Quality vs. Quantity

I was thinking the other day, as I occasionally do, about the phrase “quality over quantity.” This saying is useful when describing friends or hours spent studying or blog posts, but it is not always true. Sometimes quantity can be more important than quality.

For example, let’s consider Fred. Fred wants to start a sock business. He has scoured the globe for the perfect sheep with the softest, most unscratchy wool. He’s searched oceans and galaxies, talked to wise wizards and wise librarians, searched under rocks and inside the bellies of various beasts. After many years of humiliating fruitless searching and exhaustion, Fred finally did it. He found the perfect sheep.

He spent months in isolation, knitting away as the clock’s hands spun until he had created the most perfect, wonderful sock. It was the softest, the most breathable, the comfiest sock in existence. The quality was brilliant.

However, Fred only had enough wool to create one sock. Only a sad half of a complete pair. There simply weren’t enough socks to start a business. As there was only one magic sock in existence, Fred could sell it at an outrageously high price if he so wished, but he did not so wish. Through the years spent devoted to the creation of this sock, Fred had grown quite attached to it and he couldn’t bear to sell the love of his life to be worn on some random geezer’s stinky foot.

And so Fred had wonderful quality, but his lack of quantity led to a failed sock business.

Fred did, however, have a business-minded younger sister, Bethy. Bethy and Fred were always competing as children for their parents’ love. So while Fred spent years failing to find a sheep, Bethy took the opportunity to be better than her brother. She was going to start a successful sock business that would make her brother look even more incompetent in comparison.

Bethy’s socks didn’t have nearly as much care put into them as Fred’s sock did. Bethy business plan was to sell her socks at an absurdly low, low price so people would compulsively purchase them. In order to make them at such a low price, Bethy had to be clever. Instead of using wool, she used dandelion fluff. People paid her to weed their lawns and then she used those same dandelions to make her socks, which the same people later purchased. She also hired highly trained mice instead of people to make her socks because mice accepted cheese as payment.

Bethy’s socks weren’t of the highest quality. Her customers often complained of the socks being too fragile to wear and smelling oddly like rodent. But her customers’ contentment didn’t particularly concern her as long as they continued to purchase her socks.

And so Bethy had poor quality, but she did have quantity and a successful sock business, unlike Fred.

Now the question is, was there a point to this whole rambling story? No, not particularly. But it was fun to write.

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Cleaning Out My Spam Box

If you suddenly found yourself in possession of a genie’s lamp and you had three wishes, what would you wish for? Would you wish for the chance to reply to all those spam comments you get? Me neither.


The Liebster Award

music containing substantive, educational
messages to maximise their child. I suspect how the
clue to this particular thinking lay behind the tattoo right across
his forehead which simply read: “Mind the Gap”. Your other legitimate source on your NY Giants tickets could be the many licensed New
York ticket brokers, who walk out the way to arrange your tickets for you.

Maximizing a child sounds like a scary process. It’s like you’re viewing your child as a robot that needs to reach maximum efficiency. Also, the forehead is an interesting location for a tattoo. What does Mind the Gap mean? What gap?


On Surviving a Social Gathering

I don’t even know how I ended up here, but I thought this post was great. I don’t know who you are but definitely you’re going to a famous blogger if you are not already   Cheers!

Thanks! Cheers to you, too.


On My Sense of Smell

Wow that was unusual. I just wrote an very long comment but after I clicked submit my comment didn’t appear. Grrrr… well I’m not writing all that over again. Anyways, just wanted to say great blog!

Now I’m curious. What was the super long comment? Did it ever exist in the first place?


On Harry Potter Book Tag

By following the following tips and asking
the contractors some quick questions you’ll be in the better position to select
a qualified cardpet installer. The installation service mightt be more expensive than doing it
yourself but worth every penny all in the long
run. Less Maikntenance – The madket comes with a wide variety of carpets that
are stain-resistant.

Unfortunately, I’m not in the market for new cardpet at the moment. Just had mine replaced a year ago. It’s very lovely. Plush and gray and cardpet-like. I’m happy with it. Maybe you’d find more interest in your cardpet installation service if you knew how to spell the name of your own business?


On The Forgotten Blog Ideas

Eҳcellent bеat ! I would like to apprentice whilе you amend your web site, how could i ѕubscrіbe fⲟr a blog sitе?
The account aided me a accеptable ԁeal. I had bee a little bit
acquainted of this your broadcast offered bright clear idea

You think I could write songs from my blog posts? They’d all have excellent beats for sure. I’m flattered that’d you want to be my apprentice, but I’m unfortunately not accepting apprentices at the moment as I’m not amending my web site. To subscribe for a blog site, you click the subscribe button, I believe. I’m glad my account aided you acceptably, but I was hoping for spectacularly, so I’m a bit disappointed. You think I could make a radio show from my blog posts?

The Nightmare of Dentistry

I went to the dentist today. I despise the dentist.

But I have no cavities! Aren’t you so EXCITED that I have no cavities?! *Jazz hands*

I dislike the dentist so much because of the way they put their fingers in your mouth. Yes, they wear gloves, but still.

It’s also really wet. Yes, that drool sliding down your chin is yours, but it’s still spit. And it belongs in your mouth. And what about that suspicious clear liquid on the dentist’s glove? Is it water, or is it SPIT? My spit, but STILL!

Even more than doctorism, dentistry is one job I could never do. Day in and day out, you’re just sticking your hands in people’s mouths. So applause to all the dentists of the world for risking their sanity in order to keep people’s mouths cavity, pain, and dirt-free. *Claps*

ALSO. If there are any dentist out there reading this, please educate me on the rules of dentist-appointment etiquette. What the heck are you supposed to do with your tongue?!

  • Put it at the bottom of your mouth?
  • The roof of your mouth?
  • Follow the fingers/tools? This is what I tend to do. I try not to, but it’s not a conscious thing. Sometimes I remember not to, sometimes I don’t. But if I were the dentist and the patient were doing this…
    • Arachnid the Dentist (screams): AHHH! THE TONGUE IS ATTACKING ME!!! (Runs out of the office, leaving the patient strapped to the chair with multiple sharp objects in their mouth.)
  • Curl it up at the back of your mouth?
  • Lick the dentist’s tools?

When I’m at the dentist, I feel like a puppet. A very stressed puppet. Because here I am at the dentist’s mercy (I mean, if they wanted to, they could stab your mouth with those pointy tools) with sweat dripping down my back and the bright lights glaring at my eyes, masked dentists leaning above me with sharp tools at their disposal, thinking about all the other mouths these tools have touched (It’s the same principle as using a fork a restaurant), while the dentists are conversing with each other like normal human beings, occasionally asking you to tilt your head or open your mouth wider.

I Accidentally Dented My Wall… With a Comb

This week has been a long series of mishaps and general clumsiness. But after I got over the sheer mortification, it’s actually kinda funny.

So. STORY TIME.


How I Dented the Wall With a Comb

I was doing my homework this weekend, and a comb was on my desk. Now, this was a rather hefty comb. And I got very annoyed at this comb for being on my desk. (I know, I know. The comb’s only fault was existing. It didn’t deserve its fate.) So, I did the only rational thing and decided to get it out of my sight and into the closet. But… I decided to throw it into the closet instead of calmly walking it to the closet. Cuz, yeah. Maybe I was a bit frustrated. And true, I wasn’t frustrated at the comb. I was angry at my homework, but I couldn’t very well rip up my homework. So I threw the comb at the closet. And I’m not particularly athletic, and I don’t have particularly good aim nor descent hand-eye coordination. So, I completely missed the pile of clothes at the bottom of my closet and instead hit the wall. And I kinda sorta made a dent.

BUT.

At least it’s not a hole.


How I Nearly Killed a Flute With My Clumsiness

And a few days before that, I was in band class, sitting between the people who sit to my left and right. We will call them Leftie and Rightie for simplicity. So I turned my stand and knocked Leftie’s flute OFF OF HER STAND.

Leftie, unlike me, has very good reflexes and lovely hand-eye coordination, so she somehow, like a SUPERHERO, managed to catch her flute MIDAIR, while I was shouting “ohmygodI’msosorry.”

BUT.

Five minutes later…

I knocked my stand over and Leftie AGAIN manages to catch it in midair.

AND.

Half an hour later…

I knocked my flute into Rightie’s stand and dented it. (The flute, not the stand. Which is unfortunate because I’d rather the stand was the dented one.)


How I Burned a Bunch of Rubber in a Botched Chemistry Lab

In Chemistry, we’ve been doing a lab. Lovely, lovely, lovely lab.

Yesterday we didn’t finish the first trial and today we didn’t finish the second. But that’s not the point.

After heating a crucible, we set said very hot crucible down right next to the rubber tube that feeds the gas into the bunsen burner. And then the rubber melted.

LOVELY.

The end.


So. School’s started, and I’m doing homework almost every waking minute.

My schedule:

  • 6 am: Wake up.
  • 6:30 am: Go to school.
  • 2:30 pm: Come home.
  • 3 pm: Start homework.
  • 9 pm: Hopefully finish homework.
  • 10 pm: Go to sleep and start this whole horrid cycle all over again.

So. The blog’s been a bit neglected, unfortunately. I’m hoping that I figure out the secret key to doing homework faster (Do any of you guys know?). In the meantime, my plan is to schedule posts ahead on the weekends (but to do that, I’d need a weekend that’s not packed).

How to Get Out of a Pickle (ex: How to Open a Jar)

Are you stuck in a sticky situation? Well, Auntie Spin’s here to help you!

First, try to identify ze problem. Say the lid is stuck on a jar. What’s the problem? Is it the jar or the sticky lid? Also, make sure you identify the scent of the problem as well. If you don’t have a strong nose or for some mysterious reason don’t have one, you can always turn off the lights and find the little pickled demons hiding out. They usually are fluorescent purple.

Once you identified the problem which is (spoilers) obviously the jar, eliminate it. Destroy it. LET IT DIE. Don’t let it stay in your consciousness to rot and throw it away.

At the end of this step the jar should be broken or in other words, the pickle should explode.

Also, after you work your way through the first problem of a jar being rebellious, shards of glass may litter the floor. Practice your problem-solving skills and pick up the glass, or even better, smash it into smaller pieces.

At this point, your hands might be covered in blood. But look at it positively! Use it as an opportunity to redo the second step; elimination. Wash your hands thoroughly with lots of soap and keep on doing so even if it stings.

After this, you just may feel a sharp sensation under your feet. This is the perfect opportunity to identify the problem! Turn off the lights and look for the pickled demons. If they turn up, try using a conveniently placed missile to take it down.

Your house may come down with it, but at least you solved the problem, right?

A Rambling About the Purpose of Breathing and Mashed Potatoes

Welcome back to A Stream of Random Thoughts, where I will use a random word generator to generate a random word. After which I will say whatever crosses my mind!

Doesn’t that sound like fun? That sounds like a ton of fun!

Aren’t you EXCITED?!

(Can you tell by my tone that I have once again done WAY too much homework? I’m doing this while I’m trying to figure out my physics in the back of my head. It’s somewhere back there. It just has to emerge as the correct answer.)

So today’s word is…

SNIFF

 

What a wonderful word! I was thinking today, as I was walking down the hallway of my school, preparing to acquire more homework (aka, go to class), that some words are pretty because of what they mean, like bunny or happy or clover, and some are pretty because of the way they sound, like grotesque or ubiquitous or arbitrary.

bunny. happy. clover.

grotesque. ubiquitous. arbitrary.

I AM SENSING SIMILARITIES BETWEEN THESE WORDS.

My mind has exploded. You peeps must be wiping brain matter from your computer screens. Because that’s how it works. My brain explodes on THIS side of the computer, and my brain matter ends up on THAT side. (Look how connected we are. We’re friends. *Warm squishy feels*.) If only it worked like that. Then I could just reach through and steal all the cookies you guys bake without me. *pouts*

My brain is a mush. Bleh. Blech. Blah.

Blech is my favorite.

Has it occurred to you that I haven’t talked about the word sniff yet? So I was planning to go back around in a giant magical circle, but I got sidetracked because, with only slight exaggeration, my brain is a LITERAL MUSH. Bleh. Blech. Blah.

I’m breaking all the grammar rules with these fragment sentences and run-ons and WeIrd cAPitiliZAtions.

Hold on, my friend is texting me about the physics. She said my lab report was fine the way it was. She’s the second person who’s told me that. BUT I LOVE TO WORRY.

Well, back to sniffing. You sniff— I forgot about the magical circle!

Okay. I had to go figure out more physics and help Scorpion with math homework. But I’m back! And so is the magical circle.

But then I left again to wash my hands.

At this point, you guys probably think that the magical circle is way cooler than it actually is. It’s not. I hate to crush your hopes and dreams. I was just going to say that sniff is not pretty at all. It doesn’t mean a pretty thing and it doesn’t sound pretty either.

Sniff, in my opinion, is a rather annoying sound. That great inhalation. The even worse exhalation that comes afterward. Why do people even need to breath? That constant exchange of breath. Yeah, I just breathed in the air that was just INSIDE YOUR LUNGS, random stranger that I’m sitting next to on the airplane. I hate airplanes. And don’t even get me started on sneezing.

I’m just generally against most bodily functions. Blech.

Am I spouting weird mind-thoughts, peeps? My brain is a literal mush. Mushy mushy mush. Like a caveman mashed potato. You, dear reader, might be questioning the random caveman thrown in there. I am too. I don’t know, that’s what my brain decided to think when I actually meant MASHED POTATO. I pictured a mashed potato while I said a caveman.

That’s right. Welcome to my brain, where a mashed potato is a caveman.

How do you mash your potatoes, dear reader? (I always spell potato wrong, in its singular form. I always add an extra e.) Do you buy the boxed powder? Do you imagine the potato as the head of your enemy and aggressively throw it off of a tall building? Do you wash your hands thoroughly, imagine the potato as the head of your enemy, and destroy it bare-handed?

Do you, dear reader, believe that I need more sleep?

Create-A-Story Tag

Greetings, nonexistent readers! The wonderful Who… Am I? tagged me for this wonderfully unique tag. And I’m going to write a short story for all you marshmallows with NO PLANNING WHATSOEVER. Prepare for it to suck (but hopefully be amusing anyway).


RULES

  1. You pick your first word, your setting, and your story genre from the list below. As individuals, your brand of creativity is unique to yours, so we want to highlight that by letting you choose from a bunch of words and creating something beautiful out of it.

Create A Story Tag

  1. The short story will have a limit of 1000 words. You do not need to write a story with 1000 words exactly. It could be 300, or 500 as long as it doesn’t surpass a thousand.
  2. YOU HAVE TWO WEEKS TO ANSWER THE TAG.
  3. You must tag three people to participate.
  4. Don’t forget to link back to Keiko so she can collect all the stories. You can’t just link back to her WordPress since she won’t be alerted of the pingback. You need to link back to a post or a page because WordPress works like this.
  5. Use the Create-A-Story picture in the post.
  6. Copy and paste the rules in your tag post as well so others can be clued into the Create-A-Story rules.

My Combination: Station, Sea, and Comedy.

(Did you guys expect me to choose anything other than comedy?)

Station wagons apparently don’t work that well in the sea, as I’m finding out right about now. It’s rather unfortunate, but there’s nothing else to be done as fish, such as myself, don’t work quite well on land. But if an empty station wagon randomly drops from the sky like a bag of flour (long story), then what’s a fish to do other than abduct said station wagon? It’s not like we get a lot of them around these parts. It’s a bit more humid than a station wagon’s usual habitat, so they tend to avoid the ocean.

But like most other species, there are some individuals that tend to be somewhat more reckless than the general population, giving the general population a bad reputation, leading to the general population being disappointed in the certain individual and shunning them, leaving them alone to lead a life of misery and loneliness, and possibly crime. A prime example of such an individual would be the station wagon, and another would be me.

I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for station wagons to fly. I don’t know about you, but it’s not often that you find them in the sky. Or in the ocean. And it’s definitely quite illegal for fish to steal station wagons. Not that I see a motive for a fish to steal a station wagon. Because as I said, station wagons don’t work that well underwater, so, therefore, a practical fish wouldn’t see the point of risking their reputation to steal a station wagon that wouldn’t work anyway. You drop a cherry-red Ferrari from the sky though, and I bet even the most rational fish would attempt to take it.

My incurable loneliness and criminal record and general disregard for rules and all that are beside the point, though. The point is that this station wagon is sinking and I’m stuck inside. &%#, I wish this were a convertible.

But, you know, I’m an optimist. Maybe wrongfully so, but I still am. At least I don’t have to be afraid of drowning. But, I do have to have to be afraid of the Porpoise Police Force that I see quickly approaching in the rear-view mirror. Because, you know, I’ve just stolen this station wagon.

The station wagon finally finishes its descent and it thunks to the ocean floor, raising a cloud of dust that blocks the windows. When it clears, a Porpoise Police Officer is waiting outside the window. She bangs on the window and mouths at me to roll it down. I mouth back that I can’t. She rolls her eyeballs. I imagine her as a taxidermied porpoise with her eyes as glass marbles that fall out of her head and roll around the ground until an ominous, but vague and undefined, force plucks them off the ground and makes me eat them. I gag. She cringes. She smashes the window in with a conveniently-placed hammer she found in the back pocket of the pants she wasn’t wearing and I swim out.

“You have a license, sir?”

“No, madame.”

She glances at me over the top of her glasses.

“That’s fine. We’re sea creatures.”


Okay, that’s it. Abrupt ending. I have no idea where I was going with that. They were the words that my traitorous fingers wanted to write with NO PLANNING WHATSOEVER.

Hopefully, it wasn’t that bad.

Anyway, I’m Tagging…

The Wrong Way to Wave

There is only one successful way to wave. You wave at Target Person and Target Person waves back. Your mission is complete. Congratulations.

Unfortunately, there are a lot more ways to fail spectacularly at waving. Fortunately, these failures are often quite amusing (for unattached observers. Definitely not amusing for all parties involved. Mortifying for them).

  1. When you think someone’s waving at you, but they’re actually waving at the person behind you.
    • You were having an awful day (You spilled orange juice all over your jeans, and no matter where you go, people kept asking if you peed your pants), but the cheerful wave from your acquaintance turned your day around. At least someone is happy to see you. You excitedly start to wave back when you notice that your acquaintance is looking at their friend, who is behind you and waving nonchalantly. They also have dry pants. You awkwardly put your hand in your hair like that’s what you meant to do the entire time.
  2. When you think that someone is waving at the person behind you, but they are actually waving at you.
    • You are walking down the hall, deep in thought, when you see an acquaintance of yours in your peripheral vision waving vigorously. As you have low self-esteem, you conclude that no sane person would purposefully wave at you and they must be waving at the person behind you. Having reached this conclusion, you dutifully ignore you acquaintance, allowing the person behind you freely wave without a doubt as to whether they are being waved at. As you continue down the hall, you see your acquaintance’s face fall and they burst into tears. You surreptitiously glance behind you. Did the Target Person not see you acquaintance waving? The hallway is empty. They were waving at you. They are now weeping excessively because of you and now you are weeping excessively because of how guilty you are.
  3. When you wave at someone, but the person behind them waves at you.
    • You are walking down the hall when you see one of your friends. You wave enthusiastically, but they are reading and walking (which is inadvisable) and they don’t see you. A distant acquaintance (you went to kindergarten together, but you haven’t spoken since, although you do acknowledge each other’s existence occasionally), on the other hand, does see you and is waving back at you. Instinctively, you awkwardly wave again, a grimace on your face because of your hand’s betrayal.
  4. When you wave at someone, but they don’t see you.
    • You are walking down the hall when you see one of your friends. You wave enthusiastically, but they are reading and walking (which is inadvisable) and they don’t see you. You awkwardly put your hand in your hair like that’s what you meant to do the entire time.
  5. When you pretend to wave at someone so people don’t think you’re lonely.
    • This one really doesn’t need an explanation.

Mellow Yellow Episode 29: Why Is It Called Mellow Yellow?

MASTER (skipping into LENA’s room): Guess what?

LENA: WHAT?! (pulls out her earbuds, annoyed, with her annoying annoyed face)

MASTER (his face lighting up, as well as his fluffy hat): It’s the 29th episode! Can you believe it?

LENA (rolling her eyes): How could I forget? (She drawls on with a sarcastic tone) The 29th episode of… (she pauses and her eyes widen)…Mellow Yellow?

MASTER is in an animal-like trance, his hat on his back like a turtle shell. He chuckles, ignoring LENA in his joy. LENA briefly wonders why it’s called Mellow Yellow.

LENA: Master? Are you okay?

KYR (suddenly appearing): Master’s favorite number is twenty-nine. He goes back to his caveman instincts on the 29th of each month.

LENA (raising an eyebrow): It’s the 22nd.

KYR: Precisely.

LENA (shaking her head and deciding to move on): Kyr…you’re pretty smart. Do you know why our show is called Mellow Yellow?

KYR: You don’t know? (laughs)

UNKNOWN VOICES: We know!

The unknown voices are revealed to be TICK and TOCK, the two sticking their heads out the door.

LENA (hungry for answers): Why?

TOCK: Precisely.

TICK falls asleep.

MASTER (revived from his trance): You guys don’t know anything?

LENA (screaming): PRECISELY! Now, why is it called Mellow Yellow?

MASTER: According to Wikipedia, Mello Yello is a highly caffeinated, sugar-filled, citrus drink. As a group we are also a highly caffeinated, sugar-filled citrus drink, so to avoid copyright violations I named this thing Mellow Yellow.

TICK, TOCK, LENA, and KYR: That makes sense.

Mellow Yellow Episode 24: Author’s Note!

THE WEBWEAVERS are in the office of Arachnid’s Arctic Paradise deciding on what to do next for Mellow Yellow.

ARACHNID: I don’t know what to do next for Mellow Yellow… Ever since that Peeps talked, I couldn’t find any ideas!

SPINETTE: We can do a documentary on eating Yo-Yos featuring the two silent mimes!

ARACHNID: (Rubbing her hands like an evil genius) No. We need something original, something fresh, some—

SPINETTE: (hammers table with fist) Something to give Rue a purpose!

ARACHNID: Not that, Spinette!

SPINETTE (dejected): Owwwieee…

ARACHNID (ignores SPINETTE): Maybe we can bring Attendant back!

SPINETTE: I’m bored! I’m going to go look at memes, I mean… edit Outside In now.

ARACHNID: NO, YOU AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE! (pulls on SPINETTE’s shirt)

ARACHNID and SPINETTE sit there for a very long time.

SPINETTE: What if we used memes?

ARACHNID: Great idea!

 

~~~~END

Funny Scenarios

I was carefully spoon-feeding my boyfriend the bits of my leftover pizza when my little sister walked by. A piece of pepperoni fell on her head as he refused another bite. My sister made a face. “You people are weird.”

Suddenly, a giant broccoli sprouted up from the ground, spraying dirt all over my neon-plaid farmer’s overalls. I cried, “Stupid carrot!”

I was walking down the street, gulping down an 11.9-inch sub. A cute dog gave me sad puppy eyes, panting for a strip of bacon lolling on the edge of my meal. Those eyes were so adorable that I ended up giving the little dog the whole thing. Of course, puppy eyes sell high on the black market as well.

The large football player walked up to me, grunting like a caveman, “What grade I get on math test, Teacher?” I declared his grade, “A++++++++!” and darted off, hoping that he wouldn’t pound me into the ground for giving him such a terrible grade.

A cat slunk under the bathroom stall, its whiskers brushing against my bare ankle. He chomped at the clipped nails I left for him, purring at the bent metal. “I must be going now, cat.”  I pulled up my shorts and left.

Casually, I slipped out the of the Skee Ball section of the arcade and headed for Pac Man, my favorite game. There was one machine and a fish was taped onto the screen. I took the fish and got 10,000,000 tickets.

The cloaked man relayed the message into my ear, “Thanks for joining this important FES conference. The Flat Earth Society has members all around the globe, just like you.”

I was a naughty kid this Christmas and, as usual, Santa gave me heaps of coal. While my brothers and sisters were opening up their presents, I was wasting my time watching a documentary on global warming and how burning coal destroys the ice caps. Now I know what I’m doing for my New Year’s resolution.

“Mom, it’s cold in here!” My son hugged himself, his teeth chattering from the AC turned all the way up. I turn to him, sighing at his stupidity. “Go to the corner, Jimmy.” I walked him over to the corner of the room. “Why?” he asked, still shivering. I answered, “Aren’t you getting any warmer? This corner is 90 degrees!”

I’m an astronaut. I’ve been missing my family and I want a party when I go back home from this space trip. Up here though, there is no way I could planet.

 

 

Mellow Yellow Episode 19: Pool Party

In CYRA’s homely cottage, setting up a kiddie pool

CYRA: (whipping LUR) All done! I think your blood has filled up the pool!

LUR (weakly): Get me out of here.

CYRA: Yay! I’m going to change into my swimsuit, okay? You wait here.

LUR: I’m tied up! (struggles with the ropes)

 

***

 

CYRA: I’m back! (Now dressed in a green bikini, and is untying LUR)

LUR: What is this? A pool party?

CYRA: Yeah! I got the drinks too! (holds up a wine glass filled with blood. ZHAN’s eyeball floats on top) Want one?

LUR: No.

CYRA: Not even with these silver noodles he had clenched in his hands? (slurps TICK’s hair) They are quite tasty.

LUR: NO.

CYRA: Don’t you want to have some fun? (Puts hand on his shoulder)

LUR: … (Flashbacking wildly)

CYRA: Hello? Lur? (waving her hands frantically in front of his face) Oh well, I guess I could just look in that bag that you have…

LUR: … (Lost in the land of Flashback)

CYRA: (rummaging through his bag) Let’s see… bullets, an array of forks from different countries that don’t exist, Slugventures, and a single by Katy Perry. (Rubbing dust off the cover) Ooooh! California Gurls! This is perfect!

LUR: (back from his journey) Hey! What are you doing?

CYRA places the disk into a conveniently placed disk player.

California Gurls plays

LUR (Singing along): CALIFORNIA GURLS, WE’RE UNDENIABLE, DAISY DUKES… (Looks from his swim trousers to her bikini frantically)

CYRA: EIFFEL TOWERS ON TOP! (An Eiffel Tower grows out of the ground behind them)

QUINN is in the bushes with popsicles, ready to fire, along with his army men, JOHN, and LENA.

CYRA and LUR: FUN, FRESH, FIERCE, SO HOT. WE’LL—

QUINN: FIREEEEEWEEE! (JOHN fires the popsicles, but they melt in the air)

CYRA and LUR: MELT YOUR POPSICLE!

QUINN: So this is the true power of the Fire Nation.

JOHN: Yes, they are almost untouchable!

LENA: But it looks like they are having a lot of fun. Look at those yummy snacks they have!

JOHN: Let’s go!

JOHN and LENA rip off their clothing (they are wearing bathing suits), running toward the pool party, leaving QUINN all alone.

QUINN: Hello darkness, my old friend.

LENA: (wearing a blue bathing suit, settling down in the blood pool) Hey guys, what’cha up to?

JOHN: Yeah. What up? (In red swim trousers)

LUR: (with an idiotic smile) The Eiffel Tower!

JOHN’s eyes narrow.

CYRA sucks on ZHAN’s disembodied finger

JOHN: You are supposed to say “the ceiling” (Disgraced, he leaves the pool, tripping over the finished glasses of ZHAN’s blood)

LENA: I guess it’s just us now, huh?

LUR: Hey! I just realized now that I can escape!

CYRA takes LUR, folds him into a sandwich, and sits on him. She finishes him off with a dagger to the cheek.

LUR: Ow.

LENA: (Petrified) What? Is this stuff not fruit punch?

CYRA grabs LENA’s swimming suit, folds her into a burrito, and uses her as a footrest. She slurps her ZHAN-blood desperately trying to fit the eyeball into her mouth.

JOHN: (In the bushes with QUINN) The Fire Nation is truly despicable.

QUINN: Yes. (bites Bread Snadwhich three)

 

~~~END

 

Football: Some Random Thoughts

I wrote a post a while back about football, and as I’ve heard that the Super Bowl is today, I am shuffling this post to the top of the card deck. (Yay analogies!) I’m not really a sporty person. I have no idea what the football is actually supposed to be about. It’s a sport. (???)

I’ve always viewed sports as sort of a mock-war to satisfy the human thirst for violence while being less-violent because we value life. A sports-person would probably disagree. Even I sort of disagree with myself. *Shrugs* It seems as though I’m having trouble forming coherent thoughts today.

I usually just watch the Super Bowl for the commercials and the half-time show. I don’t even know who’s playing. (I don’t know how I missed this. I mean everyone’s talking about the Super Bowl.)

GO SPORTZ!!!

(I like hockey the best, but I don’t really keep up with it.)

So yeah. Football!


I am very clearly not an athletic person. The only game I can somewhat play almost decently is tennis, but I dislike playing tennis, and the only sports game I watched was hockey. But I only watched hockey twice, and it wasn’t really of my own free will.

So being generally unathletic, I tend to look at sports differently than athletic people, which brings us to our question of the day: Why is a football called a football?

First, let us consider the first part of this compound word: foot.

Even with my limited knowledge of sports, I know that footballs are usually carried or thrown, and things that are carried or thrown by humans are usually carried or thrown by the hands, not the feet.

But we shall let this part of the word slide because footballs are occasionally hit by the foot (aka “kicked”) when a player is attempting to launch the football in a parabolic arc through the tuning fork-shaped apparatus.

So the “foot” part of “football” has been considered acceptable, although it is not the ideal choice of word. The most troublesome part of the word is “ball,” anyway.

According to Dictionary.com, a ball is “a spherical or approximately spherical body or shape; sphere.”

A football is clearly not a sphere.

It’s shaped more like a lemon.

Let’s all call it a footlemon!

P.S. That looks like foo-tulle-mon, but it is pronounced foot-le-mon.

Mellow Yellow Episode 17: A Conversation

TICK, TOCK, and QUINN are having a conversation in the Velvet Mines.

TICK: So, Quinn? How did you get your hair like that? (Touches his ropey-lopey hair.)

QUINN: Mary was REALLY bad at doing my hair.

TICK: How bad?

QUINN: REALLY BAD.

TOCK licks wall in anticipation.

QUINN: Ok, I’ll tell you… It all started a long long long long long time ago…

TICK licks TOCK in anticipation.

QUINN: When I was young, Mary used to always pay attention to her training and had no time to watch over me. I would do extremely dangerous things because she didn’t watch. That’s why I finished college so young!

TICK and TICK are snoring.

QUINN (grossed out): And then…

TICK and TOCK lick the wall.

QUINN: I got my normal hair stuck in a giant tub of caramel! The caramel was beaten out of a snowy egret that I tackled while Mary was making evil plans.

TICK: That’s weird!

QUINN: YOU GUYS ARE WEIRD!

TOCK: (Licks TICK) How are we weird?

QUINN: Why are you licking everything like it’s a popsicle?

TOCK: It’s a trick that we learned from Pippie Senpai. And it’s made of cake.

QUINN: Whatever! So back to my story, after my hair got stuck in the caramel it clumped together in ropey things. And that’s how my hair came to be!

TICK: Oh really? Are you sure that you didn’t just make that up to explain to us “uneducated individuals” that you were just born with natural hair?  (Pulls on his hair sharply.)

QUINN: NO!

TICK pulls a bit more.

QUINN: The story is completely real!

His hair pops off, revealing a downward-pointing arrow on his forehead.

TICK and TOCK: ARE YOU THE AVATAR? QUINN (embarrassed): No, no, this is just an arrow indicating of which way I should put on my wig. The caramel burnt it away. (Pauses, and then whispers) Don’t tell anyone, okay?

JOHN waltzes into the room.

JOHN: ZHAN’S DEAD!

QUINN: THE FIRE NATION HAS ATTACKED!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

TOCK (to TICK): I’ll protect you Asami!

 

~~~END

 

A Stream of Thoughts|Beards

Hello nonexistent readers!

These posts where I just write down whatever I’m thinking turned out to be a lot of fun, so I’m turning it into a series!

Yay!

It will be called “A Stream of Thoughts”.

Today’s word is “beard”.

Do people wash their beards with shampoo? I mean, it’s hair. Or do they use soap because beard hair isn’t on the head?

Or do they have special beard soaps?

If so, why is it beard soap and not shampoo? But I said soap, so it could be shampoo. Or it could be something else entirely, like zingblitelle. But both soap and shampoo start with an “s”, therefore, it only makes sense that the beard-washing substance would also start with an “s”.

So it would be “singblitelle”.

What happens if one thought leads to two others? How would I organize that in a post? Could I make a flow chart?

How would I make a flow chart?

I’m straying off the topic of beards. But I don’t know all that much about beards. I don’t have one. “I don’t have one” made it sound like a beard is a pet. I suppose it could be. Pets are furry. Beards are furry. But what is the beard equivalent of a fish or a cactus?

Dumbledore has an impressive beard.

Do people brush their beards? Are there special beard brushes?

I met a man who braided his beard once. He was nice.

I know that there was a man long ago who died because of his beard. I’m not entirely sure if I accurately remember all of the facts, so I probably shouldn’t put my possibly incorrect information on the internet, but oh well.

So there was a man long ago who died because of his beard. His beard was really long and he’d keep it in a little pouch, but one day he didn’t put it in his pouch and then he was running for some reason or the other. I can’t remember why he was running, though. Was he running just for the fun of it or away from something? If I had to guess, I would say he was running away from something and that something might be a fire. Not sure though, so don’t quote me.

But anyway, he was running and he tripped on his beard and snapped his neck.

Beeeeeaaarrrrds.

Pirates have beards.

My old math teacher had a beard.

Dumbledore has a beard.

Let’s talk about Harry Potter now. So I read Harry Potter over the course of 2017. I was pretty late to the game, as most of my classmates had read Harry Potter in either third or fourth grade. So while I was in the process of reading it, for some reason, it seemed as though everyone was talking about nothing but Harry Potter. Specifically, who died. So before I finished Harry Potter, I had a list of everyone who died and who lost their ears.

Going back to pirates. I haven’t read many books about pirates.

Well, I’m going to end abruptly now. I haven’t been able to find a good way to end these posts yet. I mean, a stream of thoughts will continue on and on for hours.

 

P.S. I know the picture is a mustache and that a beard and a mustache are different things. But I just really like that picture. And you know what? It’s close enough.

Mellow Yellow Episode 15: Outside In

TICK, TOCK, and MASTER are selling Outside In novels in the busy streets of Almuerzo.

TICK: Buy them fresh from the counter! Get some copies of Outside In today!

TOCK: Yes, this book will always keep you on your toes!

MASTER: EVEN IF YOU DON’T HAVE ANY! (becomes a ghost)

LENA walks up to the stand wanting to purchase some books while JOHN follows her, scoffing at how bad it is.

LENA: Can I have one?

TOCK: Sure! Tick, can you grab one for her?

TICK: Here. (holds up Outside In: The Guide To Indoor Gardening)

JOHN: What! I thought it was just Outside In!

LENA: (Raises eyebrow) What in the world is that?

MASTER: We don’t have that title, but, if you want, we have free Masters!

JOHN: Ooooh! Plushies!

TOCK hands him a Master Lock.

LENA: Can I have one too?

JOHN cries, dying his hair a light purple color

ZHAN: YES! (shaves him bald)

JOHN cries even harder.

 

~~~END

A Makeup Tutorial from Spinette

Dear nonexistent readers,

Due to the impending doom and sneaky approach of midterms, it seems as though the days have inexplicably shrunk.

Apologies to all who have been here long enough to have read this post before, but I will be reposting an old post by Spinette.

Hello! Today we will go over the basics of how to cover up your web blushes! Most people don’t have web blushes because they know how to apply makeup properly, and if you are a lousy bum like me and can’t put on this stuff, this should be very useful.

First, we get the foundation! I like to use a moderate layer of cupcake frosting, since it comes in all different colors and is very diverse. Put it on your face, making sure to cover up everything! If flies and frosting lovers surround you, you are doing very well. Soak up that attention!

The next thing we do is the blush. This is a very, very, very important part of applying cosmetic appliances. I enjoy using Arachnid’s red stick that she puts on her lips. She honestly has no concept of beauty, since red is used for blushes and she doesn’t even have any! In circles, put it on your cheeks. At this point, your red stick should be only a stub. Don’t hold back!

Now for the lipstick. With the little stub you have from the blush, use the last of it on your lips. It should be pink now since you rubbed it onto the frosting (or some other shade with a touch of red if you are a person of color) This, in turn, will give a natural look to your lips. Use the whole stub.

Last but not least, the eyeliner! I use a black fine-point Sharpie to do this. The fine point will allow for thin lines and thick lines too. Use it on your eyes and your eyebrows. Make your eyebrows thick and pointy, making sure the eyebrow doesn’t even look like an eyebrow!  It is very unnatural to have eyebrows since you could look like a certain fourth-wall-breaking slug.

Most people would stop here, but I go above and beyond and do my hair as well. I usually do a messy bun, using a bread bun to measure how high my hair poofs up. On special occasions, I put sugar in my hair, since it makes me look like Elsa and it tastes nice when I get nervous.

For fashion, I usually choose long, dramatic, blood-red capes; short, sunny, yellow tank tops; and Aladdin size pants. I look good in almost everything, except high heels. I still wear them though, as a weapon for defense, in case Arachnid gets mad at me for using up her red stick.

Yay! Now you can go out and look super duper pretty! People might point out your incredible fashion sense, laugh with you on the streets, or gaze at you with lovesick side glances.

Have fun with your new look!

 

My Pet Moths

Dear nonexistent readers,

Due to the impending doom and sneaky approach of midterms, it seems as though the days have inexplicably shrunk.

Apologies to all who have been here long enough to have read this post before, but I will be reposting an old post.

 

When I said that my only pets were plants, I lied. Unintentionally, of course. I also had some pet moths.

Way back a long time ago, in kindergarten to be specific, everyone in my class received a board game. I mean, technically it was a board game, but it was printed on regular printing paper, which, as the name implies, is used for printing upon. Usually. Printing paper has a plethora of other uses too, which I’m sure you can use your own imagination to figure out.

So anyway, returning to the point at hand, my lovely kindergarten teacher gave us all a board game and Mexican Jumping Beans. I was entranced by the beans. My five-year-old mind could not process the magic of legumes that moved on their own. Usually, legumes require people to move them.

We were not told that Mexican Jumping Beans are not, in fact, beans, but rather they are moth larvae.

So I brought four or five moth larvae home, convinced that they were magical beans.

For a few minutes, days, or weeks, I can’t remember, we all played this lovely board game with my magical beans. It was brilliant.

Then, one morning, I wake up, as most people do on most mornings, and I decided to play my lovely board game. I was very surprised to find that the little plastic box where I kept my magic beans were full of moths.

 

Mellow Yellow Episode 14: Lena’s Birthday!

LENA is lonely and wondering if anyone actually remembers her birthday. She sighs, opening her present to herself. It is a sock, although there is only one. She lost the other half of the pair somewhere between buying it in the clearance section and wrapping it.

LENA puts the one sock on her hand. She grabs some googly eyes from her pocket and makes a sock puppet.

JOHN bursts in through the door. He is wearing a banana suit.

JOHN: Never fear! John is here!

LENA: Do you know what day it is today?

JOHN: Yep. It’s Wednesday.

LENA: Yes… but is it a special Wednesday?

JOHN: Uhhhh… I think it might be International Squid Day, but that may have been last week.

JOHN strokes the sock puppet, deep in thought, then looks closer at the puppet.

JOHN: Hey! It has googly eyes! Is it your birthday? You only ever carried googly eyes in your pocket on your birthday.

LENA (looking pleased): Yes it is! I’m now officially seventeen. Did you get me anything?

JOHN: I did, in fact.

JOHN drops to one knee and pulls out a ring box.

JOHN: Lena, will you make me the happiest potato in this room and marry me?

Opens ring box to reveal half eaten pretzel.

LENA looks at JOHN incredulously.

LENA: No.

JOHN hops to his feet.

JOHN: Okay. It was part of the competition to win Bread’s love, anyway. It was to see who can throw the most romantic proposal. I think I’ll get extra points since it was your birthday/Wednesday and my ring was so tasty. I think Zhan is going to propose to Tick. Or possibly her shoe.

 

~~~END

 

Mellow Yellow Episode 12 1/2: Filler Part 2, The Attendant Special

Due to sympathies felt by the authors, it has been decided that the ATTENDANT will receive more minimal lines to abate her unquenching thirst for the spotlight. Albeit, we will only refer to her as “ATTENDANT” to preserve her anonymity so she is protected from crazed fans and, most importantly, her ego doesn’t grow larger than it already is.

ATTENDANT (to an invisible audience): Oh! I’m so emotional. This is too much… All I can say is….. THANK YOU!

With that, she bursts into song with her surprisingly glorious voice.

ATTENDANT: MASSACHUSETTS GURLS, WE’RE DENIABLE. DULL, OLD, MILD, LIKE ONIONS ON TOP.

KYR and JOHN are the only people still in the store. KYR bursts into applause. JOHN looks aghast at ATTENDANT’S horrible interpretation of the classic song. Although, he must admit, her voice is only second to his own.

MASTER, now a ghost (he has obtained the ability to morph between the two forms), floats through the door and steals a dress for BREAD. It is made of a mixture of bologna and salami, although why a dress like that was in a fancy dress shop and not a deli eludes all.

ATTENDANT: I thought I screamed at you to get out of here!

 

~~~END