When you are Home Alone

What do you do when you are home alone?

You could partake in a whole manner of embarrassing activities when there is no one around simply because you can and there is no one around to judge you.

You could break some rules.

You could…

• Leave all the lights on
• Throw all the sheets on floor
• Hang all the wall decor sideways
• Eat mushed Jell-O on a hot dog bun
• Throw a temper tantrum
• Fling things that have been bothering you (like unsharpened pencils, dirty stuffed animals, a tissue box, etc.) down the stairs
• Rip up paper and throw it in the air like confetti (like homework, taxes, receipts, etc.)
• Switch the tulips and the begonias in the flower bed
• Run
• Stomp
• Scream
• Throw things (such as textbooks, dirty stuffed animals, plastic flamingos, etc.)
• Hold a tea party with your china dolls as you’ve wanted to since you were a child, but haven’t as it is considered socially unacceptable for an adult over the age of 33.56 to be the host of a tea party if none of the guests are alive or human.
• Smash things

Do you remember that first time you were alone? Were you one of those people who sat diligently in view of all the entrances to your house? Or were you the one who went slightly insane?

The first time I was home alone, I was asleep.

The second time, I first checked that all the doors were locked. Then, I gorged myself on chocolate, shrieked, and ran around. I believe I also read in the dark.

But, of course, there is a price to pay for every cricket of fun. (Cricket is a very real and definitely not made-up unit of measurement.)

Imagine you tore out the first fifty pages of all of your bothersome textbooks and flung the corpses down the stairs, all while screaming. The phone rings. You freeze, your mouth full of peanut butter, globs of it dripping onto the nice tablecloth. You see the caller ID says “Mother” and you wince. You know that you have to pick it up otherwise your mother may believe that an overweight gumdrop has broken into your house and kidnapped you. You hold the phone against your sticky face and say, your enunciation horrific due to the peanut butter coating your tongue and teeth, “Hello?”.

You: Hello?

Mother: My engagement has been canceled because an Inconceivable Event has just occurred. I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. (Sigh) I’ll just get married next month. And I thought your enunciation was better than that.

What you must do in fifteen minutes:

• Pick up the confetti
• Tape the confetti together so it looks like the first fifty pages of your textbooks
• Replace the first fifty pages in your textbooks
• Fix damage to textbooks from being flung down the stairs
• Wash the nice tablecloth
• Get new peanut butter
• Wipe peanut butter off every surface in your house
• Take a shower
• Brush your teeth
• Bribe your neighbors so they don’t tell your mother anything

Climate Change: Some Random Thoughts

In my relatively short life, I’ve already noticed changes in the weather. Barely any snow, frigid winters, blistering summers. I remember when we were younger and I had a Slip n’ Slide (which is basically a tarp you put water on so you can slide around) and we’d anxiously wait for the temperature to go into the 80°s so we could use it, but it rarely went above the high 70°s. Now, we have summers where most days are spent in the 90°s.

Also, I remember the snow piling higher than my head. Obviously, I’ve gotten taller, but this winter you could see all the grass, and I doubt I was shorter than grass.

I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure these things should take multiple lifetimes, no one lifetime, and definitely not the fraction of a lifetime I’ve lived.

Mellow Yellow Episode 9: Fluffy Hat

After a couple of days, MASTER is slowly getting used to his gluten-free-ness. He is human again. QUINN is getting ready for the wedding, but sadly he is having problems with the guests. LENA is in the living room as well.

QUINN: Lena! Do you want to come to our wedding?

LENA: I don’t like dresses. Or celebrating union.

MASTER walks in with his fluffy hat in his hand rather than on his head.

QUINN and LENA: WHOA! IT’S THE TOP OF HIS HEAD!

MASTER raises an eyebrow, both at the surprise of the two of them together and the fact that QUINN has BREAD SNADWHICH.

LENA: It’s so white and hairy! (pets the top of her father’s head)

MASTER (to QUINN): What are you doing with my wife—I mean my…uh.

QUINN: Marrying her. Why?

MASTER: WHAT?!

QUINN (nervous): You can’t really go near bread anymore, so I just conveniently fell in love!

MASTER: … So you think you are worthy of the Bread Snadwich?

QUINN: …

MASTER: YOU ARE! YOU ARE MY NEXT OFFSPRING! THE LEGACY OF MASTER SHALL LIVE ON! (Puts the fluffy hat on QUINN’S head) YOU HAVE LEARNED THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF THE BREAD!

QUINN (proud): I guess I have!

TICK and TOCK: (Suddenly crowding MASTER) SO YOU APPROVE?

MASTER: Yes. And Tick, that’s a nice new hairdo!

TICK (blushing): Thank you, Master. Tock did it for me.

TOCK glows at the attention.

ZHAN comes through the door, still crying for TICK’S wonderful hair.

ZHAN: WHY WHY WHY WHY? (Cries as TOCK sits down on his face to silence him.)

TICK walks away.

TOCK: Tick, come back! Don’t you want to pick out the dress for your daughter?

TICK: (Walks back, and grabs Tock’s hand) Let’s go!

 

~~~END

Interesting and Nonsensical Spam Comments

Hello nonexistent readers! This post was inspired by this hilarious post that made me laugh not only in my head but in a way that other people could potentially hear it as well.

These are real comments that I’ve received in my Spam Box. I often check it when I crave to expel laughter.

 

Great post. I was checking constantly this blog and I am impressed! Extremely helpful info particularly the last part  I care for such info a lot. I was looking for this certain info for a very long time. Thank you and good luck. 

I’m so glad you care about my opinion about Harry Potter and parenthesis so much that you were looking for it for a very long time.

 

Its like you read my mind! You appear to know so much
about this, like you wrote the book in it or something.
I think that you can do with some pics to drive the message home a bit, but
instead of that, this is excellent blog. A great read. I’ll certainly be back.

Yep! I totally didn’t did a ton of research!

And that’s very helpful advice. I did start adding pictures since then.

 

This means YOU, personally, really should weight your words SERIOUSLY h l d, and I strongly advice you to delete this written defamation i g h q of both characters and a huge group of people who do not take slander and character assassination like this easily z b q b b. I do not know which organization you have got to back you up, but if you do not care about lawsuits in the multi-million dollar range, fine, just keep on what you are doing h r j b u. If you DO care about spending x-amounts of money to try and defend this CLEARLY written libel, then take my DELETE-advice. Your “Post” is now officially taken both copies and screen-shots of and digitally stored for later use and evidence. This is just a warning. We are *****, we do not forget. *****@gmail.com

I’m not entirely sure what this means due to many, many typos, but I believe this one’s trying to sue me.

And I am very, very apologetic if you think that The Spineless Jellyfish Tag was offensive in any way, although I have no idea how anyone would think that this post was offensive unless you are a dentist. In that case, it could be somewhat offensive.

 

Hi this is kinda of off topic Ьut I ԝaѕ wanting to know if blogs usｅ WYSIWYG editors or if you haνe to manually code ᴡith HTML.
I’m starting ɑ blog ѕoon but hаvе no coding knowledge ѕo I wanted to gеt guidance fｒom somеone with experience.

Any help woᥙld Ƅe enormously appreciated!

Well, I’m not coding anything. I’m glad my help is enormously appreciated.

 

Thiѕ design is wicked! Yoս defіnitely know
һow to ҝeep a reader amused. Betᴡeen yߋur wit and
your videos, I wɑѕ almost moved tߋ start my own blog
(well, аlmost…HaHa!) Grеat job. Ι reаlly enjoyed what уou haⅾ to saү, and moгe
tһan that, how yоu presented it. Toо cool!

I wasn’t aware that we had videos.

 

Lеe and Larry lovеd their sixth birthday party.
Regardless thaat they had been twins, Mommy aand Ɗaddy alᴡays mawde sure they each һad a particular time.
And with their Ьrthdays coming in December, Mommy and Daddy also alwɑys made pοsіtive
theіг birthdays were special ɑlthough Christmas was
right around ttһe corner. Τhe party was so fun with a clown and caқe aand songss annd great presents from their mates and grandparents and uncle and aunts.
It glided by so quick however earlier thqn they knew it, everybody had gone dwelling and
it was time to ᴡash up and geet гeady for bed.

I’m glad that it was a fun party and I’m very sorry that everyone had to go dwelling.

 

WELCOME JOIN THE ILLUMINATI BROTHERHOOD AND BECOME RICH AND FAMOUS,FOLLOW UP ON WHATSAPP +*************** TO JOIN

Spinette is already part of the Illuminati. If anything, she should be doing the recruiting.

 

There aｒe, in faⅽt, somke unfavourable
factors tto freelɑncing. One essential pooіnt is that in the evеnt you ork as a cⲟntract paralegal you will not be
eligiƄle for the kinds of advantages thaat youd have
in working for a regulation ffirm or a private attorney.
Should you really fеel that such “perks” as сommon health insᥙrance and different such advantageѕ are essential, freelancing wot proｖiide you with these benefits.

???

Good for you?

 

HELLO BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE YOU INTERESTED IN JOINING THE ILLUMINATI BROTHERHOOD IF YES FOLLOW UP THE ILLUMINATI TEAMS ON WHATSAPP @ +************** OR VIA EMAIL ADDRESS!******************@GMAIL.COM THANKS!!

Again with the Illuminati. We’ve been through this already.

 

Clearly, these people need to be educated on the finer points of grammar.

Is Cereal a Soup?

I was asked the other day “Is cereal a soup?”

Well, my immediate answer was no because cereal is cereal and soup is soup and cereal is not soup; but I try to keep an open mind, so I considered the question again.

Reasons Cereal is Not Soup

• Cereal is cold
• • But cereal doesn’t necessarily have to be cold
  • Some soups are cold
• Cereal is a breakfast food and soup is not
• • No one is stopping you from having soup for breakfast and cereal for dinner
• Cereal is Cereal and soup is soup and cereal is not soup
• • What is soup?

What is Soup?

According to Dictionary.com, soup is a liquid food made by boiling or simmering meat, fish, or vegetables with various added ingredients.

Reasons Cereal is Not Soup: Updated Edition

• Cereal is crunchy, and therefore not entirely liquid
• Cereal is not boiled
• Cereal is not simmered
• Cereal does not contain meat, fish, or vegetables with various added ingredients

But what if you despised vegetables (like Spinette) and refused to eat any (like a five-year-old child) and you were also a vegetarian?

• Note: Vegetarians don’t have to like vegetables. They can eat other meat-less food items like processed foods. For example, granola bars, popsicles, ice cream, chocolate, fruit snacks, gummy bears, oatmeal, Jell-O, etc.

If you were five-year-old vegetarian Spinette, then you would like your chicken noodle soup without chicken or vegetables. It would just be noodle soup. But this noodle soup does not contain meat, fish, or vegetables (like the cereal) and therefore, it is not a soup (even though soup is in the name. This is a similar dilemma as the one surrounding baby powder. There are no actual babies in baby powder as there is no soup in noodle soup).

So then what is noodle soup if not soup?

Soggy pasta, perhaps?

Sandwiches

Have you ever thought that if one person drops a piece of bread on one side of the Earth and another person dropped another piece of bread at the same time the world would become a sandwich for just a brief second?

I’ve thought about it. Along with some other things too.

But honestly, do sandwiches have to be closed off, my bread? The only sandwiches I have seen not closed off by two pieces of bread is a cupcake and Lunchables cracker sandwiches.

And must the two pieces of bread be parallel? Because I have seen sandwiches made of one piece of bread, just bent over. If those things are considered sandwiches, what exactly is a hot dog? Is it an incomplete roll or a one-breaded sandwich? Is a taco a sandwich? A pita falafel?

Also, if one puts a sandwich, say a nice grilled chicken sandwich, into a blender, is the outcome a sandwich? If it is so, what if someone spread the chicken sandwich mush onto a cracker and tops it off with another one, does that make it a “sandwich sandwich”? Or if a sandwich has three pieces of bread with filling in the middle is it a “sandwich sandwich” a “double sandwich” or just the normal term “sandwich”.

Is an Oreo technically a sandwich? Does that make the backward spelling of my octopus’s name “Oreo” also a sandwich? (Ze octopus’s name is Oero, for whom it may concern.)

If you have two pieces of bread stacked on top of each other, that would be an oxygen sandwich (assuming that most nonexistent readers live in places with oxygen) and if another piece was added on top it would be a bread sandwich. Following that logic, I’m guessing that all stacks of bread are automatically sandwiches.

Of course, I remember that sandwiches do not need to be closed off by bread, so that would make all edible things that are stacked a type of sandwich.

But, then again, do sandwiches need to be edible?

 

 

 

Mellow Yellow Episode 8: Chaos

MASTER tries to furiously eat another BREAD SNADWHICH. All the BREAD SNADWHICHES hurry into an open grave, afraid. Master is now completely green.

MASTER (to the SNADWHICHES): Wait! Come back! You are so tasty!

MARY and MAN WHO WAS EATEN MY MARSHMELLO laugh.

MARY claps a hand over her mouth as MASTER glares at her, still green.

MAN WHO WAS EATEN BY MARSHMELLO (still laughing): You look like the moldy pieces of bread you claim to love.

***

ARA looks up from her cell phone with an odd look on her face. LENA and JOHN continue to argue. ARA disappears and reappears in the graveyard.

ARA: I will never tell you my secrets (taps Master and he turns into a ghost)

Master: MY FEET!

***

ARA walks in through the wall. JOHN screams. His scream is oddly high-pitched. QUINN walks in in a wedding gown holding a SNADWHICH screeching California Gurls.

QUINN: CALIFORNIA GURLS, WE’RE UNDENIABLE. EIFFEL TOWERS ON TOP!

JOHN and LENA join in, “singing” different parts of the song. TICK enters, her hair now purple, a sobbing ZHAN chasing her.

Tick: Roar!

 

~~~~END

Growing Up: Some Random Thoughts

Growing up is hard, as many people often notice. For example, after one is grown, there is less fun, more work, and less free time. When most people become old, they reminisce their younger days when their joints didn’t hurt and they had time for fun and they didn’t know swear words.

But when most people are young, they cannot wait to become old. When they are old, they can have jobs, they can change the world, they can be tall. They wait in anticipation for the days when they are the firefighters rescuing cats, the police fighting bad guys and saving the cities, or the famous singers whose names everyone recognizes.

I was the oddball of the group. I wanted to stay young forever and I dreaded growing up. (I did want to be taller, though. But not too tall. I was terrified of how the banisters on stairwells would then be shorter.)

But one cannot help but grow up as it is in one’s DNA. However, even if you were to stay in a kindergartener’s body forever, you would still grow in experience. (Would it be acceptable to relate one’s age to the number of swear words they know?)

A negative side effect of growing up, besides banisters being shorter, is the loss of magic. I love fantasy books now, but I didn’t when I was younger. Maybe this love of fantasy is like a vitamin supplement to make up for the lack of magic in the real world.

When one is young, one believes in a whole variety of magical beings and one puts absolute faith in their existence. Such magical beings could include (but are not limited to) leprechauns, the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, other fairies, cats, gnomes, elves, Santa’s elves, Keebler elves, etc.

The uncertain existence of these magical beings brought a sense of excitement to otherwise mundane kindergarten life. I say uncertain for two reasons A) you never see them, even though you know they exist and B) the doubters out there always said you are wrong, even though you know deep down that it was they that were wrong.

When I lost my first tooth and I put it underneath my pillow, ecstatic for the soon-to-arrive tooth fairy’s arrival, the tooth fairy forgot my house. Predictably, I was quite upset that morning. I couldn’t believe that the tooth fairy had forgotten me.

My parental units sat me, the five-year-old without front teeth, down and told me that the tooth fairy and Santa Claus and leprechauns and other fairies and Keebler elves were all lies. They were stories and they were fake. This shattered my little heart. I don’t remember my reaction, but it was probably along the lines of screaming and/or crying.

But, of course, I wasn’t crying because I had discovered that Earth was populated solely by human beings (among plants, animals, and microscopic life, of course) instead of being inhabited by mythical all-powerful beings as well. I was crying because my parents had lied to me.

Lending Possessions

When I read Spinette’s post How To Create a Difficult Time For A Person Who Wants to Borrow Your Pencil, one memory kept flitting through my head and I thought, Hey, I could write a post about that!

Since I hadn’t yet read Spinette’s post at the time of this story, I sadly did not take revenge on this person. Let’s call him Kevin.

So Kevin was a tall, lanky guy. He always reminded me of Kilorn from Red Queen. Have you ever noticed how tall people sometimes have a hunch from always having to literally look down upon people whilst communicating to make eye contact?

Anyway, he sat to my right, which is the important part of the story, and he asked me for a writing utensil. Now, I had my pencil case open and right in front of me so I couldn’t claim to not to have any extras. I didn’t particularly want to share my writing utensils either because ever since Luke bit my pink crayon in half in second grade, I’ve been reluctant to lend my possessions.

So, by the rules of politeness, I was forced to lend Kevin my purple gel pen.

I should’ve blatantly lied.

Throughout the course of the class, I noticed him chewing on the end of my pen.

Suffice it to say that I inconspicuously disposed of it.

A Secret Code

You are a Secret Agent— if you can’t solve the Secret Code the whole world will explode. I will send my army to destroy you, if you cannot solve the puzzle by my next post. You have been warned. A big red button is in my wake, ready to tear the globe to pieces, Secret Agent. Good luck.

Wait! Since I am supposed to be a villain, I’m not going to give good luck. Instead, I give good demise.

BWAHHAWAHAAAWHAAA!

Jackie- A Short Story

If can’t already guess by the title, this post will be about a story of mine.

Description:

A retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk!

Kicking rocks along the street, boots worn, and short ginger colored hair-this is the outward look of a girl with many secrets, most of which she doesn’t even know.

Jackie is a rough seventeen year old girl, hardened by the loss of her parents. Today is the ceremony of the Storytelling of Jack, a warrior who protected her quaint village from an aggressive giant. Every year the once poor orphaned boy is celebrated for his achievements. Jackie looks on to Jack for inspiration, and dreams to climb up the Beanstalk just like him. But she can’t. Or at least, not without some help.

Magic flowing to the tips of her fingers, huddled over a leather notebook, scrambling with a ink pen is the Giant, so far in the sky. She sits on her cloud, sighing as she nostalgically feels something she cannot remember. It’s fluid like soothing water, but passionately burning like fire at same time, a magic she can’t even begin to place. The memories are so palpable, yet so far away—a still emptiness.

Who will fill the void in her heart?

(I know, it’s corny)

Prologue: 

Giant’s POV

-Have you ever seen a giant climb down a beanstalk? No? Well, this is what I did that night… so long ago.

Found one.

The little girl scuttled away, racing through the fields, her feet making these soft taps in the dirt. The dust billowed upon my face, as I stifled a cough, hoping desperately that she did not hear me in the still sound of the night. Choo! I sniffled. Not apprehending my presence, the adolescent ran off into the village, wearing a mask of urgency and with a slight crook in her thick eyebrows displaying swallowed, compressed fear.

I crawled through the forest of trees, my giant monstrous body causing them to rattle. Leaves crunched under my hands as I hastily tried to maneuver myself, every move a hideous crash. A few paces later, I perked up, surveying a villa. It was small, quaint, with wind slipping through the cracks of sleeping huts. Then I saw her. A blast of red, then the lock of the door. Click!

Circling around the suburb, I restlessly settled myself down near the home the adolescent sneakily slid into. I looked through a window, eager for the story I was about to unravel. The girl’s eyes were wide as she flinched at each minuscule squeak. I folded my fingers together, tight, as my eager thoughts flipped to dread, waiting for what was to come next for the poor girl.

She trudged down the hall, as my curiosity went along with her, my vision darting towards the next window, inside a kitchen. The teenager was haphazardly throwing damaged pieces of silverware, opening wooden cupboards and loudly calling for someone. Seamlessly, her tension softened into concern which, of course, quickly fastened into worry.

-Humans have crazy emotions.

Her ragged breath blew in and out, fixing itself with the rhythm that the house was bouncing along with the thumps of my heart. Ta-dum, ta-dum, tad-dum. It was the only constant thing among the chaos of her crashing, clashing and screams.

“Mother!” The call was adamant.

Nothing.

Immediately, like lighting, the girl’s boots clunked up the steps. With my curiosity on full blast, I grabbed the top of the house, pulling my face closer, almost so the very tip of my nose touched the window. This one uncovered a bedroom and an older woman sleeping peacefully. I hope her daughter doesn’t disrupt her calm tranquil dreams. I swiped a quiet , calculating finger across the window, feeling the texture of smooth glass. It was new to me— I never had felt it before.

Then a red swish flew through the door. The girl, I thought, recalling when I saw the red haired teenager enter the hut. Her cheeks were red, her hair matted with sweat, as she climbed onto the bed. She whispered something, something I couldn’t hear from the outside, so without weighing the consequences, I pressed my ear against the wall. Warningly, the house wobbled, dirt and planks falling from the roof. The girl fell on her napping mother, somehow failing to wake her up, but didn’t even gaze in my direction. Thank goodness. My shoulders fell, as I blew a gust of air from my lips, fogging up the window.

A shrieking cry emanated from the room, an incredible, incoherent cry that shook me from my head to my toes. Tinglings of the shriek vibrated in my mind, as I wiped the fog off the window, slowly unclothing the scene, my eyes progressively dilating, my brows folded in disbelief. I gasped, my fingers fanning in front of my “o” of a mouth.

The mother’s chest was scarlet with blood, a knife glinting from the wound. The mother’s blanket was thrown to the floor, and with that a terrifying secret.

-Don’t ever ask me to describe “death” of those creatures.

I ran away. Up the Beanstalk, in the middle of the town. Giant goblets of water drooped along my long, narrow face, flicking themselves off my jaw, wetting my hair and chest. I clutched at my breasts, thankful that I still have mine. Remorsefully, I took one last look of the village. It was so beautiful, with eerie hidden horrors lurking inside, a world of stars never seen above the clouds. I was so sorry that I had to leave so soon.

A early rising lumberjack yakked at my appearance. He withdrew his axe,  quickening my departure.

 

So… that’s my story! If you want to check out more of it, the story is on Wattpad too. I hope you guys will like it!

 

 

 

 

An Announcement

Greetings dear nonexistent readers,

I am sorry to inform you that due to the fact that Spinette and I have lives outside of the bloggo-sphere (shocking, I know), we will have to form a schedule instead of posting every single day.

We will have our normal posts on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and on Sundays, we will continue to have Mellow Yellow episodes. All the posts will be posted at 3:00 pm Eastern Time, as usual.

But fear not, dear nonexistent reader, for you can read our older posts that you may have missed or forgotten on the days that we are not present. We have archives at the bottom of our homepage. I’ve also added a calendar there.

Mutual dissent is appreciated.

Mellow Yellow Episode 7: Ghosts

MASTER and the other dead people are in the cemetery trying to find out how ARA became a living creature

MASTER: This is my first line!

BREAD SNADWHICH 1: …

BREAD SNADWHICH 2: …

ALL THE NEGATIVE NUMBERED SNADWHICHES: …   

MASTER: YOU BREADS ARE THE BEST! HUGS!

MARY: How did that girl manage to get all that energy to become a living being? (Narrows eyes intensely)

MASTER: Well, I don’t know. (pauses) Can you rub my feet?

MARY: No, MASTER. We are ghosts remember? Ghosts don’t have feet.

MASTER: DON’T DEFY MEEEEEE!

MARY: (shivering) Yes, MASTER. (tries to rub ghost-tail thing)

MASTER: STOP! THOSE ARE NOT MY FEET!

MARY: Exactly! You don’t have feet! (Covers her mouth, after realizing what she said)

MASTER: Okay… So can you rub my toes?

MARY: (facepalms) Now back to what I was talking about: How did ARA become a human again?

MASTER (With BREAD SNADWHICHES huddled around him): She’s a Mary Sue, remember! That’s why she was killed off.

MARY: She wanted to keep her secret from you! That’s why she died.

MASTER: I guess she didn’t want to reveal that the authors did not have an excuse to make her overpowered.

MARY: You are just a sore loser, you know that! (Covers her mouth again)

MASTER: Perhaps… But, maybe I should join ARA. It’s really boring being dead with you. And I really want to feel the spongy texture of my wife again.

MARY: How are you going to go? With your toes? (Covers mouth) Stop the disobedience, Mary! (to herself)

MASTER: Yes.

All the BREAD SNADWHICHES huddle together in a toe-like form. The toe taps MASTER and he becomes human again, and the BREADS become breads again.

MARY:
MASTER (to BREAD SNADWHICHES): Now I can eat you! (Eats a piece of BREAD)

MASTER becomes green in the face and spits out the BREAD. All the other BREADS back away.

MASTER (voice grave): NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I’m gluten-free!

 

~~~~END

The Difficult Retrieval of Turtles All The Way Down

Note: This is not a review.

I usually buy one book a month, and my October book was Turtles All The Way Down by John Green, but this book had an adventure before I finally recieved it.

I ordered it from Barnes and Noble online, as I always do, and then I went on my way.

A couple days later, my book still had not arrived, and I was wondering what was taking them so long. I was ready to read this book. So then I checked on my order and it said that my book had already arrived. Well, it wasn’t on my porch.

So then, I found out that I had shipped my book to my old house.

I recently moved, and my old home is two hours north of where I live. I also had no way to contact the guy who bought my house and therefore also recieved my book. I couldn’t even remember his name.

So I then called my friend, who works at the same place as the guy who bought my house (in my head, it’s still my house) and my friend then talked to the guy who bought my house. I think it most likely went like this:

Fred: Hey George!

George, ingrossed in his sci-fi video game grumbles a greeting.

Fred: So, George, have you recently recieved a strange package?

George nods incoherently.

Fred: Cool! Can I have it?

George shrugs as if to say, “Sure, why not?”. He isn’t particularly attached to the strange package.

 

*Three weeks later*

I finally got Turtles All The Way Down yesterday!

Grammar: Some Random Thoughts

Grammar is something I’m so-so at. I cannot label all the parts of a sentence and a lot of the finer details fly over my head, but I know enough to get me through writing blog posts without looking like a complete turnip. Although, a lot of my grammar skills come instinctively from reading so much, which probably explains why I can’t do it traditionally by going through millions of rules. (Commence squeaky voice. If this is a verb and that is a subject, then put a semicolon here and here, but not there, because if you put a semicolon there, your will inadvertently blow up the universe.)

But I think that the English language is missing a very important word: a pronoun to go with “person”.

Male is to he

as female is to she

as person is to ?

Often, people will use “their” as the pronoun that goes with “person” to avoid gender bias, but this is technically incorrect because “their” is plural and “person” is not. The correct phrase to use would be “he or she”, but this sounds unnatural and unless you are a very formal person, I doubt you’d use this in everyday language.

Male is to brother

as female is to sister

as person is to sibling

So I am asking you now, dear nonexistent reader, what shall this new word be?

A Recent Conversation Between Spinette and Arachnid

The following is a series of texts that Spinette and I participated in. All words have been copied with the consent of the texters.

S =  Spinette

A = Arachnid

S: Hello. You look wonderful today. [May I stress this was a texting conversation.]

A: Thank you.

S: You’re welcome.

A: Yep.

S: How do I look?

A: Green.

S: Does that mean I’m sick?

A: No, it’s a color.

S: Oh… But I’m not usually green. Are you?

A: I’m normally blue.

S: That’s too bad… What the use of being blue?

A: It’s bright.

S: Oh. Well, you didn’t answer my question.

A: What’s the question?

***Seven minutes later***

S: I don’t feel like answering.

A: Was it, “What’s the use of being blue?”. If so, I said it’s bright. If it was, “How do I look?”, I said green. And if it was if you are sick, I said no. And no, I’m not usually green.

S: Then what are you? Purple?

A: Blue.

S: Oh. I’d say you are rather smooth.

A: Okay. Which form of smooth?

S: Smooth. Like smooth.

A: As in “not rough”, or sunglasses smooth?

S: Like “your skin is smooth”. Neh.

A: So “not rough”?

S: Yes.

A: As I thought.

S: You say I look green. Do you like the color green? I like turtles, but not the color green.

A: Depends on the shade. Bye.

S: I would never want to look like a turtle. Bye.

How To Create a Difficult Time For A Person Who Wants to Borrow Your Pencil

“Can I borrow your pencil?”

We have all heard the phrase of the lunatic who can’t bother to carry a pencil or even a writing utensil at all times. Stupidity such as that just grinds my gears, because who wouldn’t want to have a multi-faceted-wooden-stick/writing-tool/weapon/stabber? I really can’t name a person who wouldn’t, except the pencil-borrowing shrimps who slug around and aren’t responsible enough to bring a pencil with them. Needless to say, I have been in the trauma-inducing situation of living without a pencil once or twice. But I am talking about that person who asks me ALL THE TIME for a pencil or pen and then ends up breaking it!

Do you want to get revenge on this person?

So first thing is first, find out about your borrower’s pencil habits. If not done so already, identify your pencil borrower. Do not just identify them, stalk them, know everything about them. See their behavior around pencils—what is his/her favorite type of pencil? What are his pencil pet peeves? How many times a day does he sharpen the pencil? How many lead refills does he need to last a year? These are all questions that are important to bring justice to your pencil borrower-breaker.

But the best thing to see, among all these things is this: How does he break the pencil? Keep in mind all his evil plans, from snapping the pencil in half to simply taking out lead from a mechanical pencil. Various writing-utensil-destroying methods may include exploding pens, filling in the top of a marker with another color, and pressing down on chalk so hard it becomes dust. Once you’ve realized what his worst type of pencil is, let’s say a normal wooden pencil, for example, move on to the second step.

From here, start giving out the culprit’s worst type of pencil, and make them almost unusable! Take out erasers, sharpen them until they are the shortest they could be, or do that thing where you take out the lead of a wooden pencil then put it back in so the next person who dares to borrow it has to go through the Seven Gates of Terrible Elementary Wooden Pencildom. So, for you rookies out there, let me introduce you to the seven gates.

Gate One is a dangerous warning of a dangerously stubby pencil— the master’s victim will have to push with all his might to get the last of the lead.

Next up, Gate Two, where he may have to go up to sharpen his pencil in front of the whole class with that old sharpener collecting cobwebs.

Now, he retreats back to his seat, ready for more writing when his lead snaps, which is Gate Three.

He goes back up again, Gate Five, his face reddening with shame.

Finally, when the sharpening is done, he wants to erase something, but he cannot because the lack of the eraser and also realizes that he has skipped the fourth gate, and now considers this the fourth gate.

The sixth gate involves asking desperately for an eraser and the master handsomely declines his request.

Annoyed, the master of the gates gives the young lad a handsome eraser.

The lad begins to erase, but he has scribbled all over his papers! The eraser writes instead of erases and is the greatest weapon in all of The Arts of Pencil Manipulation, also known as the last and seventh gate.

Step Three: repeat steps one and two over and over and over and over again. If your victim doesn’t get a new pencil, go on to the next step.

Now, it is ultimately time for step five, the most frightening and terrifying step of them all. Give them a vicious tool, an item that can never fill things in, virtually uneraseable:

THE CRAYON.

When Should You Start Celebrating Christmas?

Christmas should not be celebrated until at least the day after Thanksgiving.

Already, when I go out, I see Christmas decorations everywhere, but only a dusty turkey in the corner to represent Thanksgiving. But, as you probably know, dear nonexistent reader, if you’ve ever interacted with a calendar in your life, that Thanksgiving comes before Christmas. But then why are there more Christmas decorations everywhere, even though Thanksgiving has not yet passed?

By acknowledging the existence of Christmas before Thanksgiving, we are throwing Thanksgiving to the side, allowing it to be overshadowed by Christmas.

Now, I have nothing against Christmas, in fact, I adore Christmas. Who wouldn’t love a holiday where a slightly overweight man breaks into your home with absolutely no repercussions? (Make sure none of your possessions go missing after Christmas.)

I just have a problem when people forget Thanksgiving due to their anticipation of Christmas.

You can put up your tree the day after Thanksgiving, I wouldn’t mind, but not before.

Thanksgiving is the ultimate day of optimism when people are forced to think about how lucky they are and it is important enough not to be forgotten.

Second Grade Stories

Once upon a time, many years ago, in a land that is fairly close, there lived a second grader named Arachnid Weaver.

Arachnid was an averagely normal second grader; average height, average amount of letters in her name, average age (7-years-old).

Now, Arachnid Weaver was different in one way. She had misread the school supply list, so instead of having one 48-pack of crayons, she had two 24-packs of crayons. Arachnid, being a kind second-grader, shared her crayons with her friend, Ava, who hadn’t read the supply list at all and had no crayons. What was Arachnid to do with her second pack of crayons anyway?

Ava was a very nice second grader as well, and she treated her friend’s crayons with respect, using them for coloring purposes and nothing else. Since Arachnid always got her crayons back at the end of the day all in one piece, she didn’t mind Ava using her crayons.

Until one day.

Ava returned her crayons to Arachnid as usual, but when she opened the box, one of the crayons were missing.

“What happened to the bubblegum pink?” Arachnid asked. Maybe it had rolled under the table or Ava had misplaced it.

Ava held out a decapitated bubblegum pink crayon in her palm.

Little Arachnid took the pieces and clutched them in her hands, tears welling in her eyes. “What happened?”

Ava replied, “I dared Luke to bite the pink crayon in half.”

Arachnid yelped and thrust the potentially slobbery crayons into the nearby Luke’s hands and stomped away, ferociously wiping her eyes and mumbling, “You can keep it.”

It is safe to say that Arachnid refrained from sharing her crayons from then on for the fear of saliva contaminating her possessions.

And they didn’t live happily ever after.

The end.

Babies: Some Random Thoughts

When you think, you usually think in words. For example, if you are planning to eat pasta for breakfast tomorrow morning, you would think, Hey, you know what? I think I’m going to be crazy and eat pasta for breakfast tomorrow morning.

Personally, I prefer breakfast foods for dinner over dinner foods for breakfast, but that’s getting off topic. The main point is that those thoughts were in English, or whatever other languages you think in for our bilingual nonexistent friends.

Babies cannot speak, it’s one of the things that make them babies. But before they learn to speak, or even before they learn to recognize language, how do babies form thoughts? It wouldn’t be in words, as they don’t know any words. Would they think in colors? Images perhaps? Sounds? Sensations?

Well, they must think somehow. Babies may not be able to do math, but they aren’t daft. They certainly can communicate in their own way. But if they do think in images, let’s say, then how do these images come about? How do they identify the images without words? Language is such an important part of our lives, it’s hard to imagine what it was like before we knew any.

Everyone was a baby at some point or another, therefore everyone had the ability to think without words at some point in their lives. So do we still have this skill? Can we imagine an object in our minds and not give it a name?

And what would a baby even think about? It would certainly be different from what an adult thinks about as babies don’t have to worry about taxes quite yet.