Darkwing Fuck


In that same preschool, they used to have us watch tv before they sent us home.  They’d make us all gather around their crappy old tv and watch cartoons, and normally I liked cartoons, but they’re not quite as fun when you’re watching them with a score of snot nosed brats who don’t know how to shut the fuck up.  So I found other ways to amuse myself.


One afternoon, they had us watching Darkwing Duck reruns, and I couldn’t hear a goddamn thing because their ancient tv had two volume settings, mousefart and off.  So I was sitting towards the back when I decided I was going to rhyme stuff with Darkwing Duck, cause that’s what I did when I was bored back then.  So I’m sitting there saying Darkwing Buck, Darkwing Wuck, Darkwing Tuck, etc.


At this point you might have picked up on the trend, and realized there’s only so many letters you can put in front of uck, and as (Darkwing) Luck would have it, I shortly made it to Darkwing Fuck.  I was six at the time and had no idea fuck was a bad word, or even a word at all.  But that little conniving bitch sitting next to me did, and there’s no way she was going to let me off the hook.


“What did you just say”

Darkwing Fuck says I, matter of factly and slightly proud of my rhyming abilities.

“I’m telling on you”

At this point I’m really confused, and pissed as this girl goes running over to the “teacher”.  The teacher gets up and walks over to me.



It rhymes with duck?



Thinking as quickly as I can and confused as fuck, I pick the first person who comes to mind.  My father, let that bastard take the blame for this one.  I get stuck in the corner until my mom picks me up, and the “teacher” explains what happened and that she’s concerned about my home life and my father.  Big mistake.  Instead of being pissed at me, she bitches out the “teacher” about how she has no idea what I’ve been through or what our home life is like and that’s it’s none of her business.


I get off with not so much as a word about it.


Growing Up


Every time I walk down this hallway, I don't realize I've seen it every day for 19 years. My entire life. The walls are close together. It's a cramped hallway, cluttered. One wall, the left, is a pale yellow-white, and the right wall is a wood paneling. The carpet is old and looks it. The pattern has faded into a comfy look that suggests how many generations have walked on it. I remember lying on the carpet with my grandmother's cat curled up on my stomach. I remember smoothing my left hand along the brown, fuzzy carpet and scratching behind the cat's ears with my right hand, feeling the softness surrounding me. My cheek lying against a distorted diamond. I remember thinking, wondering about what other's have thought about as they walked down this hallway. I wondered if any of them had the audacity to lie on the carpet in the middle of everyone's way, just as I was doing at that moment.

I closed my eyes, imaging the way everything looked... The prickly white ceiling made me always wonder if it felt like a cactus. The texture of it almost made me want to forgive it for being such a bland color. At the end of the hallway is a blue book case that is so great; it takes up the entire width of the hallway at the very end. Almost as though it were saying that the hallway did not end, that it just seems as though it has. It's filled with hundreds of childrend's books, amusing tales of far off, unrealistic odysseys.

Four doors. I could walk down this hallway blindfolded and instinctively know where each door is and which door leads to what room. On one door there is a partial hole at the bottom where someone kicked it in. There are two names placed on this door, as well as four paintings that shout the complexities of a child's mind that no one sees. There are pictures at the entrance of the hallway of family, pictures of my mom and her siblings. This is how I know what they looked like as they grew up. By the bathroom door there are tons of little, painted wooden blocks hanging on the wall, each one carrying an important or funny quote. Every Novemeber we hang up Christmas decorations all along these walls in anticipation of the holidays. This little room that no one considers a room always stays constant in appearance as thought it were tradition.

All four doors lead to somwehere special, to someone special. Into a magical fantasy of pirates and ships and fighting, of dragons and horses and spells, one door leads. Into a story-telling chamber of wild dreams and worlds another door leads. Onto a good-night-kiss planet with less gravity that allows me to jump when I walk. It's made of promisses that swear to me new days will come, that is where another door leads. The last door leads to a marshland with a never-ending, glittering sea and a large ship with two shiny masts. To magically exciting places all these doors lead. it gives comfort to know I am somewhere where all I have to do is twist a welded knob of gold and fall into another world and another time.

However, at some point in time, the left wall was partially painted over, and the bookcase was stripped bare of its memories. The carpet has rotted too much, and the doors to the other worlds and adventures have been replaced and hidden by large, wooden, faceless blocks that refuse to budge. The traditions of this room have ceased. There are no more decorations, and there are no more festivities to be seen. All the colorfull blocks that held quotes have been chipped or knocked off the walls. pictures have been removed and holes made by nails are stated clearly in the wood paneling. The hall is cold now and my feet are bare. I cannot find the other doors anymore; I've been blinded to all the feelings of the room.

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(no subject)

     An early June brushes the hair from May’s eyes. It looks east and then pours down a good week of rain to give the soil a break before inviting the sun. When it finally rises, heralding summer in a blaze of apple trees, Aunt Sue plants her flowers to welcome it and calls you outside to help her. As the screen door slams behind you a woman comes past carrying her shopping bags, boots shuffling the hem of her skirt out of the way. She walks sobbing, low and constant. 
     “Morning, Betty,” Aunt Sue greets her. 
     “Mornin’,” Betty moans. “Fine... day for it,” she nods to the garden. The words fall out of her sinking mouth comfortably in small shudders of grief. 
     “What’s wrong?” you ask Sue after she’s gone. Sue picks up a flat of pansies and takes it down to the dirt beside the steps where she sits down. 
     “With who? Betty? Aw, she's all right. Story goes she went to hear a man play the fiddle when she was a girl," Sue takes a bandana out of the pocket of her apron and drags it across her forehead. "And damned if he didn’t break her heart and tie the pieces to the strings before leaving town for good.” 
     “But she’s old now!” you exclaim, though Betty can't be past her thirties. 
     Aunt Sue laughs. “And aren’t you just a young one for saying so? Cryin' Betty’s no crone, she’s just been well worn. I’d bet that fiddle player came through twenty years ago and she’s not stopped those tears for one minute of it.” 
     “You mean she’s loved him ever since?” 
     Sue cranes her neck and squints at you. “I said he left town with her heart in pieces. It’s not the same thing, dear, now hand me that spade.” 

     Many summers later Betty watches as you dance barefoot near the band at a party. She sees how your smiles almost shy away from the handsome grins of the young men on the porch and she cries a quick prayer for you. That spring planting evaporated years ago into a memory of thinly sliced lemons in a pitcher of tea and Aunt Sue wiping the sweat from her neck. All you know now of Betty’s crying is the sound of banjos and violins which spikes your drink and splits the lamplight into twin, gold ribbons of heartache and redemption. The backyard music weaves you into the story of all the things that have taken place and can be played there. This is all you need, it croons, and then steals your heart in exchange for having told you.

like making wishes on the streetlights, one by one

We're leaning up against the wall of her apartment as though leaving it would mean leaving one another. Or at least it seems that way to me; for all I'm here for, she might not even notice.
Then she asks, "Don't you think it's tragic, the way the lightening flashes before you hear it coming?"
"Marion," I start, but she's staring out onto the street below, quiet-like for the first time since the shaking stopped, and she's speaking in real words now so I just watch her.
She feels cold and thin and breakable as a windowpane, the image on the other side of her obscured by the water that pours down the glass.
"I love this," she whispers.

I don't tell her that it isn't raining.
  • Current Music
    Astor Piazzolla ~ La Camorra


I used to love this boy, but he's gone now and whatever has replaced him is something wrong.

He took me on my first date, a formal dance, and everything was perfect and he was beautiful and I was happy because someone took an interest in me for once. We had talked two days earlier at the bonfire and under those stars I prayed to Freya for help....This was before the disease began to take hold.

Things never went right. October was hard. He ignored me, led me on, teased me with other girls. I began to vomit all the time in anxiety. My hair fell out in clumps sometimes. I never slept. I needed him. He was beautiful. I needed someone beautiful.

We had Choir and theater together so we were always in close contact that year. Always doing plays and concerts. Everyone thought we were dating. Jennifer was a thorn in my side. Getting in between us. Jenna was my adversary, vying for his love.

We had planned this date once, a date at the Roller Skating Rink, and it was January so it was snowing. I waited and waited for him, trying to call his house, hoping he'd show up. I was with my friend, who hated him because she knew what he was like. He never showed up.
When it came time to leave, me and my friend waited outside in the cold for my father to come pick us up. The snow was falling and I began to cry because it wasn't the first time he had done this to me, and it wouldn't be the last. It was so cold, the tears froze to my face and my cheeks were coated with ice.

That March, our choir went to Willamsburg for a competition. At Busch Gardens we all gathered for the awards ceremony and it was raining. Me and him ate fried chicken and potato salad in the rain, under a pavilion, together. I bought funnel cake for him and we shared that, the powder getting on my poncho. I was happy.

He told me he didn't want to go to Prom, which I accepted. I found out the day before Prom he was going with Karen.

The last time I saw him, before he died and something else filled his vessle, was as he drove away, me standing infront of the gate to the Old School and watching the back of his neck drive off into the Spring night. All Summer I tried to contact him, spend time with him, tell him I loved him.
I saw what he turned into that October and such an illness and bile began to fill me.

I never saw his oldself again. I concider him dead now.
I do not mourn anymore.
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    Bjork "You've Been Flirting Again"

Student Teaching Experiences: Adventures in masking tape

I Started out at Newman with Mrs. MacIntyre. I was sooo excited to be there. It was a great school, Mrs.MacIntyre was an excellent teacher, it was the perfect place to work. I was sooo excited to be a pseudo-"real" teacher and to be in the real world. I was going to be the best teacher ever. Really. I couldn't wait to be done with school and be in the real world finally. Well, I started out going to Newman the week before school started to organize our brand new classroom. I loved going to all the meetings and meeting the other teachers. Finally, we got some free time to decorate our classrooms. Mrs.MacIntyre asked me to put up all the posters and things she had bought for the room. We had about fifteen different musical mice to use as a border for one end of the classroom and about fifteen different penguins in a band to use at the back of the classroom as a border. We also had a million posters and things to put up. I found a ladder and got to work. I put tape all over the mice, penguins and other posters and proceded to hang them where Mrs.MacIntyre had asked me to. I hung all thirty or forty of the posters that morning and then we went to lunch. Lunch was great. It was catered in and very very good. We came back to the room and Mrs.MacIntyre inspected my work. She took one of the posters off of the wall and looked at the back of it. I looked too. There were about five or six pieces of the School Approved Masking Tape For Wall Hangings on the back. "This poster does not have enough tape on it. It's going to fall down. Is this how much tape you put on all of these posters?" "More or less", I answered, "Depending on the size of the hanging". "Well, its not enough. You need to redo all of this". She began pulling off every poster I had hung. Then I went and fetched us back the ladder so I could take down all of the borders on the wall. She told me I needed to cover the entire back of the poster with tape. So, I began making long vertical strips that covered the back. Coming back into the room, Mrs.MacIntyre remarked, "No, you need to put small pieces dotting the entire back. Long strips will not work either". So much for creativity. So, I took the tape off of the posters and began yet again with very small ohs of tape dotting the entire backside. An hour or so later, the tape had been installed. Next, I stood on the ladder as Mrs.MacIntyre helped direct me to where exactly each penguin and musical mouse should go. They had to be perfectly symmetrical and in line with each other. By two or three in the afternoon, we had finally finished hanging the posters and I was able to move on to organizing the music and the closets. The next day when I came in, I found Mrs.MacIntyre staring at the band of penguins bordering the ceiling in the back of the room. "Do the penguins look uneven to you?" I stared at the wall and observed that the room was not really a square and that the back wall met the right wall at a 45 degree inside angle. Since the wall wasn't really even, it looked like the penguins moved down from the ceiling in a straight line. We spent a few minutes discussing whether the penguins were parallel to the ceiling and it was an optical illusion of perspective that they looked like they were going down or if they actually were going down. Mrs.MacIntyre called two other teachers and a janitor into the room and asked them if they thought the penguins looked even. The five of us spent a few more minutes discussing the evenness of the penguin band. It was decided that the penguins were indeed uneven and I went to fetch the ladder once again to take them down. With Mrs.MacIntyre standing near me and the janitor standing near the front of the room, we deliberated the exact spot to hang each penguin so that they would be exactly parallel to the ceiling.
Our next task was to hang five picture frames on the side wall. Mrs.MacIntyre fretted that the maintenance man was not available to come and hang the pictures for us because the new school building had just opened and he was still busy caulking windows and things like that. "I could hang them for you", I replied. "Do you know how to hang pictures? Have you hung a picture before?" "Well, no, but I know how to do it. I think it'd be pretty easy to figure out." "Really? I don't know how to hang pictures. Isn't that something you get a professional to do?" "Well, a lot of people do it themselves." So, we began the task of hanging pictures. It was not an easy task. First, we had to decide the exact pattern the five pictures should hang in: Two on each side, one in the middle? In a straight line? Alternating top and bottom? The young and hip art teacher was called in to give her opinion on the most aesthetically pleasing design. She wasn't much help to Mrs.MacIntyre as she said, "Whatever you like best will probably look fine." So, the graphic designer was called in to give his opinion. Another discussion evolved that had me arranging the pictures in different formats on the floor as we discussed the pros and cons of each arrangement. It was finally decided that two on each side, one in the middle looked best for five pictures. Next, I held them up to the wall and made little marks as we decided how far apart they should be spaced, where on the wall they should be and how far up or down. We then got a yardstick and made sure it was super straight. We held the pictures up to it and made all these marks about where to put the hammer in. Finally hammering the nail and hanging the pictures was the easy part. When it was all done, Mrs.MacIntyre looked dissatisfied. She thought the pictures looked uneven. But, there was nothing we could do about it because we couldn't hammer any more holes into the wall or we would get in trouble with administration. Although I thought the pictures looked even, I felt guilty because I had not advised Mrs.MacIntyre to hire a Professional Picture Hanger. So much for being the productive and helpful student teacher.
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*I'm New*

Here's a story... *sorry if i confuse you*

There was this guy jason, Oh my goodness, I really like him alot. He started working with me, a few months ago. Never really talked to him. When i first saw him, i knew he was someone i really wanted to get to know. He wasn't perfect, and wasn't drop dead gorgeous, but he was good enough for me. He had all the qualities i looked for in a man. We became good friends, went to every single scary horror movie ever played in theatre's together. He would hold me when i'm scared, and calm me down, and hold onto me, onto my hand. I was really falling in love with him. or i think i was. Then i told a friend that was his best friend, she didn't like the idea too much, because she didn't want him to get so-called hurt by me. She thinks she knows alot about me but she doesn't, we barely talk. She get's mad, and tells me i dont really like him and telling me all this shit, like she doesn't want me dating him, and she would never date him. Comes a few weeks ago, she decides to play a practical joke on me, pretending that they are dating, which made me think of her as some kind of hypocrit. I got angry, i grew into tears, i really cared and loved this kid. She ditched him on halloween for some other guy who she wasnt best friends with, so i invited him to come with me, and guess what we had a great time, it felt like me and jason were dating, even though we really weren't. pissed me off, then she goes around telling everyone that i tried ending their friendship, which wasn't even true, i didn't say a thing to anyone about them or anything, i just stated that i was upset with the joke. i didn't think it was too funny. Jason told me he liked his best friend julia (the girl that played the joke) so i told her, so maybe she would leave me alone. I think that news screwed things up for her. It wasn't my fault this all happened, it was her's. I dont know how this all started or how it came about... all i can say is whatever. So now me and julia aren't friends, am i supposed to feel hurt??? I cant believe she would have the nerve to tell me that i was breakin the relationship between her and jason, when all i did was try to make him happy by tellin him to ask her out for real, and not as a joke like they made it out to be. Well now Jason seems to be still into me, and julia drifted away a hella lot. its not like we were best friends or anything...i know my best friend missy would never do that to me. Jason i think he still likes me, and even if he did ask me out now, i'm way to hurt by him goin along with the joke, and how could i ever trust him again??? yet, i think i still like him.

Pokemon Story Start (Yes I know it's corny but i was into it and it is just sitting in my data base.

Tay Kanth�s Adventures
Chapter 1

In Celedon City, people and trainers are moving around. Tay Kanth is walking with her pok�mon heading out of the city when a shadow is cast. People and trainers look up and see Moltres flying by. They are shocked and excited. Questions are asked with no answers. Team Rocket is also in the city, Carrie and Curtis. They too see Moltres. "After it!" Carrie shouts. The two rockets follow in the same general direction, knocking Tay off her feet in their hurry....

Tay gets to her feet as the two rocket members run after the Moltres. She starts off after them. She called back to her little eevee, "Come on Sage! We are gonna teach those troublemakers a lesson on courtesy!" she ran off, the eevee close at her heels. They ran through crowds of people and Tay was careful not to bump anyone as she dodged through the hustle and bustle. They ran through the market place and a shopkeeper threw her a piece of fruit as she ran by. �Thanks Randy!� she called to him but her voice was lost in the crowd. The rocket members jogged into the forest and, as she caught up with the rocket members, she remembered how she had met Sage.

Tay had been all alone in the woods and it was rapidly becoming dark. She heard noises and suddenly a large Raticate had come at her. She had called for help but no one was there. Then an eevee came bounding through the bushes and attacked the raticate. The raticate had run off with a broken tooth and she and Sage had been friends ever since. She shook her head and saw the rocket members panting for breath. Her eevee came up next to her and sat down refreshed from the exercise. Tay listened to the rocket members talking.

�Crud! Now we have to wait for it to show up again! We are probably going to have to wait all night before it comes out of it�s den again!� Complained Curtis.

�Oh be quiet and quit whining! Giovanni will be really happy if we get this for him! Especially since he needs it for (whisper) � scolded Carrie ending the sentence so low that Tay couldn�t hear.

So, Tay thought that�s their hurry. Well we�ll see to it that they don�t get away with it!
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    "Soldier Boy" - The Shirelles