I Know

I know.
I know things.
I know things that you know.

I know.
I know that.
I know that you don't.
I know that you don't know.
I know that you don't know that I know.

I know.
I know what you think.
I know what you think I don't know.
I know what you think.
I know.

I know that you don't know that I know.
I know that you don't know.
I know that you don't.
I know that.
I know.

I know things that you know.
I know things.
I know.

Haikus: Vol. 10- A Chain of Haikus

I got this idea from my last post and wanted to see how long I could keep it going. You'll catch on.

House flies with balloons
Military says: Swamp Gas
Kevin is dead, kids

Houseflies with balloons
Sounds like an awesome party
Hope I'm invited...

Housewives with balloons
Sounds like a baby shower
Must get away now

Housewives with baboons
Who let them out of their cage?
The housewives-I mean

Baboons with house knives
It's like Planet of the Apes,
Only for hipsters

Baboons eat house knives
It's just like sword swallowing,
Only for hipsters

Well, that seems to be it; I'm stuck. But if you want, feel free to continue in the comments. It's fun, I swear.

Haikus: Vol. 9

Times New Roman: Bland
Webdings: Secret codes for spies
Comic Sans: *Facepalm

When a hamster dies
Unless it died from the flu
It becomes my lunch

Cram for an exam
Textbooks don't make good pillows
Wake with a  headache

Our house caught aflame
I rose up from the ashes
Still on fire, though.

Majestic- I ran
I then tripped over my shoes
..Heroically..

Body-guards deployed
My interview was awful
Next time I'll wear pants

Scumbag Santa Haiku:
Sneaks into your house
Eats food; leaves sketchy boxes
Is loved by all kids

Reindeer fly over
Military says: "Swamp Gas"
Santa is dead, kids

UFO flies by
Military says: "Swamp Gas"
E.T is dead, kids

House flies with balloons
Military says: "Swamp Gas"
Kevin is dead, kids

Houseflies with balloons
Sounds like an awesome party
Hope I'm invited..

Rhyme Rampage

Obama

Obama's pajamas

Obama's mama's pajamas

Obama's mama's llama's pajamas

Obama's mama's pajamas have Osama's llamas

Obama's mamas and Osama's pajamas watch llamas

Obama's mamas and Osama's pajamas watch llama dramas

Obama's baby-mama's dramas cause Osama's llama's pajama's trauma

Obama's Bahama-mama's llama-dramas cause Osama's pajamas trauma

Obama's Bahama-mama's baby-dramas cause Osama's llama's pajamas trauma

Obama's Bahama-mama's baby-dramas cause Osama's llama's pajamas comma trauma

Beard

Weird beard

Weird beards cheered

Weird-eared beards cheered 

Weird-eared beards cheered, jeered, and peered here

Sheared weird-eared beards cheered, jeered, and peered near here

We're sheared weird-eared beards that cheered, jeered, and peered near here

We're feared sheared weird-eared beards that cheered, jeered, and peered near here dear

We're feared sheared weird-eared deer beards that cheered, jeered, and peered near here dear

Sock

Sock stock

Socks mock stocks

Socks mock frock stocks

Rocks' socks mock frock stocks

Rocks' socks mock frock stock shocks

Brock's rocks' socks mock frock stock shocks

Crocs' rocks' socks mock Brock's frock stock shocks

Ghost

Ghost post

Ghosts post most 

Ghosts post most boasts

Most ghosts post hosts' boasts

Most coast ghosts post hosts' boasts

Most coast ghosts' toast posts hosts' boasts

Most coast ghosts' toast posts hosts' roast boasts

Most engrossed coast ghosts' toast posts hosts' roast boasts

*if you can provide an MS Paint illustration of the last sentences in each category, then I'll be forever thankful

**or if you could send a recording of you saying all of these out loud, then I'll be forever thankful

Dying Fire

Here I sit at the camp site next to my tent. It's a brisk autumn night and everyone is asleep but me. I can hear them breathing heavily as they dream, and I wonder briefly about what they might be dreaming about.

I imagine that they have found themselves in a place that sharply contrasts where we are in reality. They must be in a lush, warm, green field. The sun must be out and shining brightly through a blue sky. Some of them might be running and playing, while others might be sitting and enjoying their day. The breeze is warm and pleasant, cooling them down ever so slightly. They must be so happy while assuming everyone around them is also happy and smiling. They can see forever if they stand on one of the tall hills that pepper the landscape. They are free to spread out, because everyone is safe and nothing is dangerous. I can almost see them smiling as they dream in their tents.

A hard, cold wind snaps me back to reality. Here, it is dark beyond the fire. The biting wind originates in the shadows beyond the fire's reach and taunts me. I can hear it screaming as it races at me through the trees. Here, it is hard to see even thirty feet because the trees are so clustered. Dirt and dead leaves make up the ground that we set up on, and everything is cold and damp. We sleep in tents close to each other to overcome the fear of being separated. There are no clouds in the sky. The moon is out and bright, but exactly half is visible. It's impossible to tell if it is waxing or waning. Even though everyone is asleep near me, everything feels isolated. Even the noises of nature that I can hear are groups of sounds that originate together, without me, somewhere where I am not. The others are warm in their tents, and I am not. They are sleeping; I am not. In their mind, they are in a better place.

I am not.

I am exactly where I am. Both in my mind and in reality. My problem lies in not knowing where I am headed next. Am I going to go back into my tent, or am I going to stay outside? Answer-less, I remain stagnant. Isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way I'm going.

Just like the moon.

The moon seems to be surrounded by stars and planets, but it is only an apparent closeness. In reality they are far away, and the moon remains isolated and cold. I look up at it- It is still exactly half visible. Isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way it's going.

I turn my attention to the fire. We forgot to put it out before heading to bed, but I wish it was warmer and fuller. It has been reduced to embers gasping for life. I look at the dull orange light that it is emitting and remember what it used to be like. It used to be proud. There used to be motion and life within it. The flames danced on the logs, using their energy to create more energy- feeding itself. It used to be infectious, too, sending ashes out to spread more flames around. We used to have to actually restrain the fire, digging a pit for it and brushing the dead leaves away- Isolating it.

But that is no longer reality. Here, the bitter winds have battered the fire, and the dampness has starved it. The darkness is compressing it. The fire is now a group of embers clinging to whatever they can hold. I stare at them; they still emit the same dull orange light. As another strong wind races by, I note that at least the embers are not cold.

I am.

The wind rushes me back to reality again. I notice how cold it is outside and think about reaching for a blanket. I don't move though, I just sit still, remaining motionless. Isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way I'm going.

Like the fire.

I look back to what's left of the fire. The embers are still in their pit, glowing faintly. The fire is no longer dancing, just unmoving as it continues to emit an unwavering and unchanging light. Will it die out, or rush back to life? Answer-less, it remains stagnant. Isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way it's going.

I am still sitting outside my tent, wishing I could be in the others' dreams. I long to be elsewhere, where I can be warm again. I want to feel the rush of life as I roll down a hill of soft, green grass, and as I stop rolling, I want to be able to look up at the sky. There are no worries where I picture myself. Where I wish I could be, the wind is friendly and soft. I want to feel the freedom to spread out without the fear of separation. I want to be able to stand on the hilltops and see forever. To see what comes next.

Here, that is not possible. In reality, I can't see past the seemingly endless darkness and rows of trees. There is no green field, there is no blue sky, and it is cold. But my longing to be in the others' dream world sparks a thought in me.

I am not
Just like the moon
I am
Like the fire

Like the moon and the fire, I am stagnant. The fire is neither going out nor getting stronger. The moon is neither waxing nor waning. I sit, unable to decide to go in my tent or to stay outside. Also like the moon and the fire, I am isolated. The fire is by itself in a pit although it tried reaching out, the moon is by itself in space although it seems like there are planets and stars surrounding it, and I am by myself although the others are asleep close by. Just like the moon and the fire, I am isolated and stagnant, not knowing which way I'm going.

But unlike the moon, I still have hope. Nothing can reach the moon, not even hope, because it remains stagnant. That is why it is so cold- the moon's stagnation is what's keeping the moon in hopeless isolation; it can't bring itself to move towards the Earth or the Sun. But, oddly, the fire remains warm because the embers remain stagnant. Because the embers are so unchanging, it keeps the fire warm and keeps the possibility of returning to unity and motion alive. The moon is cold, the fire is warm. I am cold, but could be warm. I can choose to be like the moon or the fire. I remember: 

I am not Just like the moon. I have hope, and because of that hope, I am Like the fire.

I stand up and return to my tent, leaving the embers burning in the pit. Maybe, Like the fire, the stagnation in my life has been what's preserving me. And maybe a fresh gust of wind will breathe new life into me and allow my stagnation to be set aflame. Just Like the fire, I will be able to use the flames to create motion in my life once again.

Vestiges

Vestiges are outdated- unimportant. No one needs them, and we can all live without them. No one actually likes vestiges. When was the last time you heard someone say "Oh, I just love my palmaris longus muscle!"? Unless Palmaris was actually in the room listening to everything you were saying, people wouldn't even think to say that. The only time vestiges are noticed is when they're causing problems; you don't worry about your appendix until it bursts. The best way to deal with a broken vestige? Remove it from your body and throw it away.

You are composed of vestiges. Not a single facet about you has changed- you remain stationary, always there whether you're needed or not. Just like a vestige, you sit there. Unwanted, Unneeded.

Oh, that joke again? This argument again? An eerily familiar story. Please tell it again, I think it'll be more entertaining a sixth time. No, really, it's fascinating. Honest.

You neither grow nor decay; you just exist. I look back to when we first met, and I can see how things have changed, how people have changed, and how you have remained the same. In a world that's rapidly evolving, you remain a constant. You can't seem to make yourself helpful to anyone. The only time you occupy our thoughts is when you pick fights and create conflict. Each vestige of your personality- every annoying trait- has grown old and useless.

The phrases you use over and over? -Vestige

The jokes you've run into the ground and killed? -Vestige

That look you give us? -Vestige

That tone of voice you use? -Vestige

Your unwarranted air of superiority? -Vestige

Your ability to create conflict out of nothing? -Vestige

You once served a purpose. You were helpful at one point. But now, due to your unwillingness to change, I must get you out of me. But, just like a vestige, it will be a hassle to remove you. You thrive off of causing problems because it's the only time you feel important. Even though a burst appendix is only getting bad attention, it's at least getting some kind of attention, right? That must mean it's important, right? Or maybe that means it's just a nuisance.

We have learned to live without you. You are now just extra baggage. You are unchanging, excess, and a nuisance. You are outdated, unimportant, and unneeded. You are vestigial. You failed to adapt with us, so now we must leave you behind.

Misplaced Judgments

A man walks down a fairly calm street on campus. I spot him from far away, as he is a very noticeable man. He is dressed in a long, black robe, and in his right hand he carries a large gavel.  The fading sunlight brings out the wrinkles under his eyes. They suggest that he's experienced a lot in his lifetime. His eyes are sharp, but they look confused. It's like he can see straight through you, into your darkest secrets, but he can't quite focus. They are piercing, but lost- a dangerous combination.

We look at each other for a few moments. The sun has now disappeared, making him appear darker than before. He is becoming formless within the shadows, but is still imposing. The shadows expand, covering everything on the street. His gaze cuts through the darkness. He stares through me, and I can feel his eyes searching. He is expressionless and judgmental; this is the cold, hard stare of logic. But for some reason, there is a feeling of uneasiness. There is a sense of frantic disorder. Suddenly, everything seems out-of-place; nothing is necessarily wrong, but nothing is in its right place either.

He lifts his arm to point at me and commands, "Speak, and tell me what you can offer the World."

I don't say anything. I can sense that he already knows what I have to offer, and I know what he's looking for. He can see my thoughts, he can see talents, and he can see my goals. He already knows what I want and what I can offer, so why does he ask?

"Speak!" he commands, more forcefully this time. "Tell me what you can offer the World."

The look in his eyes suggests that he knows more at this point than I do. He can see something in me that I don't yet. But should I trust him? I glance past him and see that all the people that had passed before me are now merging with him, like they are slowly being sucked in to him. He is absorbing their bodies- and their judgments, steadily growing larger, turning darker. His imposing body is now all I can see- all I can feel. His mass surrounds me, pressuring me- suffocating me. I look deep into him, as he is doing to me, and am met with the faces of a thousand people, all of whom have been trapped inside this man as well.

Struggling to breathe, I manage to choke out, "I just want to be useful to the World! That's all I want! I just want to please it!"

The man eases off me a little bit. "That is not good enough. Offer more."

"What? What do you mean? I can be very useful, and you know that." I am confused about what the man wants from me. What more can I offer the World?

"You must be more to exist in this World. Offer more." His stare is fixed on me. He still has no expression, and his tone suggests that, in his mind, everything he is saying is a matter of fact.

"I know you can see the good will within me. You can see the determination I have. All of these things you know I have in me, but it's still not enough?"

He still doesn't move. "That is not good enough. Offer more."

"What if I can't offer more? I have offered everything I have to be in this World."

"Then you are not good enough. I deem you inadequate."

How can this be? I think. I can offer so much to the World. Sure it was different from what others can, but it's reasonable to think that what I can give can still be useful.

And that's when I can finally see it. This man is completely logical in his own mind. But his logic is entirely different than mine. It explains how he can look like he knows so much, but be so confused. It explains why he looks baffled and misplaced. It explains why his eyes are so piercing, but lost. It's because he is using misplaced logic. The only way I could ever understand him is to look at things through his mind. But I can't. I can't see how he thinks through things and how he makes his decisions. All that I know is that what he decides is final. He is the ultimate judge; no one escapes his gavel. As long as we are around others, he is there, looking through them and condemning.

He speaks to me again.

"Although I have deemed you inadequate, I will give you the choice to stay or go. The decision is up to you: do you want the World, or do you want to leave it all?"

I look around me. The place I had once looked at so lovingly had turned colorless. The man's presence haunted every corner of the World that I knew. How can I stay with this World when all my efforts to be useful to it are shrugged off and ignored? I know that everywhere I go after this, he will be watching me, and that the entire time he will be thinking that I am not good enough or that I can't offer enough. He wants more, and I don't think I can give any more. I would be living my life as someone who was unaccepted and inadequate.

I turn back to the man. Our eyes meet and we instantly understand the decisions that we have made. I know now what the man saw in me that I couldn't see earlier.

Misplaced logic leads to misplaced judges, and misplaced judges make misplaced judgments. Maybe I am the one who is misplaced.

The man, now towering over me, raises the gavel over his head. I watch him look into me one last time, almost sadly. We both knew this was coming, though. This World can't have me and this man; one of us had to go.

As he swings the gavel down over me, everything goes silent. Just before he crushes me, I feel peace. It's an almost happy feeling knowing that I won't ever have to deal with this man again. Relief spreads across my body as the pressure of the man's presence disappears. I feel free. I can see light again.

Then the gavel crushes me, and everything vanishes.

Mirror's Image

About ten months ago, I received a new mirror. I hadn't exactly planned on getting this mirror, so it almost came to me as a surprise. Oddly enough, the packaging didn't say "Handle with care," but I decided I would anyway, just to be safe. In my excitement, I brought it into my living room. I spent a while trying to figure out just the right spot to put my new mirror, and I eventually settled on a spot near the center of my living room. It was next to a portrait of my family and friends and the spot where I stood to practice my horn. Also cluttered around the living room were various ribbons and medals from swimming, trophies from soccer, and other things that meant a great deal to me. Maybe my first mistake was valuing the mirror so much from the start.

I would spend more and more time looking into the mirror every day, becoming more entranced each time. But I wasn't looking at my reflection. The mirror was spotless; it had no flaws, and when I looked into it, it gave me more than just an image. Everything that I put into that mirror, it reflected back. If I looked sadly into the mirror, it would be just as sad and sympathize with me. If I was happy, it would celebrate with me. The image gave me more than just light waves, I could feel that it was also reflecting the emotions that I was putting into it. The mirror image and I were complete equals.

I did my best to take care of the mirror. I spent a lot of time making sure it was safe and clean. But as time passed, I noticed that little smudges were appearing on the mirror. Not trying to worry too much, I would quickly clean the mirror and once again see the flawless image it had always shown me. After those periods, I could see that the mirror was reflecting everything that I put in it and that we were equals again.

Time kept passing, though, and soon smudges became cracks in the mirror. Dust accumulated on the surface, and the mirror's image seemed dull. I tried to keep the cracks from expanding and spreading as I brushed the dust and smudges off, knowing that if the cracks got too big, the mirror would be ruined. I would never be able to see what I had once seen in the mirror.

But time passed on relentlessly, and the smudges and scratches were harder to wipe clean. I realized that the mirror image and I were no longer equal. The smudges between us kept it from reflecting all that it could. The mirror no longer gave back what I was putting into it.

Still, what it reflected back to me was beautiful, and I cherished it. But how long could I last knowing that I was putting more into the mirror than I was getting out?

After a long trip I had taken, I noticed that the mirror was in particularly bad shape. Cracks had spread, dust had settled, and smudges had stained. The mirror looked neglected. Was this my fault? What could I have done to try to keep the mirror in better condition? How can I fix this? All of these questions circled my head after I discovered the mirror's condition. Maybe a better question would have been "Should I fix this?" or "Can this mirror even be recovered?"

Now, in the present, I take care walking into my living room. I watch my steps, sometimes carefully, other times reluctantly. The mirror sits there, and if I look at it too long, I swear I can see it quivering- almost as if it's looking for a reason to shatter. I could pour myself into the mirror and barely make anything out. So why bother?

Because I'm unreasonably faithful that somehow I can fix this, and that one day I'll be able to see the beautiful, deep image once again.

Because I'm scared that I'll never find another mirror that can so accurately reflect all that I put in to it again.

Because I'm afraid that I'll miss it as soon as it's gone.

Because this mirror is a huge part of my life now, and without it, I lose part of myself.

No matter how hard I try, I can't come to a decision. I watch the mirror getting worse day after day, and that is worse than both outcomes of getting rid of the mirror and trying to fix it. There is nothing more tragic than watching something so beautiful deteriorate before your own eyes. I can feel part of myself dying along with it.

I'm scared that one day soon I'll take the mirror and smash it to the ground in a rage of confusion, sending shards of glass everywhere. I'm afraid that I'll look among the wreckage of what once was and weep. Maybe what troubles me the most is that I can already tell what it will feel like. Am I that close to doing it?

But if worse comes to worst, and despite all of my fears, I hope that I will be able to stand among the mess and pick up the prettiest, purest shard of the mirror and keep it with me always.

Hm

Irony: incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result.

Can you really have your irony if everyone already expects you to be ironic?

To Let Blood Be Drawn

For me, it's there like an itch: If I don't think about it, it's not there.

It starts as a little twinge- just enough to get my attention. Maybe it happens somewhere I don't expect it, like my thigh or shoulder. Sometimes it doesn't occur where it should. Why do I itch on my shoulder when the ant bites are on my calf? Am I really surprised at this point? What can I do to stop it?

There are two answers. I can indulge myself -scratch the itch until I'm satisfied- or I can take the higher road. Ignore it and it'll go away. Usually. But now it's got a good portion of my attention. I try to ignore it.

Then the itch employs an incredibly sly tactic. It waits a few seconds until my mind leaves it behind. Then it twinges again, a little bit more. Now it's starting to bother me. I had just gotten rid of the thought of scratching, and the itch went away. I thought I was in the clear, but now it's back and stronger than before. It controls my attention.

Still, I know to ignore it. I've done this several times and I know. Ignore it and it'll go away. I know it itches, but indulgence is not the answer.

The itch is still there, like someone tickling your skin with a feather. The sensation gets stronger and stronger. My body pleads with my mind. "Please scratch me!" it yells. Still, I don't make a move. I know if I start moving, I'll try to "accidentally" scratch my itch. I need to conserve my energy: This will be one hell of a mental battle.

Although I consider myself a strong-minded person, it does me no good in this case. My mind is making equally strong arguments supporting and fighting my indulgence. The only difference is the physical side of the argument, or in other words, my body. But my body itches. I'm fighting a losing battle every time. Still I know; Ignore it and it'll go away. I've done it before, and I can do it again. Indulgence is not the answer. Think of the consequences.

But the itch goes away for both actions. And it only goes away temporarily for both actions. One's just much harder.

If I don't scratch, then the itch goes away slowly. I'm also left with no physical marks of my temptations. No one will know that I itched unless I tell them. Of course, the itch will come back like always, but maybe continuous time spent ignoring the itch will numb my body over time. Maybe it will get easier to ignore it. To take the higher road that excludes self indulgence. It's just so hard when my body makes such a convincing physical argument.

If I scratch, I get immediate relief. Relief until the itch comes back stronger than before. Then I'll be even more tempted to scratch, and the itch will come back again, stronger than that. It will lead into an endless spiral. But let's say that I choose to scratch. Just scratch it this one time. I can just scratch once and be done, right?

Without thinking, I reach for it. I see what I'm doing, but it's like my mind is gone. I can't think, I can only act. There needs to be some sort of action right now, and ignoring is not action- it's inaction. Scratching is action. I need the scratch.

The next thing I know, my fingernails are going back and forth. It feels so relieving. In fact, it feels so relieving that I keep going longer than necessary. "Just for a second longer," my body tells me, "Remember, you said it was just this once, so let's make it good." One more second turns into five more as my body pleads for me to keep going. Five more turns into ten more seconds.

It's at this point that something happens. Something changes within me. My mind wakes up, and I realize what I'm doing. My body won't let me stop though.

"This can't feel good," my mind thinks, "You're pressing your sharp fingernails firmly into your skin and pulling it back and forth repeatedly in only a small area. This hurts."

"No. It feels good. This itch was bothering you for so long. Keep going."

The battle of my mind and body creates an odd mix of pain and pleasure. It feels right, but I know it isn't. Also, I notice that I have to keep pressing harder with my fingernails to scratch my itch.

Now is the point where I must decide. Do I end it now, or do I keep going?

In this case, there is no in between. Indecisiveness stalls long enough to be a "keep going." It is either stop or go.

Humans aren't perfect. We like pleasure. We like to feel good. We also like to think that we are rational. But in-the-moment is not rational. Rational is thinking out of the context of in-the-moment. Rational is longterm. What good is scratching now doing me in the long run? What's going to make me better off down the road: scratching or stopping?

This is how I know humans are not rational while in the moment. Sitting here, I'm sure we can all think of the most correct answer, which is to stop scratching. Sitting here, we can think of the consequences if we keep scratching beyond this point. Sitting here, it seems so obvious.

But it's not obvious. Remembering that we are people who strive to make ourselves better off any way we can, think back to the beginning when I was still in control. I wasn't scratching. I knew, "Ignore it and it'll go away." If I had stayed rational, I would have waited until my itch was gone and then gone about my day. It was the moment that I stopped thinking- the moment my body followed its primal instincts- that I turned irrational. I was no longer thinking about the long run. My focus was on immediate relief and pleasure. It was at this point that I had lost my control.

My mind was in a deadlock between scratching and not scratching. The only other origin of argument was from my body, which was screaming for me to scratch it. As long as it feels good, I'm going to scratch. It's not my fault. My one moment of irrationality got me in to this, and in the moment, each decision to keep scratching seems rational to me. Why would I want to stop something that feels good? And like most humans, I will choose to scratch past that point. I will continue to feel that odd sensation of pain mixed with pleasure.

The outcome is inevitable, and we see it coming. This is a tragedy. Humans are tragedies.

We keep scratching. We've already been proven in this situation to think in the short run for immediate relief. Otherwise, we wouldn't be in this situation. We scratch past the tipping point, heading straight for the breaking point. We keep digging our fingernails harder and harder into our skin, scratching more vigorously with each passing second. Something has to give in order to bring us back to rationality.

Our skin breaks; blood has been drawn.

The sight of the blood brings rationality back in a rush. It's at this point that we feel our guilt. "Why did I keep scratching? I knew this would happen," we think. This is when we ask ourselves some of the toughest questions. They aren't tough because there's a hidden answer. They're tough questions because we know the answers, we just aren't proud of them.

There is now physical evidence of what we have done. The blood from our self-indulgence stains our skin. It leaves scars for others to see. Now it is something we must live with every day. We can choose to hide it, or we can put it out in the open for others to see.

How will these scars affect us? Will they make us stronger by reminding us the consequences of self-indulgence? Or will they make us feel weak by reminding us that humans can be irrational tragedies? Of course, sitting here, the answer seems obvious: "Use it as a tool to remind you of the perils of irrationality!" we shout. But what makes a man is what he chooses when he's in the moment. Will he stay rational, or will he spiral into the dangers of irrationality and immediate pleasures? This is the moment that defines you.

Haikus: Vol. 8 (Tornado 2011 Edition)

Sucked out the window
Time to begin his journey
Into a brick wall

Tornado watches
Something to worry about?
Or just cool watches?

Clustered in basements
This just helps the tornado
We are easy prey

"Hang on!" Dad shouted
His poor son didn't have arms
Sucked out the window

Caitlyn's haiku:

Textbooks on our heads
Lying face down in a ditch.
Will this stop tree trunks?

Normal Cows go "Moo"
What do Tornado Cows do?
They fly and crush kids

Low wages, Trailers
Things that attract tornadoes
Southern drawls, no teeth

Haikus: Vol. 7

"Hey Honey, can-"  *SMACK*
Don't bug men when they play C.O.D
He smacked that hoe, hard

Feet warts and no bucks
Life's hard as a college kid
They're all I have now

Yo mama's so fat
She could eat fifty children
Like, Literally

I saw an old man
I went up and pushed him down
Then I ran. Go Dawgs.

Kids suffocated
Buildings evacuated
Roommate's got the farts

Caitlyn Hentenaar:
Bearded, Soiled, and Sticky
Send her away, please

Piano Man Haiku:
He tickles the keys
If those keys were young children
He'd be sent to jail

Totally Didn't Happen Haiku:
Thought they were chip crumbs
Who leaves toenails in chip bags?
It's still tasty though...

Dogs will not leave you
You scream "Get help! I'm dying!"
They still won't leave you

The New, Uncontroversial Pledge of Allegiance

I may or may not pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America,
And maybe or maybe not to the republic/dictatorship/democracy/facist state (choose whichever you feel like) for which it stands,
One nation, between 24.52^o N latitude to 49.38^o N latitude and approximately 66.95^o W longitude to 124.77^o W longitude, which is mostly above Mexico and under Canada- except for Alaska- and behind China,*
Indivisible, except for those times when states seceded or threatened to
With liberty** and justice** for all (**depending on your definition of these terms and your views on how the U.S handled certain events, you can leave this part out, or insert a different phrase for "all," like "for old, white men")

The government should start phasing out the old Pledge and replacing it with this new one immediately, although it might take a couple years to teach to the young kids and even longer for them to understand what they're actually saying. It'll also take precious minutes-and-a-halfs away from classtime, which is the biggest case against it already being said in schools.

Alternatively, you can try the Mad-Libs version:

(Person in room) pledges allegiance to the flag of the United (Plural Noun) of (Place)
And to the (Adjective) (Noun) for which it stands
(Number) (Adverb) (Verb) Nation(s)
Under (Noun)
With (Noun) and Justice for (Demographic)

*If you belong to the Flat Earth Society and truly believe that the Earth is not a sphere, and therefore the U.S cannot be behind China, you can omit this part or edit it on your own. Just know that your classmates will make fun of you.

I'm Not Writing This

My name is Billy
I am so Silly
I want to live in Philly
My favorite flower is a Lily

My name is also Will
My dad calls me Bill
Sometimes I like to Kill
I have a hole to Fill

My name is also Theo
I like to play in a Trio
I can drink a whole Kilo
...It's hard to rhyme now...

My name is William Theodore Hentenaar.

Haikus: Vol. 6

Laying in my bed
Contemplating my life now
It needs more hookers

A pet bird named Bird
My family's creative
A pet cat named Cat

At church, people scream
The priest faints and children cry
Next time I'll wear pants

Mom says go outside 
I do; SPLAT- hit by a truck
Mother doesn't care

I'm The Ice Cream Man
I'm wanted in seven states
I stole twenty kids

I said "walk it off"
The boy looked at me, so sad
He didn't have legs

If I got TB
I'd cough on everyone
That'd show them who's boss

I said "Go ask Mom"
Brother looked at me sadly
We are both orphans


Blind man walks by fish
He takes a deep sniff and says,
"Good morning, ladies"

A Difference in Perspective

Next time you hear a song that has the words "memory" or "memories," replace them with "mammary" and "mammaries."

Some people say it ruins the songs, I think it makes them better. Turn Fallout Boys "Thanks for the Memories" into "Thanks for the Mammaries," and it's almost tolerable.

Don't Mess With a Legend

The Legend of the “GG”

People have begun to sit up and take notice that Winder-Barrow High School has an unusual spelling of their school mascot. It is no spelling mistake. And, yes, people from Winder do know how to spell. There is a meaning behind the two G's in the Winder-Barrow Bulldogg!

In 1985, the student body voted to add the extra "g" to the Winder-Barrow Bulldogg mascot. The extra "g" stands for "Extra Effort." The Winder-Barrow "Doggs" are not your average dogs; therefore, the name is not an average name.

The New World Webster Dictionary describes a bulldog as a "short-haired square-jawed heavily built dog...stubborn..." A Barrow County "Bulldogg," however, is a different breed of animal. It is better described as a "creature that lives west of the Mulberry River and east-northeast of the Apalachee River in the Lower Piedmont Regions of North Georgia, peculiar only to that area known as Barrow County. While it resembles the bulldog in spirit and stubbornness, the similarities there stop."

The B-U-L-L-D-O-G-G has a tendency to roam in a pack. It loves a challenge and should never be backed against the wall from where, legend has it, the DOGG gets its strength and courage. Another local legend says that it was created from a mythological wall that provided inner strength to those it created. The PRIDE within a BULLDOGG is like no other.

In many cases, a dog's bark is worse than its bite. Not so with the BULLDOGG, whose bite is considered to be far more dangerous than its bark! Don't mess with a legend.

*A Clarification:

I did not make this up. I took it from the school's page to help spread the Legend to the world. Don't mess with it.

A Very Hypothetical Situation

They say that to remove warts, you should put super glue on top of them. This apparently suffocates the warts until they fall off your body. I'm still not sure that this is exactly what's going on, but something similar is probably going on. It is a common wart removing technique that has worked for people I know in real life.

Let's say, hypothetically, that a person was tired of having multiple warts. I'll go ahead and say it's two warts, and since we're being totally hypothetical, I'll say it's also on fingers of opposite hands.

Wouldn't it be faster and easier to just super glue the two warts together, wait until it dries, and then rip your -fingers apart? I'm going to stream of conscience the worst possible outcome that pops into my mind.

In the worst-case scenario, only one wart gets ripped off and is now fused to the other in some sort of megawart that has already been proven to be half-indestructible. Knowing that not even the adhesion of super glue can tear the wart from your finger, there are two options left.
1) Amputate and hope that the wart doesn't grow appendages.
2) Cover your finger with a huge and unwieldy band-aid for the rest of your life or until you don't care anymore.

Both options have negative outcomes themselves. The first one is pretty obvious; you'd get blood all over your carpet if you amputate right then and there. As for the second one, just imagine the endless possibilities of bad times for the band-aid to fall off. It could be on a first date, or at church. The priest would likely try to exorcise you on the spot. You'd eventually have no friends because everyone would know you as the kid with the wart body, even if it's just one (..kind of) wart. Your life would crumble apart as even your family drifts away from you. Having nothing and no one in your life, you are driven to the woods. You howl at the moon. No one feels sadness from your departure, only relief.

So, hypothetically, if any one out there was thinking about getting rid of your warts that way, I think that should be enough warning not to do it. The risk is just too high if you super glue your warts together.

Sleeping Roommate Haikus

My roommate has the tendency to talk nonsense in his sleep. I will attempt to sort out what he says into haikus..and if you see one that actually makes sense, then I probably just thought it up and threw it in there.
Note: these were not all said in this order, I'm just rearranging them; I really doubt my roommate would sleep-talk in haikus..and I might change things to fit the proper format. He also talks really fast when he sleeps, so I'm just going with what I hear..


GET TO THE BACK YARD
BILLY I KNOW YOURE THERE NOW
THREE SHOES ON TWO FEET

HELLO KAITLYN WHAT
ITS LIKE HUH I DONT EVEN
HUH HUH WHAT HUH MMENGHS

WATCHING MY ROOMMATE:
ITS MY FAVORITE HOBBY
UNTIL HE WAKES UP

GIANT TITRANTIS
HEY DID I JUST SAY SOMETHING?
UHNG I LOVE YOU TOO*

THE ROOM IS SHAKING
PANICKED, I COVER MY EARS
DEATH SNORES ARE COMING

I REALLY THINK THAT
FOOT FEET ARE THEN JUST TOYS BOTS
I DID MORE DENMARK

I'M WATCHING YOU SLEEP
THEN SOMETHING WEIRDER HAPPENS
YOU HUMP YOUR BED...HARD

I thought there would be a lot more of Nick's crazy mumblings, but he seems to have stopped talking for the night.

wellimgoingtobedsinceyouallcaresomuchaboutwhatimdoingnextdontforgettofollowmeplzplzplzijustwanttoseempopularandupbeathahasoilladdacoupleofthese:D:D:D::D:D:):):):)!!!!!!!!!1!followmeplzandgoodnighthahahaha

(*In case you were wondering, I did not say "I love you" to him..it came out of the blue..besides, I'm waiting for him to say it first...
.
.
.waitwut)

uh...

At church, people scream
The priest faints and children cry
Next time I'll wear pants