Skip navigation

Notice my clever use of homophones.  This is the epitome of true genius.

The Grand Canyon is a ditch with a dirty trickle of water flowing through it. And it’s red.

Siege on the treehouse necessitated that hot oil be dumped on the encroaching enemy.  When no burning oil was to be found, the shredded remains of a phone that barely survived winter had to substitute.  The enemy vanquished, the treehouse was safe, but now the tattered remains of the phonebook lay on the ground.

A mass of miniature jungle, untamed, called for domestication.  The powerful cutter truncated each towering blade, but would not be satisfied with this meal.  Twigs splintered in its severing vortex, shreds of paper once belonging to a phonebook that lay helplessly on the ground were mutilated beyond seeming possibility, and, confetti-ized, lay once again on the cruel earth open to any more persecution that could find them.

Calling hours are–

I have hardly glanced at this blog thing since my last post.  Stories.

Within me a great sadness consumes my organs for I know that school is out for the next few months.  I have only my summer reading assignments to console me now.

Adding to my list of games-with-rackets-that-I-played-in-the-street-with-Mark I now have badminton.  I am rather awesome at it, regardless of Mark’s denial.

I biked to get some ice cream.  On the way to Ice Cream Land, I spied the crushed carcass of a murdered butterfly on the road.  The juxtaposition of two of its kin flying by carelessly, full of vitality, brighter in hue, saddened me.  The return from Ice Cream Land brought about a vicious attack from a crazed Rottweiler.  Some of my awesome samurai skills probably saved me.  If only the camera had been rolling it’d be up on YouTube by now, gone viral.

I’ll try to update this blog at least once a week.  Patience is rewarded with the need for more patience.

My friend’s cat may have cancer.  Its back leg is swollen and has two lumps on it.  It will be going to visit the veterinarian tomorrow to determine the cancerousness of the bumps.  In the chance that it does have cancer, my friend’s mother is taking pictures of children with Cancer Cat to remember it.  Pictures are five dollars for non-family members.  If you are interested, comment, and I’ll not get back to you because I’m not actually trying to solicit anything.  Sadness fills the cat-loving sector of my soul.

A trip to visit my aunt in Michigan brought into my possession a bird clock.  Walking through the clock section of a store, I saw it, and my father’s interest in its uniqueness along with my passion for birds convinced him to open the wallet and swipe the card.  The clock is birdish, in that at each of the twelve spots where a number would be, is an illustration of a friendly songbird.  On each hour, the bird chosen by the hour hand sings his song.  It  is a magical experience, and though others warn me that its novelty with fade away into annoyingness, I cannot see that in my future.

This past week my computer died, and all files and stuff were lost.  Being without a computer for a few days (and being unable to post on my oh-so-frequently updated blog) was not much fun.  But, I have returned, and now the world can start revolving again.

I recently wrote the letters SGT on my hand, as reminders.  I do things like this fairly often; however, this was one of the most obscure significations on my hand, as it stood for “Stab Bob Goose Transformer.”  Anyone who asked me what it stood for received that answer.  They were still confused, and I was enthralled.

Grocery shopping with my mother is fun, mostly because I’m surrounded by food, but today was especially fun, thanks to some old guy.  He was standing in my mother’s way as she was pushing the cart.  When he became aware of this, he excused himself, and said to my mother, “You can hit me if you want.”

This was a shocking and hilarious thing to hear from him, but if that wasn’t enough, he pointed to his wife and said, “Whenever I get in her way, that’s what she does.”  He pointed to a bruise on his hand.  “You see what she did?  She’s so mean!”

He finished with this: “She’s so mean, I saw her pushing little ducks into the water!”  I assume that’s old-person-speak for “she cuts up puppies to eat”, or similar.

Likely the coolest old guy ever.

My parents decided, after a frantic search to find the hole puncher so that I could organize my biology notebook, that the phonebooks needed a thinning of the herd.  That is what I did today.  Sit on the edge of your seats in anticipation!  I have done the unthinkable!  I have burned no less than FIVE phonebooks!

They were of various sizes.  I scattered them on our burn pile, and lit one, the one that burned so diligently, it left not even a spine to be nailed.  Likewise, another performed, but the others were stubborn.  I have chunks of pages from two, and one with a spine still intact, with some pages still yellow.  This one will suffer a similar fate as the previous–nailing to the tree.  Speaking of which, the other has fallen and must be reattached.

In a way, I have succeeded in burning the alphabet, now six times.  Sesame Street weeps.

Recently I’ve played two games of Risk.  Risk takes forever, especially if you’re not the first one eliminated, like me.  It takes longer to be the winner, like me, twice.  I feel victorious, and much greater than Hitler or Kublai Khan, because I didn’t have to kill anyone, and I succeeded in taking over the entire world.

Winter is my favorite season.  That being said, it seems to be ending.  I grow sad inside at the thought that snow may not fall again for many months.  Granted, it’s only March, but the warm weather here in Ohio is discouraging.  Disappointment engulfs me.

I want to go burn something now.  I’m not sure what it will be, but it will be burned.  I might even laugh maniacally, and pretend that I’m conquering the real world, though that is far into the future.