Mitch

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Queen Asuka [/i] [B][color=hotpink][size=1]I have the Powerman 5000 CD "Tonight the Stars Revolt" (at least, I think that's what it's called?) and I can safely say that I haven't listened to that CD in well over year. It's fun to pop in every now and then, though. I like that the album had an overall theme to it.[/color][/size] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] That has that one "This is what it's like when worlds collide..." song with that lyric in it. I can just hear it in my head, I know it so well. I like that song. Supposedly their somewhat new album, [i]Transform[/i], isn't good...but I believe they just released another, it looks decent.[/size]

[size=1] Yay! Someone posted! I also remember Susan Smith, the lady that got life in prison I believe. I really don't keep up with news, but I was reading the Journalism book we had talking of the whole thing in a series of articles. She first lied and said that a black man had stolen her car and her children. The case probably would've went as such, if not for the officer that was on the case coming to her at the opportune time and telling her that they'd recorded the scene of the crime which she stated--and that they had not seen a black man take it. With his lie he effaced her lie. Then she told him the whole story; all of it. She had decided she was going to kill her and her sons as well as herself. She had had trauma--mental, physical, such, all her life. Her Dad had molested her, I believe. And in the weeks following her killing of her sons, she had let him molest her again. She had also had sex with her divorcing husband when he came to her house one day. She also had sex, in the weeks following her mudering, with some other few people. She had driven the car into the river she had told the cop. And at the last moment, she had gotten out, let it fall in there with only her sons in it. She was tried for the murder, found conceited of first degree murder, but abated to only a life sentence because it was determined she was under "insanity" when she had killed her sons. When the cop, after she'd told him all of this, asked what would have happened if he'd let it go on without her confessing, she had replied, "I was going to send you a letter;" "then kill myself." I'd also like to point out that suicides are murders--self-inflicted, so anyone that has gone through attempts at these, or has seen someone die from that, please post that experience as well.[/size]

Mitch sat in his room frantically writing away about nothing. He had made a story with all the people of the house in it--well, in a way, at least. He'd even put a touch of poetics in it, trying to sound cryptic and all. The story followed a man named Bob. Bob was a regular guy in a regular school in a regular town. The town was affectually called Calvinoushobbesland. It was straight out of a great comic book a certain girl that lived in the house would have known. But Mitch did not know enough about this certain comic, so he was only able to base it in the most banal things of the comic. The comic, Mitch could remember, had a tiger of some sorts. So he made Bob, the lovingly dull and unusual usual, wear a tiger suit. He probably looked just like Tigger in it. You see, Bob had the shape of a tiger and all--it was really, really neat how Mitch saw him in his mind. He was like an athletic John Schmo, for lack of anything better to say. He had blonde hair--like a certain someone whose name is not going to be disclosed--and he really liked to eat cookies. Special cookies. Imaginary cookies. He was also very shy. Almost to the point where he waddled about like a shyguy from those old mario games. The story started off in the usual, uncrisised life of dearest aforementioned Bob. He was on the bus, as usual, in his tiger costume that looked like Tigger from that one Pooh show that Mitch couldn't remember. Bob was sitting alone as always. There was Betsy Sue, the only one that was his friend, but she was, sadly, sick this day in Calvinoushobbesville. So he sat there alone, thinking of Betsy Sue, knowing she usually didn't come on the bus anyways. But he had always, each and every day on the bus, looked for Betsy Sue's Mother driving her to school. And this day, he had not seen her. All the other kids made fun of Bob for wearing his tiger suit. Even the teacher did. All he would say is, "I will not eat green eggs and ham, no I will not Sam I am." The teacher would only look at him--her name was Ms. Asuka--but he much rather called her Pooka, it sounded like a bear. She had these wide, staring eyes, and loved Pink Floyd. And when Bob came to class in his tiger costume, she would get mad. Bob's thoughts were ambling, though. And here he was back in the bus. It was rolling on its wheels, the bus driver steering the steeringwheel, the kids chattering. And Bob still sat in the back as the bus rolled on its wheels and school approached. Mitch stopped writing, realizing how long he'd been writing. Nearly the whole time, while others were doing whatever they were doing. He felt stupid, too, for taking so damn long to write out this little chunk of story. Well, it was about two pages. But there really was something about Bob...he was so real in Mitch's mind. Mitch got up and left the room finally, drifting off to get something to eat.

[size=1] I have been bantering around this idea since yesterday, so why not. I'm sick of all the humanity-induced threads. They're starting to feel like a rotten, heaping pile of trash, if that makes sense. Not that this topic isn't humanity-endorsed, but anyway. First off, I'd like anyone whom has murder(ed) any one(s) before to say it. Get that insanity off your chest, you know the drill. Secondly, I'd like people to tell of murders they have seen with their own two, spherical goofy cluck eyeballs. I'd like a whole recount--how it happened, what the circumstances were; I want to know even if it's something as simple as someone taking a bar fight too far, or any other things as such. Thirdly, I'd like a discussion of famous murderers. I am rather scant on this subject, but I'll see what I can find. I'd also like mostly modern ones, recent ones. Such as the snipers whom were recently in the news, or bombers as such (which I would classify as murderers). I'd like to try and stay away from 9/11 if it's at all possible. I've heard enough of that. Martyrdom itself is a stupid form of murder. I shall start off with what brought me to make this topic: Ed Gein. This guy was around in the 1950s. He was what inspired [i]The Texas Chainsaw Massare[/i] and Alfie's classic, [i]Psycho[/i]. I'm sure this thread could entitle some movie discussion...but that is not the main draw of it. It's a discussion of modern/well-known/sick puppy murderers. Anyways, Ed Gein was one sick puppy. Rather than type up all of it, I'll rather quote a reliable source. [quote]On November 17, 1957 police in Plainfield, Wisconsin arrived at the dilapidated farmhouse of Eddie Gein who was a suspect in the robbery of a local hardware store and disappearance of the owner, Bernice Worden. Gein had been the last customer at the hardware store and had been seen loitering around the premises. Gein's desolate farmhouse was a study in chaos. Inside, junk and rotting garbage covered the floor and counters. It was almost impossible to walk through the rooms. The smell of filth and decomposition was overwhelming. While the local sheriff, Arthur Schley, inspected the kitchen with his flashlight, he felt something brush against his jacket. When he looked up to see what it was he ran into, he faced a large, dangling carcass hanging upside down from the beams. The carcass had been decapitated, slit open and gutted. An ugly sight to be sure, but a familiar one in that deer-hunting part of the country, especially during deer season. It took a few moments to sink in, but soon Schley realized that it wasn't a deer at all, it was the headless butchered body of a woman. Bernice Worden, the fifty-year-old mother of his deputy Frank Worden, had been found. While the shocked deputies searched through the rubble of Eddie Gein's existence, they realized that the horrible discoveries didn't end at Mrs. Worden's body. They had stumbled into a death farm. The funny-looking bowl was a top of a human skull. The lampshades and wastebasket were made from human skin. A ghoulish inventory began to take shape: an armchair made of human skin, female genitalia kept preserved in a shoebox, a belt made of nipples, a human head, four noses and a heart. The more the looked through the house, the more ghastly trophies they found. Finally a suit made entirely of human skin. Their heads spun as they tried to tally the number of woman that may have died at Eddie's hands. All of this bizarre handicraft made Eddie into a celebrity. Author Robert Bloch was inspired to write a story about Norman Bates, a character based on Eddie, which became the central theme of the Albert Hitchcock's classic thriller Psycho. Tony Perkins as Norman Bates in the movie "Psycho" (CORBIS) In 1974, the classic thriller by Tobe Hooper, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, has many Geinian touches, although there is no character that is an exact Eddie Gein model. This movie helped put "Ghastly Gein" back in the spotlight in the mid-1970's. Years later, Eddie provided inspiration for the character of another serial killer, Buffalo Bill in The Silence of the Lambs. Like Eddie, Buffalo Bill treasured women's skin and wore it like clothing in some insane transvestite ritual.[/quote] This is only a rough hitting of Ed. If you want the whole story you can go [url=http://www.crimelibrary.com/gein/geinmain.htm]here[/url] and read all the chapters on him. And if you want even more, do a google search of Ed Gein. I'd like it if you'd at least cone through the site, getting to know the info on Ed. Then tell me what you think of it, other such things. We can also discuss the pyschiatric qualities of murderers such as Gein, but I am rather dumb on this as well. I'm sure there has to be someone that knows some stuff about that. Otherwise, that is all. I'll post what I think and such and other things.[/size]

[b]the farmhouse in my shoe[/b] "moo," constitutes the cow and i want to milk him now not let 'm fatten more not let 'm be too big but i want to milk him now (zappy zippity zoo) my farm is in a shoe where my socks are tight "bah," slanders the sheep the lamb o'god. the cruton o'christ. and nothing less to suffice. i want his wool and want it now. want to make a sweater that is warm. (wolves would yawp) tasty lamb chops my teeth are clean from brushing "cock a'dodle doo," says the hen and wakes me up. i want my chicken in a cup. and want it now. don't come so soon. (cooky cooks of coo) i swear the moon is made of cheese. and all the rocks are cream. "woof," says the dog and i want a gun to shoot the sun and turn off the lights. but i'm preoccupied with their head lice. (woo when doe come too) shot a deer but it was an angel. now my sin's really tangled and hell looks good. but heat is warm. "pitter patter," says the rain watering all my babes of plants and i am gay. o happy hay. (drippity drop droopy drab) the rain makes me sad. my farm feels bad. he needs clams. "woosh," says the wind blowing open the gate letting the animals escape. how could this be? i locked it fastenedly. (blowly blow of my day) many animals have came and love my farm and so they stayed. "gimme," says the child all smiles even when i spank him dead. the boy will learn how to hoe the farm. (gooby gooby gah) my boy says he's going to study law. and be a big boy that saw. he's shooting craw. "dark," says the night painting the world making the farmhouse hurl. (bight of tight tonight) it's been a long day time to sleep it away. let it all do its way. and when it's time the hen'll shout and the day will come out saying "bright," as he shines and be a big boy in the sky cawing alive. so cock a'doodle doo that's the farmhouse in my shoe.

[size=1] I hope this thread is closed. What the hell do nukes have to do with Overpopulation? Next to nothing other than how they have the potentality to kill masses of people. How you could mishear Drix I do not know. All I can say is it's all in good. Sarcasm really is a genius thing.. Edit: Hah. Irony. I refuse to fix irony. But yes... I think this thread and the one of overpopulation have gone certainly off topic lol. So I'll just say this is also addressing that other thread since I refuse to fix irony since it is so beautiful.[/size]

[size=1][b]corrupt[/b] corruption is a solemn guy smelling him is like brushing the sky all the paint chips down on you somehow the silence colors a coat of paint but his smile is always crisp blue people turn to corruption all confused they wonder why the smell sneers pungence and always blooms it's just how corruption loves like a rose kissing the dirt kisses with paper confetti the murders wear a glove so kisses to cries [b]jar[/b] your door is a jar your door is ajar when you're old the dim light when you're old you can drive jumping behind the bushes in the middle of the night with a jar we smiled together there was nothing to fear and nothing else at all jumping behind the bushes your door is ajar in the middle of the night your door is a jar with ajar we smile together ajar there was nothing to fear and nothing else at all and in the dark the lights in the halls the curb of our street the fireflies light us and our eyes the fireflies go in a jar a jar and there that's where they are the fireflies light us our eyes on the curb of our street jumping out of the bushes in the dark night and we catch them in our jars and there that's where they are your door is a jar your door is ajar i sleep with them they keep the devil away i sleep with them they keep the aliens away and the fuse has blown fuse has blown your door is ajar your door ajar your door ajar and i kept them close to me in the jar and they gave me light in the dark afuse fuse has blown fuse hasblown but they died in ajar but they died and that's where they are oh mommy let's flush them down the toilet oh mommy they arent breathing giving their light anymore oh mommy fusehasblown mommy they died in ajar mommy did they go up into the big sky where great grandma and momma whered they go whered they go crashing in the wind blows glass and afusehasblown my doorisajar ajar you door is a jar door ajar and there that's where they are[/size]

[size=1] Do people around here understand sarcasm...? Hm. Well, it wasn't exactly sarcasm. It was more like apathy in a satircal vein. Ah well lol.[/size]

[size=1] Yes, humans are such stupid atrocities. I'm just lamenting being one. We're just monsters. Look at all we've done. We've burned large forests, built a Big Boy where there once was so many animals, not to mention McDonald's shoots cows and gives them drugs. What are we coming to ? The only good thing in this world is God. We're sheep. We live to die for God and to do nothing. We're such monsters. We've taken this habitable planet and marred it and feralized it to where it doesn't even look like what it used to look like in all its glory. I mean we eat fake pieces of bread to cure our sins, and drink fake wine to get a buzz and feel more intune with God. We're such monsters. We've taken what nature gave us and made it into a circus where we're the elephants eating all the peanuts. How could we do this? Oh my God. How? Jesus Christ Bananas Yellow Fatty Beans. We should just kill all ourselves. We're such monsters.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by The Harlequin [/i] [B][font=gothic][color=indigo]Jack, you have seen my CD collection haven't you? We have enough utter crap to shame anyone here... But anyway, I'll admit I am a major Meatloaf fan, still (the piano solo in Bat Out Of Hell stands as the best I've ever heard, and the drums in Gonna Love Her For Both Of Us puts nearly anyone to shame)... And there's that "Another Love Song" by Amiel Other than that, the only bands that several people seem to think I should be ashamed of liking are Bright Eyes, Screamfeeder, Depeche Mode, J Masic and the Fog, Nightwish, and Warren Zevon. Now, I'm firmly convinced all of these bands/artists are acceptable, but you'd be surprised how many people disagree.[/font][/color] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] Nightwish? They are great. And Meatloaf? You're embarrassed to like [i]Meatloaf[/i]? Why? All the bands you listed are great bands lol. I do not see why you even posted them. Meatloaf is great.[/size]

[size=1] It might matter in that there are more methods, but really, it's stopping the same thing as before: the conception of a child. So it has not helped generally in the limiting of child births, as the pills and such have been around for years. Another thing is I'd hope people are more educated about sex, and thus just this alone would limit the amount of births. So generally what you're saying doesn't pertain to anything much other than there are more ways to do the same thing.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Queen Asuka [/i] [B][color=hotpink][size=1]Actually I think that women aren't having as much babies as they used to due to new technology in women's contraceptives, also known as birth control. I think it is so awful how in China they will abort a female child if they would rather have a male since they are limited to two children. It's horrible...[/color][/size] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] This doesn't mean the world's population isn't growing. 6 Billion. Do you know how much that is? Try to comprehend it. I can't. Birth control methods have been around for years...who cares. There's been the pill, the condom, and other such things. I don't see contraceptives as too big of a new thing, even if. Here's some stolid fact to support what I've said heh. [quote]The world's current growth rate is about 1.3%, representing a doubling time of 54 years. We can expect the world's population of approximately 6 billion to become 12 billion by 2054 if the current rate of growth continues. The world's growth rate peaked in the 1960s at 2% and a doubling time of 35 years.[/quote] 12 billion?!?! Do you know how much that is? I don't either, but trust me, I can tell you, that's a lot. That's 6,000,000,000+6,000,000,000. [/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Baron Samedi [/i] [B][center][u][b]My World Plan[/u][/b][/center] Invade Russia and kill everyone, and send all our criminals/politicians over there. ______________________________ Yeah, that'll free up some space. I think it'll work. It isn't too much of a worry right now. Look at all the space we have over here in Australia. The problem is all the familys that had eight kids last generation. I don't think any more than three children should be allowed. I don't know. Two or three children, to keep our population consistent. Thats my take on it. I don't think iit is [i]too[/i] much of a concern right now. [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] I have a better plan....bahahah. BOMB CHINA TO DAVY JONE'S LOCKER. BAHHAHAHAHAHHHHA......that would take a few billion lives. Yes, the world is becoming overcrowded. And eventually...in a far off future far away, humans shall be massacered for the sole fact of being human and being alive. I see bloody revolutions, devolutions...the DEMEATING of thighs and legs! Oh, glory be bloody mary and her name....glory be. Amen. A men. Anyways, I see that either we stop having so much sex and babies, or we start dying. This is in the far off future, though.[/size]

[size=1] I would take Hitler's body, dead and decayed, and take his very DNA and inseminate a woman with his DNA-produced sperm. I would form a statue of Hitler, and place it in the center of the White House, where, underneath Hitler's very anointed groin, I would place the deceptive and sextive Cher herself. I do believe in life after love. I would crush all Countries and make them an endeavour of my own, naming the world one united continent, named the portinant name of Bob. Bob's main language would be Sexual Innuendo. His state bird would be the Saddam Hussein. His main economic export would Ethanol. His main economic import would be Viagra. He would be a strong nation. I would crucifix 'NYSNC, The Backstreet Boys, and Barney the Dinosaur upon the cross. It would be a world-televised event in Bob. It would be remembered for long. I would allow gays and blacks and whites and jews and christians to all unite as one united people, the BlaWhiJeChrists. They would be a traveling, satanatic tribe of hippies. I would call for the world's population to decline from people who would volunteer to commit suicide for an entrance into Heaven for the price of their lives. There would be no rebates. I would rule with an iron lung, under a Apatheistocracy, which has a Czar as its power-figure. Its first Czar would be Stephen King, who would amend many rights to the APATHEISTOCRACY DECLARATIONAL LETTER, which would serve as its governmental bible. I would burn all trees, pondering what the affect would have upon the enviroment. I would ban automobiles from sale, distribution, and driving in fear that Bob would go into anarchy at any moment as to protect the people. The vehicle which would be used would be a Faggio bike, and gas prices would be kept at an all-time high due with the war in Iraq, who wanted to secede from Bob under the rule of George W. Bush. I would form the religion of Apathal. It would focus on the central figure of JFK, whom died in sacriliege of a once powerful nation named Americana. It would be said that JFK was asassinated by a gun, and that guns should never be used for violence other than brutally injuring a rapist. The religion would be organized, and would be a happy alternative to Catholicism, which had been abated due to Stephen King's [i]Jesus is Dead[/i] proclamation. I would do many more things, but that is for another day..tomorrow, perhaps...[/size]

[size=1][b]jag[/b] it 'twas amazing that two hands could sculpt a stone it 'twas amazing that two hearts could sculpt a 'nother stone yet things that be?and things that are never should be set in stone no matter how very dear it 'twas amazing that i can walk on my feet it 'twas amazing that my feet crunched the leaves but constant walking leads narrow ways and legs showing one a path that never ends lifes edges are so jagged the jaded concessions that are all about us a jigsaw puzzle for a lonely man is what life is to any man it's a chore to feel too much it 'twas amazing that a brain and a heart could set the forest afire it 'twas amazing that the brain and the heart could grow its garden and had its own city in the amble of thorns it 'twas amazing all the man hath created it 'twas amazing all the men hath labored but weary hearts oweary wild are human even as they ascend and all that is?and all that shall never should be set in stone no matter how very dear indeed, it 'twas amazing all that man hath made but what shall be pristine is how he shall go about destroying it all lifes edges are so jagged and i clipped my toenails last night to kill the growth [b][u]crawlingcry[/b][/u] i have a cold it's ALL OVER me c r a w l i n g so beautifully, my sweet pristine dress i wear on my head it kills me to know me and wear my head high it kills me to know me and know what's right so baby, maybe we could go off in the night because it's ALL OVER me sweet seventeen it's so lonely in the fall when it's ALL OVER and the pumpkins aren't tenacious i'm watching it DIE just sitting in the back of my car crying away just sitting as the moon comes out crying away because it's ALL OVER me c r a w l i n g and each day i'm coming more clean it kills me to know me so baby what's the story how i can kill a monster that won't die die monster DIE sweet seventeen coughing all day on a sunday of all times when it's a party and i can't speak my lines so baby what's the story because it's ALL OVER me it was spinning and the day was a bottle and i dug it from the shore crying away it was spinning with my nose congested just blowing with TISSUES it's so lonely without you die monster DIE sweet seventeen it kills me to know me c r a w l i n g because it's ALL OVER me[/size]

This story is going to be so awesome when more is written lol. I don't know...I love this thing for how it's going on one hand, and on another I am doing it just for fun. We'll see where it goes. [center]"Marson and Walter the Bear"[/center] [b]1[/b] "Open...your eyes." A voice. A cold, icy voice. A freezing voice. "Open your eyes!" it said. Louder this time. Impatient. He opened his eyes, his vision settling in shaky lines. And he couldn't believe what he saw. It was an animal of some kind. He couldn't remember. Not then. His thoughts were all over. [i]Where in the world am I[/i], he thought, blinking, still getting used to his surroundings. "You are...here," the animal said?the bear?that's what it was. The bear pointed. He moved his ruffled, freezing fur around him in endless circles. "How did you know what I was thinking?" The bear paused, looking at him as a mother may look upon her child. "Why, I can read minds," the bear said. "Can read em down to the bark." Tired, he looked around him, looked from the bear to where he was. It was a cave of some kind, and far away, like a dream, he could see the entrance of the cave; it stood white from snow, effaced light seeping from it. The cave itself was too dark to see much other than some rocky, rough features. He tried to stand up. He hoisted his legs and all his might, put his hands tightly on the ground, pushing on the rocky cave floor as hard as he could. The bear continued to watch him closely. "I don't think you'll be able to get up, really, Marson." Marson fell back at the mention of his name, still just realizing that the bear somehow knew much about him, including his name. "It's Mars for short, if you please," he said, trying to sound in control. "And why is it that I can't stand up, anyhow?" Marson asked. "And where is this. You know, don't you? You have to." The bear finally walked over to him, his paws dangling about in the freezing air like petrified wood stakes. Putting his hands on Mars, he held him like a mother. "We're on Mount Everest, if you must know. Not a good place, not a good one at all." He paused. "My name is Walter Bear. Just Walt for short if you want." But Marson didn't even hear him. He was gone. When Walt had touched him, he had been whisked away in his mind. His eyes were still open, but Mars was having a deep flashback. He was back in house. The warmth was all over him, like the feeling of a glove warming flesh. And there was his Mother, young, not a wrinkle on her face. Not the same Mother he knew now that was grey and dying. But his Mother. She was telling him a story in his room as he lie bed. And in his young, thin hands was his prized bear, Ruthor. Ruth for short. Ruth was a beautiful little thing, with his buttons for his eyes, and his brown fur. Marson had loved him. He could just feel Ruth's soft, gentle fur in his hands like he was actually there, in his bed, all tight and cozy being told a story by his Mother. But this image was soon gone. He came back, his hands held out, groping in the air, trying to snuggle a bear that was in the past and that had once lied in bed with him while his mother, without wrinkles, had told him a story. The bear was long gone. Walter the Bear looked at Marson curiously; he was moving his head over and about, his hands to his sides, flittering about as if they were trying to hold still. It was as if the bear had something very meaningful to say. Marson looked at him, just as curious. "What is it?" Marson asked, trying to get the bear to speak. The bear still stood there a while longer, his hands still moving about. Then he finally spoke up when it seemed he'd never speak. "I used to be one, too," he said. "My master was called Lisa. She was a really beautiful little girl. She would hold me close, like I meant so much. I miss her." Walt looked at the ground. "But you're a bear. A grizzly bear, from the looks of it. How were you once a stuffed animal?" Mars looked at him unbelievingly. It just couldn't be true. A bear?a grizzly bear, of all things?once living as a stuffed animal? It was insane. "No, it's not insane," Walter said. "Not at all. You see, this place is...is where all children's things go when they die or are disowned. They are given back their souls, and left here to live. Have you ever heard of the abominable snowman? Even he is a discarded, disowned child's toy. He lives here. Maybe I'll show him to you, if you want." Marson looked at Walt in wonder, not quite understanding how such a thing as this could be true. It really did sound absurd. "I know it sounds absurd, but it's the truth. I don't know how you got here, though. Not at all. I found you in a crevice of mine I often relax in. It looked like you'd taken a hard fall. So I brought you here." "And where is here, exactly," asked Marson. He hadn't heard the bear say where they were; he had been in his warm flashback. The bear finally moved his head from looking at the ground. "Hadn't you heard me when I told you before?" the bear asked, not pausing long enough for Marson to answer. "Well, Mars, I guess you didn't. We're at Mount Everest, if you must know. Pretty close to the summit, in fact."

[size=1] I recommend, before anyone post here whatsoever, that they go [url=http://stemcells.nih.gov/infoCenter/stemCellBasics.asp]here[/url]. I have only read about a quarter of it, but it seems very great for this topic. I don't really have too much of an opinion. I think it's right, they should be able to do it. I don't see a big deal; this is the key to curing uncurable diseases. Who would be against this? Some people are, obviously. Until I get more information thought out in my head, though, this is all I have to say in this thread. Once I feel I know enough, I will support my opinion more.[/size]

[size=1] I hate it how people always say that junk, "Jesus loved U from the beggining," and so on. And do I care? Obviously since I don't believe in Jesus, I obviously don't. Eh. I have not heard much "Christian" music. P.O.D, 12 Stones...a little of that. That is all. So I don't have much to give to this thread. P.O.D. is decent, to say the least. Evanesence is also classified as Christian..they are okay, to say the least. I don't like them too much, though. That's about all the input I have in this thread, anyway.[/size]

[size=1] There have been so many multiple threads about this; I remember there was even one recently. I'm not going to quote Tony, but it's exactly what I would have said. My Mom divorced my biological father when I was young. I don't think I'd be the same person at all if they had stayed together. Supposedly my Mom divorced him because she was being abused. Also my Biological Father used to call me on the phone when I was ten, and ask me how my day went, and other such things. This made me happy when I was younger; but then, he'd always ask if I was going to get my blood checked to see if I'm actually his son. I didn't realize then that he wanted me to get my blood checked to see if I was his son, but I realize it now. And I realize his reason for this; he of course didn't want to pay child support. Nor has he for years, until now. I also remember that I had a very mean teacher about...4th grade? This was when I was living in...Indiana I think. Yeah, I'm pretty sure. I think the school was called Earling Elementry or something. If I was late the teacher would stand me in front of the class, in front of all their faces. She'd ask me to tell them why I had been late. I'd tell her, and she'd say that it was an excuse, and for me to tell the truth. And then I'd stand there and cry in front of her face. It got so bad that I ended up staying out of her class for the last week or so of it. My parents also almost got her fired. She did other things too, but the bell just rang, and I have to go to Latin. In short, I wouldn't change a thing. It's all made me who I am. Exactly what Tony says is exactly how I feel.[/size]

[size=1] This movie was actually enjoyable--quite so, if I shall say. It seems absurd at first, the entire arc of it--it mainly covers Jack Black[spoiler] subbing as a teacher, and forming his students into a band and getting them to play at a battle of the bands. [/spoiler] This is the movie in a nutshell. But it's so much better than it sounds. They actually pull off what the movie is about...the movie actually doesn't make it all seem so absurd. And anyone that loves music will love this. It's like just living in music the entire movie. I mean, it starts, there's Jack Black in his room, a "NIN" sticker plastered on his wall, Cannibal Corpse sticker, other stickers. It's great. I would go on, but I'm limited for time. This movie is a good ride, though. Really refreshing. Not to mention Jack Black is one of the funniest people alive in my opinion.[/size]

[size=1] The main female actor I found quite attractive. I just have a thing for black hair. Don't ask lol. Overall, it was a let down, but also an up down in some parts as well. It wasn't terrible, and it wasn't wonderful. I'd say it was a little tinsy winsy above average at most. I thought they would incorporate more Matrixstyle into it, but I was mistaken in this observation. They barely even used it, let alone captured the essence and style of The Matrix. The acting was decent, in some places a little ambulatory. The story itself was the prime thing of this movie, and by it was what made it so good as well as bad at once. The plot twists were interesting enough, and kept you in the movie; although, I must admit, when it first started it was hard to get into it. You know, it kind of just...began. Started right off with action. I'm not into that type of stuff--I like dynamic, well-developed, intelligence-driven stories, a la The Matrix movies and such. So over all, the ending was lackluster, the middle of it formed the meat, and was somewhat tasty. It was okay. I came in with too high of expectations, though. Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust well tops this; what a great, amazing movie. It is so much better than the first D. [/size]

[size=1] The first one was okay, to say the least. I don't know. It's not something that really affected me at all, since I've seen so many songs/poems/whatever like it. The second one I enjoyed a lot more than the first. It actually was interesting, and I liked how you ended it so suddenly and in a new stanza with, "I think." Keep writing, I want to see more! More slave![/size]

[size=1] I am posting this here mostly because I need to put it on our newspaper server... First version: [i]You need to get a job[/i], the little happy voice would say to me. And I'd grin back like a little happy person and say that I guess I did, and that I guess it would be good. The little happy voice came from so many different places. Sometimes it smiled its little curvy tooth up to me from my parents' faces. Other times it was like an internal demon doing its demonic little sneer at me, beating me down like a hammer with large [i]thud thuds[/i] as if as soon as I had gotten what it wanted, it would be able to finally complete its process of creating something special; something different. Something that was complete. So, as summer collapsed and crumbled out at me like a bleeding, festering wound I decided it would be right to listen to that little happy voice. For it would not only shut it up if I did, but it would also change me. It would make me a maggot becoming a fly in the web of things. I would be born. It would be my debutante. But I wasn't a woman so I couldn't use that nice little word. It would just, simply as can be, be my debut into society. I began filling out applications very methodically and as slow as I could. Being too lazy to put forth any real effort, I became something like Barney the Dinosaur. I had all my I love yous and hate yous yodeling out from me in deranged and collapsing tunes. I scribbled my scribble like I had nothing to lose and nothing to gain. And really, I didn't. My signature on the end of every application was my certification that my soul was going to be given. That I was theirs forever and ever cross my heart and hope to die. But at the same time I didn't care as I signed it. It was just me signing some piece of paper. It didn't mean anything. I filled out about four applications all at once in some brave courage. For weeks I didn't hear anything. Then one day as I was asleep the phone began ringing. So I picked it up. And just like that, two days later I had my job. I was certified as a colonel at Kentucky Fried Chicken. I was given my habiliments and wore them along with my hat as if I were enlisted in the army. I learned to cook chicken. I learned to appeal to the crumbling Berlin Wall that is the masses. I became from a maggot to a fly. I buzzed around doing my tasks, earning my money. Five weeks elapsed like a wide-eyed, howling moon. During these weeks I learned to prepare chicken, pack chicken, and to mop up other's messes. Then, suddenly, as if hell had no guttural love for such wastes as me, I was fired. Diane, the Queen of the KFC for which I worked at brought me into her office that day. Right away I knew something was wrong. Diane, while I had been working at KFC for my five weeks, had been on vacation time, living it up on some beach of sand, sun, and fun. Walking into her office I knew just what was going to happen. It was all over her face like some casual mess trying to not crumble all over a cleansed floor. She sat me down next to her, staring at me. She began by explaining that she had gotten some "complaints" from my gracious fellow co-workers. One had complained that I had a bad habit of always putting my hands in my pockets, she said. Another had claimed I didn't know how to pack chicken good enough. And then it was like a boxing match, her fat girth suddenly transformed into lean, muscular being. She hit me with the last and finally degrading punch. "I don't know what to do. I've wasted all the hours training you already. You should know how to at least work the till by now." I just stared at her, everything seeping in like blood seeping back into an open wound. [i]I should know how to work the till by now? Well just look here now. You're the one that sets the pace at which I learn my job, you are the ones that train me. So you're telling me it's my fault I haven't learned the till? If you wanted me to learn it, then you should've done so. [/i] I didn't say a thing. I only sat there thinking that, telling myself that I was sure that part of it was me probably. But lookie here, lookie here. Ms. Queen of the Chicken was on vacation. I'm supposed to pick up the slack of your absence and learn as fast as I am supposed to? Then it was time for another punch. "You haven't even learned how to pack chicken yet. You should have that nearly mastered by now." I just glared at her, not saying a word. "Do you even know how to pack?" "Somewhat," I said. I could've said that I did. I could've told her that I actually mostly did. But what was I? I was a little colonel, I was a yodeling cajoling little Barney the Dinosaur. I didn't know jack. "Somewhat. So you see, you should have it all down by now. So I'm going to let you go. You could've been a cook, but Arnold already has that." So then it was all over, and I left. I drove off and drove home like a maniac. I was pissed. Yet I didn't know what the hell to feel. Defeat? Anger? Hate? What was I to feel? I had loved working at KFC. I had met friends in my coworkers. And just like that, bang, I was gone. Here's to the maggot that turns into a fly. I'm still trying to eat enough dead wounds and tissues to make it back into another job. It just won't be fast food this time. And when I do finally get another job, one that will be the one I will have for nearly all my life, I will have to pay Ms. Queen of the Chickens a visit. I'll have to wring some necks and laugh because in the end I was better than she could ever be. Edited version: The breath of something new was in my face. I looked into the mirror, looked at my face and thought it to also look new. I changed from my Pink Floyd T-shirt into the red, now so familiar, KFC shirt. I placed the cap on my head, placing my hands on the bill and curving it. And then I looked in the bathroom mirror again. Something new, again, breathed me in the face. I was here. Had obtained what I'd sought the entire Summer like a maggot needing dead tissue to evolve any further. I had found that dead, decaying tissue I needed to evolve any further. I stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed, fully paved and sent into the service of KFC as a trainee Colonel. Walking over to Cindy, my shift superviser, I played with the bill of my hat like some shy girl twisting her hair, flipping it around and over in a sly motion. Cindy introduced me to Hailey, a fellow co-worker. I again fumbled around with my hat a few times as I introduced myself to her. After accosting our greetings, we were sent out to sit in the dining room area since it was not yet time for our shift. We sat at the table, the sun hitting our eyes, our hands and legs propped here and there on the table in helter-skelter fashion. Hailey then asked me a few questions. None of which was of too much importance, and none which I cared for. Yet I still kept kindness enough to answer. She asked me questions such as what school I went to, how old I was, and other merely inquisitive nudges. Not that I thought she would ask anything too personal. After enough time had passed, we were taken to working. I had no idea what yet was my purpose, so I was of course taken to a trainer. And my first task was to learn how to prepare the chicken, I soon found. Cindy sent me in the back, and there I was met with another new person, Matt. Matt was rather tall, perhaps lanky. He stood out to me, buried under his hat, just like me, and pointed to get a plastic apron on. He said it all in his kind matter. From then on the day flew on. I became sheltered yet still frostbitten with my surroundings. The numb feel of the dead, chopped pieces of bloody chicken in my hands became just another thing. The feel of the flour as it swished and painted the chicken to its breaded whole become just another twitch. Entirely the place had this dirty feel to it. Breaded chicken flakes crunched the floor. The heavy aroma of oil and chicken entwined into a heating gloop. Flour stained my clothes to a ghastly white, like I'd become some lost and ambling spirit. People rushed to and back, gaining on about their jobs, servicing as fast as humanly they could. That first day I paid intent attention to Matt. I listened with the ears of some deceptive, acceptive dog. I asked and prodded and obtained with the wonderful crushing of a hand. When the day was done, I went home, tired, drained. A maggot too nauseous of its eating. From then on five weeks elapsed like a wide-eyed, howling moon. During these weeks I learned more of the same, and some other new tasks. I met other fellow workers, and was further along trained as an aspiring Colonel. Tim was the main one I now remember. He was almost like me in many ways. He liked music, he wore glasses, and was very satirical and sarcastic. We got right along in the jaded concessions of the KFC, often talking of nothing much. Tim often told of how the other night he had gotten, or was going to get "**** faced," as he so put. He was not alone as the only one that drank alcohol that worked there. There was Robin, a fat, bellyached man that appeared to be in his forties. He rode his bike to work, and worked another job along with this one. Looking at him it was easy to see that alcohol was in some part of the equation with him. Not to mention I'd often wonder if what I smelled on his breath was alcohol, or if when he sweated if it was beer he was outpouring by the gallons. Robin, too, was not even alone. John, another worker there, also drank beer, and often proclaimed it loudly enough that most knew of it. One time I had even seen him carrying a whole cooler cased with it, and filling it with ice from the ice box. It seems alcohol was a thing brought and somehow linked and beaten into my workplace. I even remember one day while I was absentmindedly mopping the dining room that a man had staggered in like a groaning zombie. His eyes were glazed in a stupefied haze. He walked to the front and Cindy started taking his order. The man said something near to, "Ah'd like sum chikun." It came out all slurred, visceral. Like the way raw, red, bleeding hamburger looks. Cindy asked how many pieces. After a long time of drunken deliberation, he continued stuporing around as if in some backdrop of his mind he was processing the human genome, and the rest of his brain cells were locked in their chains and behind their bars. Then with some childish yet childless drivel he finally ordered how many pieces. Even then he continued to stand there doing nothing as Cindy read out his total. He stood like this for what was the longest time. Then finally, digging into his pockets as if he was digging for the root of some deep weed, he came out with a few scattered one dollar bills. Cindy asked him if he had more. He dug again, this time bringing even more out, this time enough. Cindy then gave him back his change, told him kindly his order would be out soon, and was off on her way to pack it. The man, upon receiving his order, sat down and just ripped the package holding the chicken to hell. He ate like some starved waif, groveling and chewing harshly and so loud you could hear the smacking of his teeth. It sounded like some loud cow chewing on long prairie grass that was prematurely born as a pig, it was so loud and boisterous. Having just mopped the area where this guy had made his mess, I was forced to do it all over again. I did so, having to sweep up demeated legs, thighs, and wings that looked like some bone collector's lost fortune. Not to mention all the little scraps and pieces of ripped and gutted paper that looked something like clattered pieces of obtuse glass. That done, it was then time to clean the bathrooms. This I was really not inclined to be forced to do. Cindy said she might have seen the guy go in there. Eventually Tim got enough guts to go in. He didn't even seem too shaken from it at all, and I guess grafting myself to his mind, I wouldn't either. It probably was something relatively commonplace to him. The guy luckily wasn't in there. I certainly wouldn't have gone in there. I had had this horrible picture of what it would look like inside: all this barf and phlegm showering the walls, the guy lying there on the ground like some life-sized blow up doll that's too lifelike to be one in the first place. It did kind of seem like alcohol just had its own face there. And seeing this, I began to gather some thoughts about my long-term time working there. I began thinking I had been doing a good job. I thought that probably I was more adept than anyone else. I certainly didn't say anything like that, or say I was better. Nor did I think it, but I knew if people like this could work there, then there must be some room for me. Yet it is funny how as certain something can be, how uncertain it can become. It was a few days after I had worked nearly ten hours on The Fourth of July that it happened. That day I was assigned as a cook. It was easy enough. I remember clearly John saying that I was the most messy person that had ever worked there. I had looked at him, brushed at the usual thick dust of flour all over my hands and apron, thinking why he'd even said it. I simply came to the thought that at least I wasn't afraid to get down and dirty and into my job. Also I remember Tim being there, and him asking me what was wrong. It is strange remembering this now, it sort of feels like he knew something. Maybe he already had known what was to happen that day? Near the end of my shift I had been cleaning out the vents all about the kitchen. When we were finally finished with this, Diane, the owner of the KFC, beckoned me into her office like some anonymous felon. Diane, while I had been working at KFC for my five weeks, had been on vacation time, living it up on some beach of sand, sun, and fun. Walking into her office I knew just what was going to happen. It was all over her face like some casual mess trying to not crumble all over a cleansed floor. She sat me down next to her, staring at me. She began by explaining that she had gotten some "complaints" from my gracious fellow co-workers. One had complained that I had a bad habit of always putting my hands in my pockets, she said. Another had claimed I didn't know how to pack chicken good enough. And then it was like a boxing match, her fat girth suddenly transformed into lean, muscular being. She hit me with the last and finally degrading punch. "I don't know what to do. I've wasted all the hours training you already. You should know how to at least work the till by now." I just stared at her, everything seeping in like blood seeping back into an open wound. I should know how to work the till by now? Well just look here now. You're the one that sets the pace at which I learn my job, you are the ones that train me. So you're telling me it's my fault I haven't learned the till? If you wanted me to learn it, then you should've done so. I didn't say a thing. I only sat there thinking that, telling myself that I was sure that part of it was me probably. But lookie here, lookie here. Ms. Queen of the Chicken was on vacation. I'm supposed to pick up the slack of your absence and learn as fast as I am supposed to? Then it was time for another punch even though I was done and gone and out. "You haven't even learned how to pack chicken yet. You should have that nearly mastered by now." I just glared at her, not saying a word. "Do you even know how to pack?" "Somewhat," I said. I could've said that I did. I could've told her that I actually mostly did. But what was I? I was a little colonel, I was a yodeling cajoling little Barney the Dinosaur. I didn't know jack. And it was pointless to tell her the truth, I could see it in her pig eyes that I wasn't going to get out of this. So I kept shut. "Somewhat. So you see, you should have it all down by now. So I'm going to let you go. You could've been a cook, but Arnold already has that." So then it was all over, and I left. I drove off and drove home like a maniac. I was pissed. Yet I didn't know what to feel. Defeat? Anger? Hate? What was I to feel? I had loved working at KFC. I had met friends in my coworkers. And just like that, bang, I was gone. A few weeks later I remember getting a little something in the mail from KFC. It was a champion card, the ones used to award those that had done some special work. They were used to claim a worker of the month, who got to park at a special spot at KFC, and got paid some higher wages. The card was filled out by Tim. On it it read, "For doing a good job to help close." Then his signature. I was surprised when I got it, also somewhat sad that I had never gotten to really be anything with Tim. But I suppose it wouldn't have been any real friendship, other than at KFC. Still, it is kind interesting to try and see what it would have been like if I hadn't gotten fired. Abridged version: The breath of something new was in my face. I looked into the mirror, looked at my face and thought it to also look new. I changed from my Pink Floyd T-shirt into the red, now so familiar, KFC shirt. I placed the cap on my head, placing my hands on the bill and curving it. And then I looked in the bathroom mirror again. Something new, again, breathed me in the face. I was here. Had obtained what I'd sought the entire Summer like a maggot needing dead tissue to evolve any further. I had found that dead, decaying tissue I needed to evolve any further. I stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed, fully paved and sent into the service of fast food patronage. Walking over to Caroline, my shift superviser, I played with the bill of my hat like some shy girl twisting her hair, flipping it around and over in a sly motion. Caroline introduced me to Susan, a fellow co-worker. I again fumbled around with my hat a few times as I introduced myself to her. After accosting our greetings, we were sent out to sit in the dining room area since it was not yet time for our shift. We sat at the table, the sun hitting our eyes, our hands and legs propped here and there on the table in helter-skelter fashion. Hailey then asked me a few questions. None of which was of too much importance, and none which I cared for. Yet I still kept kindness enough to answer. She asked me questions such as what school I went to, how old I was, and other merely inquisitive nudges. Not that I thought she would ask anything too personal. After enough time had passed, we were taken to working. I had no idea what yet was my purpose, so I was of course taken to a trainer. And my first task was to learn how to prepare the chicken, I soon found. Caroline sent me in the back, and there I was met with another new person, Trent. Trent was rather tall, lanky. He stood out to me, buried under his hat, just like me, and pointed to get a plastic apron on. He said it all in his kind matter. From then the day flew on. I became sheltered yet still frostbitten with my surroundings. The numb feel of the dead, chopped pieces of bloody chicken in my hands became just another thing. The feel of the flour as it swished and painted the chicken to its breaded whole become just another twitch. Entirely the place had this dirty feel to it. Breaded chicken flakes crunched the floor. The heavy aroma of oil and chicken entwined into a heating gloop. Flour stained my clothes to a ghastly white, like I'd become some lost and ambling spirit. People rushed to and back, gaining on about their jobs, servicing as fast as humanly they could. That first day I paid intent attention to Trent. I listened with the ears of some deceptive, acceptive dog. I asked and prodded and obtained with the wonderful crushing of a hand. When the day was done, I went home, tired, drained. A maggot too nauseous of its eating. From then on five weeks elapsed like a wide-eyed, howling moon. During these weeks I learned more of the same, and some other new tasks. I met other fellow workers, and was further along trained as a patronaging worker. Floyd was the main worker I now remember. He was almost like me in many ways. He liked music, he wore glasses, and was very satirical and sarcastic. We got right along in the jaded concessions of our workplace, often talking of nothing much. Floyd often told of how the other night he had gotten, or was going to get "**** faced," as he so put. He was not alone as the only one that drank alcohol that worked there. There was Bob, a fat, bellyached man that appeared to be in his forties. He rode his bike to work, and worked another job along with this one. Looking at him it was easy to see that alcohol was in some part of the equation with him. Not to mention I'd often wonder if what I smelled on his breath was alcohol, or if when he sweated it was beer he was outpouring by the gallons. Bob himself was not even alone. Moe, another worker there, also drank beer, and often proclaimed it loudly enough that most knew of it. One time I had even seen him carrying a whole cooler cased with it, and filling it with ice from the ice box. It seems alcohol was a thing brought and somehow linked and beaten into my workplace. I even remember one day while I was absentmindedly mopping the dining room that a man had staggered in like a groaning zombie. His eyes were glazed in a stupefied haze as he walked to the front counter where Caroline stood The man said something near to, "Ah'd like sum chikun." It came out all slurred, visceral. Like the way raw, red, bleeding hamburger looks. Caroline then asked him how many pieces he would like. After a long time of drunken deliberation, he continued stuporing around as if in some backdrop of his mind he was processing the human genome, and the rest of his brain cells were locked in their chains and behind their bars drinking merrily upon the lethargic taps of alcohol. With some childish yet childless drivel he finally ordered how many pieces. Even then he continued to stand there doing nothing as Cindy read out his total. He stood like this for what was the longest time. Then finally, digging into his pockets as if he was digging for the root of some deep weed, he came out with a few scattered one dollar bills. Caroline asked him if he had more. Digging again, this time bringing even more out, he finally produced enough. Caroline then gave him back his change, told him kindly his order would be out soon, and was off on her way to pack it. The man, upon receiving his order, sat down and just ripped the package holding the chicken to hell. He ate like some starved waif, groveling and chewing harshly and so loud you could hear the smacking of his teeth. It sounded like some loud cow chewing on long prairie grass that was prematurely born as a pig, it was so loud and boisterous. Having just mopped the area where this guy had made his mess, I was forced to do it all over again. I did so, having to sweep up demeated legs, thighs, and wings that looked like some bone collector's lost fortune. Not to mention all the little scraps and pieces of ripped and gutted paper that looked something like clattered pieces of obtuse glass. That done, it was then time to clean the bathrooms. This I was really not inclined to be forced to do. Caroline said she might have seen the guy go in there. Eventually Floyd Man got enough guts to go in. He didn't even seem too shaken from it at all, and I guess grafting myself to his mind, I wouldn't either. It probably was something relatively commonplace to him. Luckily, the drunkard was not in there. I certainly wouldn't have gone in there. I had had this horrible picture of what it would look like inside: all this barf and phlegm showering the walls, the guy lying there on the ground like some life-sized blow up doll that's too lifelike to be one in the first place. It did kind of seem like alcohol just had its own face there. And seeing this, I began to gather some thoughts about my long-term time working there. I began thinking I had been doing a good job. I thought that probably I was more adept than anyone else. I certainly didn't say anything like that, or say I was better. Nor did I think it, but I knew if people like this could work there, then there must be some room for me. Yet it is funny how as certain something can be, how uncertain it can become. It was a few days after I had worked nearly ten hours on The Fourth of July that it happened. That day I was assigned as a cook. It was easy enough. I remember clearly Moe saying that I was the most messy person that had ever worked there. I had looked at him, brushed at the usual thick dust of flour all over my hands and apron, thinking why he'd even said it. I simply came to the thought that at least I wasn't afraid to get down and dirty and into my job. Also I remember Floyd being there, and him asking me what was wrong. It is strange remembering this now, it sort of feels like he knew something. Maybe he already had known what was to happen that day? Perhaps even Moe knew? Near the end of my shift I had been cleaning out the vents all about the kitchen. When we were finally finished with this, Pansy, the owner, beckoned me into her office like some anonymous felon. Pansy, while I had been working for my five weeks, had been on vacation time, living it up on some beach of sand, sun, and fun. Walking into her office I knew just what was going to happen. It was all over her face like some casual mess trying to not crumble all over a cleansed floor. She sat me down next to her, staring at me. She began by explaining that she had gotten some "complaints" from my gracious fellow co-workers. One had complained that I had a bad habit of always putting my hands in my pockets, she said. Another had claimed I didn't know how to pack chicken good enough. And then it was like a boxing match, her fat girth suddenly transformed into lean, muscular being. She hit me with the last and finally degrading punch. "I don't know what to do. I've wasted all the hours training you already. You should know how to at least work the till by now." I just stared at her, everything seeping in like blood seeping back into an open wound. I should know how to work the till by now? Well just look here now. You're the one that sets the pace at which I learn my job, you are the ones that train me. So you're telling me it's my fault I haven't learned the till? If you wanted me to learn it, then you should've done so. I didn't say a thing. I only sat there thinking that, telling myself that I was sure that part of it was me probably. But lookie here, lookie here. Ms. Queen of the Restaurant was on vacation. I'm supposed to pick up the slack of your absence and learn as fast as I am supposed to? Fazed, it was time for another punch even though I was done and gone and out. "You haven't even learned how to pack chicken yet. You should have that nearly mastered by now." I just glared at her, not saying a word. "Do you even know how to pack?" "Somewhat," I said. I could've said that I did. I could've told her that I actually did. But what was I? I was a little marionette, fasted in his chains. I was a yodeling cajoling little Barney the Dinosaur. I didn't know jack. And it was pointless to tell her the truth, I could see it in her pig eyes that I wasn't going to get out of this. So I kept shut. "Somewhat. So you see, you should have it all down by now. So I'm going to let you go. You could've been a cook, but Bill already has that." So then it was all over, and I left. I drove off and drove home like a maniac. I was pissed. Yet I didn't know what to feel. Defeat? Anger? Hate? What was I to feel? I had loved working there. I had met friends in my coworkers. And just like that, bang, I was gone. A few weeks later I remember getting a little something in the mail. It was a champion card, the ones used to award those that had done some special work. They were used to claim a worker of the month, who got to park at a special spot, and got paid some higher wages. The card was filled out by Floyd. On it it read, "For doing a good job to help close." Then his signature. I was surprised when I got it, also somewhat sad that I had never gotten to really be anything with Floyd. But I suppose it wouldn't have been any real friendship, other than at work. I was pretty shocked, though, when I got it. It was a while after I'd gotten fired, and it was like some neverdying creature coming back and nipping at my heels. [/size]

[size=1] If I recall, China isn't exactly "communist." They have a lot of captialistic enterprizing going on, with restrictions...but yes, I do recall they definitely aren't a cut and true "communist nation." I wonder when the US itself will die. Or if it will ever. I mean, it has to end sometime...the Roman Empire fell, the British Empire fell...yeah. It's inevitable, really. Not that I don't love being an American and all, but yeah. It'd be interesting to see that happen. As for China, I really do think they will become one of the strongest nations ever. They already are becoming one, just look at their population. Them being the third country to send people into space is somewhat a big deal, although I really don't care [i]too][/i] much. I do care to an extent, though. I think they will have a hard time with getting democracy running well, though. Just look at Russia.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Sara [/i] [B][SIZE=1]I did that till sixth grade. :p[/SIZE] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] Ah, I finally remember a worthy thing. I actually liked [i]eating[/i] glue. When other kids say me doing it, they'd be all, "eww, that's gross," so I tried not to do it around them. But I can remember asking to go to the bathroom and just licking away at my hands like it was a sucker. Ah yes, Elmer glue. They still make that stuff? They better, it's like the American symbol of...glue. I also did like to peel it, but I just loved to eat it when it was all dry on my hands too.[/size]