BOOM!

To the Dancing Dwarf

Dancing on the wharf

I hope you do not morph

Before I say

To the Dancing Dwarf

Dancing on the wharf

Somethingthatrymeswithmorph

Oh, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

            (By the way, I wrote this ON your birthday. Truly.) Ahem.  I must compose myself now. Alrighty! Time to move on to other topics, like odd phone conversations! This is what I hear from my dad (He was talking to either my mother or sister. I’m not sure.):

                        “Oh... What? ... Is that legal? ... Okay... Taking the boat out? ...”

            Oh, odd conversations… Speaking of, Bebo, Hugo, and I made a library, and passersby as we walked around outside, somewhat uncomfortable today, I am sure. My awkward deed of the day has been accomplished!

            Wow! I should have finished this post! I wrote the previous words a few days ago… It is now finals week at college. I only had one final, but my horrid teachers chose to have the normal, plain old tests during that time. Excepting one class, which was finished last week.

            Oh, finals week, bow terrible you are! I told my dear mother (who was kind enough to drive me at the rude hour of 7:30am) that you could feel the dread and despair among the dead students.

            I am not inspired to write of, well, anything.  Therefore, I shall hereby include emails from Bebo and Hugo. I shall open with a response I got from Mr. Horrible:

            “Thanks, though, anyway, (I wonder how many commas I can put in one three-word phrase) for your offer of aid to a beleaguered damsel.  It was most gracious of you.  As you can tell, I am oober tired and not thinking very clearly, so if you are inclined to find this missive unintelligible, then we are merely in the same boat.  I shall refrain from reading it over again before sending it, lest I become dizzy and fall out of my chair, and get my face licked by a certain puppy who is lying nearby on the floor, upside-down and with one ear inside-out, which would be bad because aforementioned face is caked and plastered with that vile substance that men call makeup, and it would undoubtedly cause him to become dangerously ill if he licked it in great quantities, which he would do if the possessor of the much-bemakeuped face were to fall on the floor due to a spell of dizziness brought on by reading her own writing. 

You see?

Good job!  I apologize for the contents of this email; I don't even know what all I said...”

            What a poor, tired hobo… Now a few words from our eldest, Mr. Hobo!

            “Today I realized that I am subconsciously thinking about something without really thinking about it. Then, when I realized that I WAS actually thinking something, it disappeared. I now think that something evil is lurking in my head and using my brain for their own thinking purposes. I'm pretty scared.”

            “Today, I realized that I will miss you tomorrow because you dilute the Hugo-ness that fills my car. I also realized that if my friend cuts her bangs and my sister curls her hair to poodle-esque-ness, i will look straight at them, not recognize them and walk right by. This is a scary world we live in....k bye!”

            Now, good readers, I shall include a horrendous story. I was lying on my bed, probably procrastinating by watching something on my laptop, when there was a loud, explosion sound! At the same time, my bed shook. Of course, I jumped up and ran to the front of my house, where my family resided. I asked my sister what happened, and she simply told me, “Dad started the fire.” Of course, that was nothing new. Every now and then, we accumulate enough burnable material that would normally overflow our garbage can, and it gets burned outside, in the burn pit. So, I went outside to my mother, who was standing on the porch. I asked her. She told me the very same thing.

            It turned out that my father put some oil on the things in the pit, and then lit it, which caused the boom and shaking of the entire house. Oh, Father…

            Joe