stupid hair.
Your obnoxious voice
And opinions where no one cares.

Just stop talking you ignorant fool.
Put on some heavy weights and jump in a pool.
Drown like witches in medieval times
where little sound exists.

Put those thoughts of yours into the trash
along with yourself and a crash.
I hope you cry to your mom
who won’t be there because she’s gone.
She’s gone into outer space
to get away from your ugly face.

Cross your heart and hope to die?
Cross MY heart and hope you die.
You could get hit by a car at fare,
day or time, I wouldn’t care.

Father.

Day after day
You come home as the sun goes to sleep.
You’re wondering why the lights are off;
You look at the clock,
It’s pretty damn late.

You walk to the dogs,
And kiss them goodnight.
You walk into your room
To let out a sigh.
You let out a sigh of disbelief.
You’re thinking why,
Why is life so hard on me?

You take off your boots,
Walk into my room.
You call out my name with no response.
I am sleeping, but I can sense your presence.
Wake up, you fool.

He leaves as he lets out a little cry.

I thought to myself,
Sometimes all you need
Is someone to tell you
Three simple words
That everyone struggles to speak
But it’s so easy to take in;
I love you.

I heard the footsteps become louder as he made his way back to my room.
He opened the door and said, “I love you.”
I smiled.

Pieces, Parts, and Open Hearts

My eyes closed tightly,
I’m marching blindly;
Pretending that everything is fine.

With eyes wide open;
Fire and families.
Tell me when, where, and how.

Close my eyes again
And imagine tranquil scenery.
The sirens ring
And shatter my broken dream.

Pieces, parts, and open hearts
Spilled out onto the empty floor.
Ripped open by my broken dreams.

We’ve come to face reality;
Shit happens.
But keep your head held high.
Not today, not yesterday, and not tomorrow.
We were born to lead.

TWO GUITARS

BY VICTOR HERNÁNDEZ CRUZ
Two guitars were left in a room all alone
They sat on different corners of the parlor
In this solitude they started talking to each other
My strings are tight and full of tears
The man who plays me has no heart
I have seen it leave out of his mouth
I have seen it melt out of his eyes
It dives into the pores of the earth
When they squeeze me tight I bring
Down the angels who live off the chorus
The trios singing loosen organs
With melodious screwdrivers
Sentiment comes off the hinges
Because a song is a mountain put into
Words and landscape is the feeling that
Enters something so big in the harmony
We are always in danger of blowing up
With passion
The other guitar:
In 1944 New York
When the Trio Los Panchos started
With Mexican & Puerto Rican birds
I am the one that one of them held
Tight like a woman
Their throats gardenia gardens
An airport for dreams
I've been in theaters and cabarets
I played in an apartment on 102nd street
After a baptism pregnant with women
The men flirted and were offered
Chicken soup
Echoes came out of hallways as if from caves
Someone is opening the door now
The two guitars hushed and there was a
Resonance in the air like what is left by
The last chord of a bolero.



My favorite line is this, “Because a song is a mountain put into Words and landscape is the feeling that Enters something so big in the harmony.” Me, being one who writes music, I believe in this quote. The song is the final piece; the mountain is the final piece. The landscapes make up the mountains; the harmonies make up the entire piece. The small details on the mountain, the trees, the animals, the flowers, and such make up the landscape; the words make up the song.
In this poem, there are two guitars that speak, metaphorically. They speak to one another about the way they are treated by their owners and how they do not like them. I believe the writer takes good care of his guitar if he is able to put himself in an inanimate object’s perspective and be able to make it feel.

Elements.

All four elements exist.
Day and night; all day err day.

Element one; the air.
Swiftly winging through each piece of grass,
Each flower petal on the tree,
Each leaf sprouting from every bud.
The wind moving through our hair, our fingers, our toes,
His toes, her toes, its toes.

Element two: The water.
Moving in and out of pores in the wet mud.
Forming puddles that we are oh-so deathly afraid to step in.
And if we do,
The water climbs upon our feet to take a nap.

Element three: the ground.
The earth.
Which we step on from day to day without a care
Of what we are doing.
Do we inflict pain on this gorgeous mother of ours?

Element four: The fire.
The sun,
It’s what started it all.

Random Ranting. :D

Perhaps, I am an airplane?
Or even a crocodile.
Maybe even a guitar,
Or the pick for the guitar;
Possibly even a string of a guitar.
A tooth of a crocodile
A seat cushion of an airplane?
Let’s think smaller, shall we?
I could be an ant on the airplane,
Or a leg of an ant on an airplane.
A taste bud on the tongue of the crocodile
A chip of wood that fell into the heart of the guitar.
No, an atom of the chip of wood that fell into the guitar.
A skin cell on the taste bud on the tongue of the crocodile.
A molecule of the leg of the ant on the airplane.
Yes, that sounds correct. Good bye.

No, hello.
Perhaps I am a sparkle of glitter on Eric Lin’s nose?
Or dandruff on kara curtin’s head.
A drop of water from meghan’s water bottle.
A pixel on this computer…
No, shut up.
I must discontinue this horrid piece of…
Of…
Nothing.

Ashley-Pagnazzi's-photo-on-the-computer Story

The clouds came rolling in; there was barely any light visible and in the town of North-north-south-west Park, people were… changing. There was a young couple on their way to a job interview with their 6 month old baby and no stroller. They decided since it was already 9 feet tall; 286 pounds, they could let it out on its own like a dog without a leash. The young couple had recently shopped at Express, the most amazing store in the world and bought these amazing suits and blazers; they looked hawt. Meanwhile, the baby was in a diaper. The clouds were moving fairly fast and lighting and thunder were starting to appear. All of a sudden, *crash!* The lightning struck a tree; it turned into a cow! *Crash!* Another strike came down; it hit the baby! But it seemed to bounce off the baby and shoot straight at the mothers head. Her head turned into a horses head! *Crash!* Again; it hit the baby and bounced off to the father now! His head turned into a cat! The baby started to cry which made the lightning go away. Someone from around the street corner shot at the baby, the baby died. The mother and father had something to dine on that night.

Leprechauns and Unicorns

I was at the back of Denton Avenue elementary school with some friends after a nice run with some friends; my friends consisting of Yoni, Dolan, Aakaash, Jack, and me. We had just stopped by CVS and I picked up a pack of Skittles, “Taste the Rainbow.” And everyone said taste I started to scream “taste the rainbow.” As we sat down on the swings, we all started to talk about how much we are In Love with each other. As I was swinging, my open pack of skittles fell to the floor scattering among the crushed, damp mulch. Yoni looked over, I screamed; NO! MY SKITTLES! Yoni, not caring about my skittles, immediately said, “Dude; I swear, for a second there? I’m pretty sure you just took on the shape of a unicorn.”

Everything turned dark, clouds came in and everything rumbled. The trees and swings and jungle gyms seemed to sink into the ground for some reason but my skittles and all the grass and mulch were still there. A rainbow shot out of the sky; it was sparkling and lit up the entire park. A leprechaun came down from above riding on a black unicorn. He didn’t speak, but gave us hand gestures signaling that we should follow him. Jack told me to go because he had already peed his pants and was too scared to go; he said, “dude, you’re the unicorn! You go!” I said okay but first told him how much of a little duckling he looks like because he peed his pants because of a rainbow shooting from the sky. I stepped onto the rainbow and took on the shape of an actual unicorn, and we sprinted into the heavens. As we rose above the clouds, a giant sign blinking, “Skittles World;” there was no pot of gold, but instead, a pot of skittles. The leprechaun spoke, “they’re magically delicious!” I questioned the leprechaun, “isn’t that lucky charms?”
“Oh yeah,” the leprechaun said.

Valentines Day

February 13th, it was late at night. I had called my girlfriend, Kelly, and we were talking for hours. Sometimes we wouldn’t even say anything but just the fact that we were on the phone with each other, together, made everything okay. I didn’t mind wasting my AT&T rollover minutes on her, even if I had to pay any extra costs. I love her, and there are no exceptions or conditions in love. The clock had struck midnight, and the silence of the night was broken when I whispered to her, “Happy Valentines Day, sweetie.”
I asked her question, “What do you want to do tomorrow?” And she answered in the simplest response, “I don’t know.” And then she laughed. This meant she wanted me to choose, correct? So I did, I told her I’d be at her house by 4 A.M. We were going to drive to Jones beach in my Nissan Cube and watch the sunrise together.
The new Angels and Airwaves album came out today, my favorite alternative band. I bought the album, hard copy of course, and I put it into the disc input in my car. The first song came on, and as always, amazing. Angels and airwaves, you’ve out done yourself again. I drove to her house and picked her up. Neither of our parents knew about our plans to drive to the beach at this hour in the morning so we had to sneak out very quickly. Kelly shut the door quietly, but not quiet enough. Her mom came outside to look around to see if there were any problems. She saw Kelly get into my car, “quick! Quick!” I told her. She slammed the car door and we drove off into the darkness. As I was driving, I looked into her eyes as she looked back at mine. I told her I loved her and kept driving.
We arrived at Jones beach, gate four. I parked in the best spot we could get since no one else was there at this hour. We couldn’t see a thing, the entire beach was black and all we could hear was the oceans waves mixed with the Angels and Airwaves album. The clock struck 4:43. I got out of the car and her eyes followed me as I went to her side of the door; I opened it and she got up. I sat down on her seat and she sat down on my lap. We held each other so tightly and I whispered in her ear as I pushed her hair away from her face, “don’t ever leave me.” She responded, “I won’t,” as she planted a kiss upon my lips. We sat there in my car for what seemed like hours until the clock struck 5:27; we could see sunlight. Minutes passed, the sky became brighter and brighter; the mix of all the vibrant colors, red, orange, pink, blue, yellow. It was beautiful.
I looked back and reached my arm over to the back seat, I pulled out a bouquet of daisies, her favorite flower. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at them. The clock struck 6:19, the sun had fully risen and was now a bright yellow ping-pong ball in the sky. She looked at me and said “I love you.”

Dig: Incubus

It all began 6 years ago, we had first met and we both knew, very well, that we were meant for each other. I liked where this was going because automatically, within the first two hours we spoke to each other, we had so much in common, but so many differences. We liked each other for who we were and not for our external preferences. As time went on, we fell in love; we had something special, something that comes only a few times in ones life. I didn’t want to give that up and neither did you. We knew too much about each other; it was great… So why give that up?
We don’t know how it happened but it did; we were starting to drift away. I became so obsessed with my dream for a ballet scholarship, and you backed me up the whole way. And I admit it, I started to change! The scholarship changed my whole view on life; all I could think of was that scholarship and I couldn’t care less for anything else. You bought flowers for me, you picked me up from practice, and you called me at night to tell me you love me. All these miniscule acts you did for me, and I didn’t it acknowledge it at all. My ideas of a healthy lifestyle were thrown away; I would start drinking, smoking, all of these things that were so unlike me. And all you did was you tried to get me to stop, but I pushed you away; farther and farther every single time. And yet, you stood by me; you amazed me until the end.
We would still get together at each other’s house; but each day we drifted. Instead of cuddling on the couch with a blanket over our feet, the fire roaring; no, that didn’t happen anymore. We would now be sitting on opposite ends of the couch, you would reach for my hand and I would pull away. When I would get up off the couch to go get a drink from the kitchen, you would follow, and I would yell. For no reason, I would yell! And you’d still be there! I’d pull out a bottle of wine from the cabinet behind your back, and when you found out, you’d be so upset! But I didn’t care; I needed it. The wine helped me cope with my pain, with all the stress. Where once upon a time, you would be my stress reliever; it was now some alcoholic beverage that I would always tell myself that I would never ever touch. And when you pulled the wine from my lips and set it down on the table, you looked me in the eyes with that stare; your eyes were tearing; you looked down and you nodded your head from left to right in such deep disappointment. You took your jacket and left and I can’t believe I even had the guts to pick up that glass of wine before I came running after you.
That’s when I knew it had to stop. After choosing some drink above you? No, that’s not allowed to happen. I changed everything; from what I ate, what I drank, to how I did things, how I coped with everything. I stopped drinking so much, I stopped smoking, I stopped focusing my life on one small purpose. But most importantly, I apologized to you; and you accepted my apology without even giving a second thought. I ran into your arms and I cried, repeating those words over and over again; “I was wrong.” You said it so softly, so subtly, “it’s okay.” My stomach sank and I cried; I collapsed to the floor grabbing your knees, “you dig me up from under what is covering the better part of me. Remind me that we’ll always have each other when everything else is gone.”
“I’ll remind you that we’ll always have each other when everything else is gone.”

Mr. Imondi Is GONE! Draft 2

I walked into class, expecting the bright and shiny face of Mr. Imondi. But as I walked in, there was no bright and shiny face. “Where was he,” I asked. But no one knew. So I packed up my things and went out onto a quest to find him. And as I poked my head out the door, Mr. Frisone yelled and said, “get back in there brotha.”
“Aite.” And I walked back in. I sat on this very computer screen which I am typing at right now, and wondered (while commenting on blogs) where he was. Maybe, just maybe, he was man-napped by two blonde girls. They pulled Mr. Imondi into the back of their van and took out some shaving cream. And Mr. Imondi shrieked in his girl voice, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
“MEHR-HEHR,” they roared and pulled out a nice, clean, Gillette Fusion Power Phenom Razor. Immediately, Mr. Imondi went into a high adrenaline rush. Kicking and screaming; hitting everything in sight. He managed to wiggle his arms out of their long nailed grasp. He punched both girls in the face, “MY BEARD HAS IT’S OWN ZIPCODE! 11LEAVEMEALONE!” Mr. Imondi opened the van door, jumped out and ran off to school. Except there was one thing missing, he had forgotten his pants. He couldn’t turn back and enter that van again, his beard meant too much to him. So, instead, he ran into Casual Male XL and found the smallest size pants he could find; an XXL.
Mr. Imondi was running down Old Courthouse Road, running as fast as he could trying to get to school as fast as possible without his extremely large pants falling down. Passing cute little bunnies, squirrels eating nuts, kicking penguins in the face. He even passed by this small group of 3 or 4 children riding their bicycles. He punched right through them and kept on running. But then, karma hit him; he fell for the oldest trick in the book! An old homeless man was eating a banana and he finished the banana. Old homeless people, being the careless homeless people they are, threw the banana peel on the floor. Mr. Imondi stepped right onto it and flipped, a 578 degree flip. Mr. Imondi’s new pants ripped. “DAMMIT!” He kept running and running. His suitcase filled with extra pickles… just incase. He ran and ran and ran, running up the high school hill; he trips on a speed bump. He was running too fast and Willy gave him a ticket. “Here’s a pickle,” Mr. Imondi said to Willy.
“For what?” He responded,
“Just incase,” and took off. Mr. Imondi barged through the front doors of the main entrance of Herricks High School, “WHERE’S THE BATHROOM?! Just kidding, I know where the bathroom is, that’s just a line I’ve always wanted to say when barging through doors.” He ran off into the hallway barging through students on crutches, teachers with binders and books; even Mr. Cooper with his wheeled backpack suitcase kind of thing. He ran back to Mr. Cooper, apologized, and handed him a pickle. “What’s this?” Mr. Cooper said.
“Just incase,” and Mr. Imondi ran off into his classroom; Period 6 Creative Writing. “Mr. Imondi! Why are you wearing such large pants?” said Jenna Bacchus. Immediately, Mr. Imondi threw a pickle straight at Jenna’s forehead; it was his last pickle. He ran to her computer and quickly typed, “Just incase,” on the screen.

Mr. Imondi is GONE!

I walked into class, expecting the bright and shiny face of Mr. Imondi. But as I walked in, there was no bright and shiny face. “Where was he,” I asked. But no one knew. So I packed up my things and went out onto a quest to find him. And as I poked my head out the door, Mr. Frizone yelled and said, “get back in there brotha.”
“Aite.” And I walked back in. I sat on this very computer screen which I am typing at right now, and wondered (while commenting on blogs) where he was. Maybe, just maybe, he was man-napped by two blonde girls. They pulled Mr. Imondi into the back of their van and took out some shaving cream. And Mr. Imondi shreiked in his girl voice, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
“MEHR-HEHR,” they roared and pulled out a nice, clean, Gillette Fusion Power Phenom Razor. Immediately, Mr. Imondi went into a high adrenaline rush. Kicking and screaming; hitting everything in sight. He managed to wiggle his arms out of their long nailed grasp. He punched both girls in the face, “MY BEARD HAS IT’S OWN ZIPCODE! 11LEAVEMEALONE!” Mr. Imondi opened the van door, jumped out and ran off to school. Except there was one thing missing, he had forgotten his pants. He couldn’t turn back and enter that van again, his beard meant too much to him. So, instead, he ran into Casual Male XL and found the smallest size pants he could find; an XXL.

Mr. Imondi's Creative Students... FOR SALE!

There once was at triangle under the sea, with yellow, orange, and blueberry trees; elevators, escalators, and steps galore. You walk in and out of this wonderful store. You look up and down, isles and isles of little-big humans who clean your tiles; humans from Mr. Imondi’s Period 6; Period 6 creative writing, that is. Clearance section in isle eleventy-seven; Aditi and Eric who are sold for just ten… dollars. Moving to isle’s eleventy-twelve and thirteen, Jenna Bacchus and Daniel Grandelli who are sold for only 50 dollars a piece, make them yours and they’ll obey your every need. Moving on to 14 through 20, you can buy more students and plenty. Just go down to 1-10 and buy accessories for the girls and the men. Except for Taiju and Aditi, they only get one thing that they need. That one thing that they need is not food or water, it is their suit of armor.

How to be a Good Writer

Writing’s always been a hard process for everyone. Whether you’re good at it or not? That does not matter; what matters is that if you enjoy writing? Then you’ll be a good writer. I agree completely with the following quote all too well.


Begin to wonder what you do write about. Or if you have anything to say. Or if there even
is such a thing as a thing to say. Limit these thoughts to no more than 10 minutes a day, like
sit- ups, they can make you thin.
You will read somewhere that all writing has to do with one's genitals. Don't dwell on this. It will
make you nervous.

*Scrawck* Goodbye!

I was home, immediately I was settled down on the table. I saw them kissing, she looked so happy; so much happier then when I was around. I dozed off and slept. I woke up the next morning, my wife, Nancy came to my cage. She fed me some food pellets and said “goodbye!” Immediately, that word ringing in my head, I responded. “Goodbye!” Nancy gave the meat packer strict instructions about me, “feed him at this time. Give him water at this time.” I’m not letting him touch me. As soon as Nancy left for work at her job as a Nurse at LIJ, the meat packer gave me a look. Something was wrong, and they weren’t going to end well. His big meaty meat meat hands stuck out in front of him as if he were going to strangle someone. He opened the cage and stuck one hand in. *chomp* One finger fell off. *Chomp* Two, *chomp* three. He now had a ring finger and a thumb. What good is that? COME NEAR ME AGAIN BIOTCH! He left to go clean up the bloody mess he made with his ugly hands and I said, *goodbye!* He came back, stomping. More infuriated than ever, “you’re gonna get it now little birdie!” He stuck his other hand in now and ringed his fingers around my throat, I couldn’t get my beak on his hands. I saw my feathers falling on the floor one by one and I started to feel dizzy. I heard the floor fly open, she looked up! Nancy looked up! “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” she said. She dropped her CVS bag and pulled the meat packers sledge hammer from the side of the door, “NEVER TOUCH MY BIRDIES AGAIN!” And with one swift swing through his neck, his head fell to the floor. I was let go and flew right to her left shoulder and gave her a peck on the cheek. She let me back into the cage and got me some water and then left. But she forgot to close the cage, or is she just faithful enough to know that I won’t do anything stupid? That’s probably it. She got her CVS bag and went into the bathroom; she came out a few minutes later. She showed me that pink stick with a “plus” on it. She was pregnant.., and crying.

Magooshabob

I’m a hot shot musical artist on Earth. My band, Solstice, people like to call us the new Beatles. It’s 2469 and I’ve been invited to a party on mars…
“Mom! I’m going to Mars now! Bye” The door slammed tight, I stepped into my Martisantoni ™ spaceship, switched it on, and set the auto pilot to 23 degrees latitude and 89 degrees longitude on Mars. I had a party to go to and I didn’t want to miss it. My Martisantoni took off, and within seconds, I was in space. The twinkling stars surrounding me, I could see the sun in the distance; brighter than ever. Space ships of all different shapes and sizes, coming from all planets were invited to this festivity. I was very excited too see what kind of Extra Terrestrials I could come into contact with. How many speak English? How many of them like cotton candy? How many of them like eyeballs? Sitting in my spaceship, listening to Rise Against, I was drinking my guice; bananacranberry flavor. I landed…
I walked into the lobby; lights, jackets, people. I gave my coat to the Butler and slowly walked into the ballroom; immediately, I smelt the scent of fresh air. It was unlike anything I had ever smelt before because on earth, stupid people abuse the blue planet and the air is intoxicated with fossil fuels and carcinogens. But on Mars, where there is little or no air; whatever air that exists on the red planet is clean and fresh. It was good. I sat down on a glossy, purple chair; the butler who took my coat with two arms now had twenty-seven arms. I was scared, he offered many plates of food; some including eyeballs, hair with eyeballs, honey covered cockroach, and much more. I did not want to seem ungrateful so I accepted the eyeballs. Why? Eyeballs are pure protein, and a growing man needs his protein. I dug in.
I looked up, three or four eyeballs stuffed into my mouth; they tasted very good. Over in the center of the ballroom, Cyclops’s, three eyed monsters, monsters with no eyes, monsters covered in hair, were all dancing and falling all over the floor.
I looked beyond the appalling dancers, there was an odd lime green and orange couple sitting together, alone, in the corner. As creepy as it sounds, I decided to focus my attention on them; to see the wonders of extra terrestrial love. There they were, six tongues acting intimately together. It was disgusting, but so fascinating; I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. All of a sudden, the lime green fellow starts to change colors; from yellow, to red, to purple, to black; faster and faster until his entire body was made up of an abundance of colors. I thought to my self, “wait! I’ve seen this before!” And so I whipped out my “Extra-Terrestrial Handy Dandy Handbook.” The correct term for that color changing species is known as a “Florg” here on Mars. But back on Earth, a florg is a piece of grass according to Sahar Rabbat, the “great” one. What was explained under Florg was, “Florgs appear in many different colors, and change color depending on emotion. Yellow = Happy, Orange = Sad…” and so on.

Extra Terrestrial Love

I looked beyond the appalling dancers, there was an odd lime green and orange couple sitting together, alone, in the corner. As creepy as it sounds, I decided to focus my attention on them; to see the wonders of extra terrestrial love. There they were, six tongues acting intimately together. It was disgusting, but so fascinating; I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. All of a sudden, the lime green fellow starts to change colors; from yellow, to red, to purple, to black; faster and faster until his entire body was made up of an abundance of colors. I thought to my self, “wait! I’ve seen this before!” And so I whipped out my “Extra-Terrestrial Handy Dandy Handbook.” The correct term for that color changing species is known as a “Florg” here on Mars. But back on Earth, a florg is a piece of grass according to Sahar Rabbat, the “great” one. What was explained under Florg was, “Florgs appear in many different colors, and change color depending on emotion. Yellow = Happy, Orange = Sad…” and so on.

Arrrrrjun. I'm a Pirate.

Hi, I'm Arjun Ramani, or as you would like to call me, "DJ-AJ RUN." I'm not the average, everyday, Herricks High School sophomore; I like to think of myself as different compared to others who attend this Highschool. I'm very outgoing and have many different interests, I like to dress nicely and look sharp for school. Most often, you will see me in a nice button-down top, a sweater over, and a tie to complete the outfit. I find it quite ironic that you pointed out the aRjUN because I'm a runner for the Herricks Varsity Track Team. So, "DJ-AJ RUN" is quite ironic. I recently started guitar in October and I'm absolutely terrible. I just learned "Swing Life Away" by Rise Against yesterday and I'm very happy about it. It sounds awful, but I'm getting it down. I was talking to Val Ismene yesterday, she mentioned some "things" about you; they were quite hilarious. OH! I run hurdles in Spring Track. Hurdling has to be the most, absolute, hardest thing EVER to exist in Track and Field. It takes guts to learn how to hurdle because there's always the risk of hitting a certain "area" on a hurdle, and trust me, that hurts. How do I know how this feels, you ask? Because it has happened to me, in a meet, during competition. It was the third Hurdle out of ten, and *bam.* I fell to the floor, I had to get back up and continue. With that agonizing pain, extending your legs over a hurdle, having the fear of hitting yourself again, it was a terrible day. I want to be an Architect or a professional Musician when I grow up, I think that would be pretty cool. Rockin' out on stage with your buddies, guitar in hand, crowd roaring. That would be a perfect life right there; doing what I love to do, play music, and earning money doing it. Maybe it'll come true one day for my band and I. My band name is "Solstice." Consisting of Me; lead vocals/guitar, Gilbert Macanas: Vocals/Lead Guitar, Matthew Amandola; Bass, and Young Kim; Drums. We're not too bad, we are going to try out for the rock show, so be ready to hear us. We're all really excited. My birthday is February 28Th, I'm turning 16! I get my permit and I get to drive! But not to worry, I'm not going to be one of those reckless drivers that kill people. I'm going to be a safe driver, cruising in my white Nissan Cube. I have two dogs, 3 older sisters (who I guess could be called animals), a mom, and a dad. I like cheesecake, especially cheesecake made by those of Jewish kind. Michael Dolan has told me that he told you that I'm your next "victim" to pick on this semester? o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0h, I'm so scared. Bring it on, Allan (from the Hangover in case you didn't get the joke.)