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Nov. 19th, 2005 02:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrage"Bad things happen...when you go to the bathroom alone.
Repost this within the next 2 minuites in Jessica and Jamie's memory. If you carelessly dont, both of the dead, slottered, girls will come to your bed and slotter you in your sleep. Just like themselfs"
The vacuity of myspace makes me laugh.
Real war stories sound nothing like a chain letter.
They don't need morals.
And what the hell was with the meaningless introduction? Sixth graders that would forget about hygiene and then fall in love randomly and name things "butterfly"? A young author would think it sounds like life, try to appeal to the part in each one of us that names things "butterfly" and camps out for eternity with cute little friends who snore faintly next to us, implicity reminding us that they still have skin. Maybe I should paste in the first part. Although I've kinda ruined it by giving out the moral first. Inductive reasoning?
"Once there was a girl named Jamie, she was in 6th grade at Seqouia middle school. It was the day before outdoor school. She couldnt wait, she was so excited, she was packing practicly everything in her room for the trip.
"Dont forget to pack your hairbrush, toothbrush, tooth paste, and toilet paper!!!" her mom yelled after her
"yea whatever mom" she shot back
Getting on the bus the next day, the boy she liked asked if she would sit next to her. Of course she said yes and the whole ride there was wonderful. She found out that he had feelings for her too!
Then it was time to get off the bus, sadly for Jamie and her new boyfriend. They kissed eachother today and went on the grand tour of Camp Bloomfield. She was so exited she had gotten her best friends cabbin and everything. Cabbin ..1. She picked a camp name "butterfly" and her best friend, Jessica, picked the name "Moon"
That night the counselor announced that they had to pick a bathroom buddy (at this time the bathrooms were outside) incase they had to go in the middle of the night.
It was now 9:30, lights out.
Jamie had bunked with Jessica because they were bathroom buddies and sence they were so close she couldnt get to sleep because Jessica's faint snoring kept her awake.
Then, she dozed off
All of the sudden, her eyes poped open, it was still deadly silent in the cabbin and dark outside, only the moonlight shining through the window in a stream accross her bead.
She had to go to the bathroom so she jumped off the top bunk to wake up Jessica, only, Jessica wasn't there.
Figuring Jessica had to go to, and didnt want to wake Jamie, she went to the bathroom alone.
When she came back into the cabbin, she noticed Jessica was still gone...
Strange but Jamie was sure she was fine.
Then next time she awoke, it was broad day light and everyone was awake, and the counselor was crying.
She wouldnt tell anyone why and then Timber, the instructer of Camp Bloomfield, came in.
He announced everyone must evacuate without looking back, in a single file line. If he saw anyone talking or look back he would call their parents and have them sent home emediatly.
Wondering what all the fuss was about, they obeyed, walking in a single file line out the front door.
Jamie was just to tempted and waited for an opertunity to look back.
No one was looking, and she WAS at the end of the line so she glanced back and couldnt believe what she had just seen.
There, beyond all the police, investigators, and FBI agents. Beyond all the caution tape and worried faces...was Jessica.
She had a rope tied around her neck, and she was suspended from the tree. She was skinned clean and bloody. The only way Jamie recignized her way by her eyes, which were the only things that WERN'T skinned or completly covered in blood. There was a bloody knife laying on the ground beside Jessica and a note pinned onto her foot. It wasn't opened so she guessed the cops didn't read it yet for evidance of some kind.
She burst into tears at the sight of her slottered best friend and when the counselors asked what was wrong she simply replied "Where is Jessica, I want jessica!"
The counselor stood up and continued walking, now at a faster pase hard for Jamie and her cabbin mates to keep up with.
----------------one week later---------------------------
Jamie turned on the news to see if the weather was going to be warm or not. But instead, she saw a picture of Jessica as the reporter explained the tragic accident to the public on natioinal television. Here is the reporters story:
"Just a week ago, here at Camp Bloomfiled, a young 12 year old child, Jessica Sonders, was murdered here. 'Taken straight out of her bed' Says the cabbin counselor. Her parents are devistated and are now filing a lawsuit against Camp Bloomfield. She was found cut up and hung by a rope on a tree with a disturbing note that read, 'She was good.'
As if this was not devistating enough, A week later, a man was spotted on Sleepy Hollow, a ground on the camp premisis, was seen with a chunk of what looked like human flesh. 'He was chewing it up savegly' says Locust AKA kevin, a natralist here at camp bloomfield.
A devistating story by Alice Haffer, back to you Ted with the weather."
Jamie flicked off the TV, mortified at what she had just learned of her best friend. 2 weeks later, Jamie was found on her bed, at excactly 3:01 A.M. dead. She was slottered just as her best friend was."
The first sign of a civilisation's impending fall is the decay of its language. Themselfs. CHHHHHAHHHAH.
I feel bad because some little fifth grade kid probably spent a hard forty minutes on this... squirming eagerly to release her diabolical creation to the internets... but it just sucks. Okay? And I hate fanfiction, too. YEAH.
WB made the Goblet of Fire suck more than any of the previous Harry Potter movies. It was still good enough. You have to have some respect for the hype. It's all just so much larger than you. (I got dragged into the maze.) Respect for the ideas behind it (even though they pressed through the chicken nugget machine to make it all look nice and marketable). Respect for the kinds of sets you can build with such a large budget. Respect for the budget. Respect for acting. They try so hard. Respect for the lame little jokes, and the humorous way all the actors moved around. Exaggeration. (Daniel Radcliffe is not hot at all. I don't understand fangirlism.) Respect for everyone but Dumbledore's British accents. Respect for the little ethnic kids looking noble in every shot. So much political correctness: sometimes I wish we all looked like grey blobs. Respect for the few good CG effects. I liked the roughness of makeup and special effects, smoke and mirrors, lights, miniatures. Now they transport all the bodies in from a green screen to a world that never existed except on a hard drive somewhere in LA. Ehh. Why do we even make movies? Why do we call it entertainment? Sitting in the dark watching images projected onto a big flat screen? I like to think about all this. Then I make fun of it in its most serious moments. Compare things to bizarre other things. (One of the villains in Unleashed bears a striking resemblance to Van Gogh. I was ready to lop off his ear.) So yeah, in my own way, I enjoyed the film. (Especially due to the surrounding circumstances: The people with whom I watched it, the way they smuggled some of us in, the cinema itself and the reflections of its box office windows, loitering in various illegal places afterwards, strange encounters with regular teens at temporarily sugarfree fast food establishments.)
The real world is far superior to this cotton candy spun saccharine moralistic logical garbage. If I step in dog poop, I laugh because it's right next to an anthill. (Then the ants go marching over my foot in various groupings. Hurrah, hurrah.) They bite. And I clean everything up and learn from it. Just because I know where my feet are in relation to the flat ground and the rest of my body doesn't mean that my left foot isn't going to land on some unidentified squishy obstacle with a bad connotation and a worse odor. (And I wonder if the ants bit the dog, too.) It's not a moral. It's just funny. And real.
I never actually stepped in the dog poop. (I saw it in my path and stepped around it. It was all very conveniently placed, the anthill, the crap, in about the exact center of my front yard.) But if I had, I would have just cleaned it off my shoe, not to pretend it didn't happen, but because dog poop is gross.
All this because I left dance early due to a hurt ankle and the visit of a fruity master teacher from New York who wraps bandannas around his balding head. I was in the car with him on the way to the big production rehearsal last year. A couch fell off the back of a compact car and landed right in our path. So we stopped. And laughed. And were glad that he hadn't died. The driver was 16, and in New York you have to be 18 to drive. I don't think there's really a point, so I'm off to do something more efficient, like homework.
Repost this within the next 2 minuites in Jessica and Jamie's memory. If you carelessly dont, both of the dead, slottered, girls will come to your bed and slotter you in your sleep. Just like themselfs"
The vacuity of myspace makes me laugh.
Real war stories sound nothing like a chain letter.
They don't need morals.
And what the hell was with the meaningless introduction? Sixth graders that would forget about hygiene and then fall in love randomly and name things "butterfly"? A young author would think it sounds like life, try to appeal to the part in each one of us that names things "butterfly" and camps out for eternity with cute little friends who snore faintly next to us, implicity reminding us that they still have skin. Maybe I should paste in the first part. Although I've kinda ruined it by giving out the moral first. Inductive reasoning?
"Once there was a girl named Jamie, she was in 6th grade at Seqouia middle school. It was the day before outdoor school. She couldnt wait, she was so excited, she was packing practicly everything in her room for the trip.
"Dont forget to pack your hairbrush, toothbrush, tooth paste, and toilet paper!!!" her mom yelled after her
"yea whatever mom" she shot back
Getting on the bus the next day, the boy she liked asked if she would sit next to her. Of course she said yes and the whole ride there was wonderful. She found out that he had feelings for her too!
Then it was time to get off the bus, sadly for Jamie and her new boyfriend. They kissed eachother today and went on the grand tour of Camp Bloomfield. She was so exited she had gotten her best friends cabbin and everything. Cabbin ..1. She picked a camp name "butterfly" and her best friend, Jessica, picked the name "Moon"
That night the counselor announced that they had to pick a bathroom buddy (at this time the bathrooms were outside) incase they had to go in the middle of the night.
It was now 9:30, lights out.
Jamie had bunked with Jessica because they were bathroom buddies and sence they were so close she couldnt get to sleep because Jessica's faint snoring kept her awake.
Then, she dozed off
All of the sudden, her eyes poped open, it was still deadly silent in the cabbin and dark outside, only the moonlight shining through the window in a stream accross her bead.
She had to go to the bathroom so she jumped off the top bunk to wake up Jessica, only, Jessica wasn't there.
Figuring Jessica had to go to, and didnt want to wake Jamie, she went to the bathroom alone.
When she came back into the cabbin, she noticed Jessica was still gone...
Strange but Jamie was sure she was fine.
Then next time she awoke, it was broad day light and everyone was awake, and the counselor was crying.
She wouldnt tell anyone why and then Timber, the instructer of Camp Bloomfield, came in.
He announced everyone must evacuate without looking back, in a single file line. If he saw anyone talking or look back he would call their parents and have them sent home emediatly.
Wondering what all the fuss was about, they obeyed, walking in a single file line out the front door.
Jamie was just to tempted and waited for an opertunity to look back.
No one was looking, and she WAS at the end of the line so she glanced back and couldnt believe what she had just seen.
There, beyond all the police, investigators, and FBI agents. Beyond all the caution tape and worried faces...was Jessica.
She had a rope tied around her neck, and she was suspended from the tree. She was skinned clean and bloody. The only way Jamie recignized her way by her eyes, which were the only things that WERN'T skinned or completly covered in blood. There was a bloody knife laying on the ground beside Jessica and a note pinned onto her foot. It wasn't opened so she guessed the cops didn't read it yet for evidance of some kind.
She burst into tears at the sight of her slottered best friend and when the counselors asked what was wrong she simply replied "Where is Jessica, I want jessica!"
The counselor stood up and continued walking, now at a faster pase hard for Jamie and her cabbin mates to keep up with.
----------------one week later---------------------------
Jamie turned on the news to see if the weather was going to be warm or not. But instead, she saw a picture of Jessica as the reporter explained the tragic accident to the public on natioinal television. Here is the reporters story:
"Just a week ago, here at Camp Bloomfiled, a young 12 year old child, Jessica Sonders, was murdered here. 'Taken straight out of her bed' Says the cabbin counselor. Her parents are devistated and are now filing a lawsuit against Camp Bloomfield. She was found cut up and hung by a rope on a tree with a disturbing note that read, 'She was good.'
As if this was not devistating enough, A week later, a man was spotted on Sleepy Hollow, a ground on the camp premisis, was seen with a chunk of what looked like human flesh. 'He was chewing it up savegly' says Locust AKA kevin, a natralist here at camp bloomfield.
A devistating story by Alice Haffer, back to you Ted with the weather."
Jamie flicked off the TV, mortified at what she had just learned of her best friend. 2 weeks later, Jamie was found on her bed, at excactly 3:01 A.M. dead. She was slottered just as her best friend was."
The first sign of a civilisation's impending fall is the decay of its language. Themselfs. CHHHHHAHHHAH.
I feel bad because some little fifth grade kid probably spent a hard forty minutes on this... squirming eagerly to release her diabolical creation to the internets... but it just sucks. Okay? And I hate fanfiction, too. YEAH.
WB made the Goblet of Fire suck more than any of the previous Harry Potter movies. It was still good enough. You have to have some respect for the hype. It's all just so much larger than you. (I got dragged into the maze.) Respect for the ideas behind it (even though they pressed through the chicken nugget machine to make it all look nice and marketable). Respect for the kinds of sets you can build with such a large budget. Respect for the budget. Respect for acting. They try so hard. Respect for the lame little jokes, and the humorous way all the actors moved around. Exaggeration. (Daniel Radcliffe is not hot at all. I don't understand fangirlism.) Respect for everyone but Dumbledore's British accents. Respect for the little ethnic kids looking noble in every shot. So much political correctness: sometimes I wish we all looked like grey blobs. Respect for the few good CG effects. I liked the roughness of makeup and special effects, smoke and mirrors, lights, miniatures. Now they transport all the bodies in from a green screen to a world that never existed except on a hard drive somewhere in LA. Ehh. Why do we even make movies? Why do we call it entertainment? Sitting in the dark watching images projected onto a big flat screen? I like to think about all this. Then I make fun of it in its most serious moments. Compare things to bizarre other things. (One of the villains in Unleashed bears a striking resemblance to Van Gogh. I was ready to lop off his ear.) So yeah, in my own way, I enjoyed the film. (Especially due to the surrounding circumstances: The people with whom I watched it, the way they smuggled some of us in, the cinema itself and the reflections of its box office windows, loitering in various illegal places afterwards, strange encounters with regular teens at temporarily sugarfree fast food establishments.)
The real world is far superior to this cotton candy spun saccharine moralistic logical garbage. If I step in dog poop, I laugh because it's right next to an anthill. (Then the ants go marching over my foot in various groupings. Hurrah, hurrah.) They bite. And I clean everything up and learn from it. Just because I know where my feet are in relation to the flat ground and the rest of my body doesn't mean that my left foot isn't going to land on some unidentified squishy obstacle with a bad connotation and a worse odor. (And I wonder if the ants bit the dog, too.) It's not a moral. It's just funny. And real.
I never actually stepped in the dog poop. (I saw it in my path and stepped around it. It was all very conveniently placed, the anthill, the crap, in about the exact center of my front yard.) But if I had, I would have just cleaned it off my shoe, not to pretend it didn't happen, but because dog poop is gross.
All this because I left dance early due to a hurt ankle and the visit of a fruity master teacher from New York who wraps bandannas around his balding head. I was in the car with him on the way to the big production rehearsal last year. A couch fell off the back of a compact car and landed right in our path. So we stopped. And laughed. And were glad that he hadn't died. The driver was 16, and in New York you have to be 18 to drive. I don't think there's really a point, so I'm off to do something more efficient, like homework.
