Me Write Blog

(Here's how this one works: If you are male, write as if you are a female hairdresser who works from the basement of her home in New Jersey.) The emergency room is cleaner than I expected it to be. Still not sure how I got here or what happened to Harold but I'm sure it wasn't my fault. I was cutting his hair, (and by hair I mean his 5 strands of comb-over that could barely pass for an eyebrow if combined,) and he was talking about some such thing the government is doing wrong now. I was thinking about how nice it would be if Harold were elsewhere and I could just relax and read one of my stories. (The one I'm reading now is a really good one involving a mercenary stalking through the jungle killing his enemies one by one with just a pocket-knife; I just love a man who can kill a person 17 different ways.) Anyway, I was daydreaming about Brick, (that's the hero with the pocket-knife,) when Harold snapped me out of it when he started screaming. Apparently, I had...

(For this exercise I had to choose some words from 3 different lists and use them in the story; the words I ended up with were: mushroom, taxi, chalky, bananas, miniature, and carnivore.) It was just after dark when, while I was finishing a rather chalky mushroom, a miniature carnivore entered my office. He was no taller than 3 1/2 feet, wearing a fifties zoot-suit, and sporting a fedora. He informed me that he had traveleed by taxi, stopping only once to use the washroom and purchase some bananas. It was only then that I noticed the large brown paper bag full of bananas that he had brought with him, (the thing was nearly as large as his entire body; dunno how I missed it.) From here we moved onto discussing many other subjects before finally coming to the obvious question at hand: Why would a miniature carnivore, (or any carnivore, for that matter), need to purchase so many bananas? His answer made everything clear: "As you can see from the badge on my chest, I am indeed a m...

...I feel dirty. What could be worse than feeling like the most hideous colour the 80s had to offer. Makes me feel like I should be wearing leg warmers or something; or like I'm back to my mullet days listening to Guns 'N Roses while arguing with my friend about GNR's total dominance over KISS, (what did a bunch of grade 3s know about music anyway?) Seems to me a neon pink mood is like saying you're feeling a little radiation-y today. Neon pink. I'm stuck thinking about how "I want my MTV" was considered this amazing video with these real cutting edge computer animations; we've come a long way. I do love that video, though. So, basically, when I'm in a pink mood, I feel like dancing, (WHAT?!?), er, I mean, I feel like being in a non-neon colour mood.

...suspicious. I honestly feel like anyone who is dressed as a clown is up to something sinister. They creep the hell out of me. I kinda get the urge to punch them when I see them. I also can't understand why anyone would allow these creepy bastards anywhere near their children. Mimes are less creepy than clowns; at least those goofy freaks don't speak in a 'jovial' voice. I think the idea of a clown car adds to their creepiness; instead of one freak with a giant, permanent smile, you get a seemingly never-ending army of the jerks. Shudder. Their like painted zombies to me. As far as I'm concerned, they're all Pennywise.