Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Mario: The Poem

 Because I have no life.                                    

                                             I’m going on an adventu             re. There will
                                             be dangers and challeng             eges along the
                                     way. I am prepared to do anything to accom plish my
                                     goals, for the one I love is threatened. I must protect
                                     my darling, sa ve her fro m th e b           easts of this w
                                     orld who are  determin  ed to kee           p us apart. De
                           ar G  od,  help me through this quest.  How many times mor  
                           e mu st I  kill  the relentless ene  mies, never allowed a brea  
                           k? Li  fe i   s unfair t  o so many other s. Who am I to c ompl
                           ain i n a w orld so f  ull of heartache ? D o I really have a righ
                           t to whin e when I have been blessed with outsta ndin
                           g friends hips, a successful love life, and a steady  sour
                                             ce of income? No. I have no right.. .and yet.
                                             I seem to have drawn the short en d of the
                  stick somewhere al ong  the line. The fates h ave brou            ught i
                  t upon themselves to c ast me into a life of hardship a           nd pai
n.  It seems some may envy my accomplish ments. There  are a                 lways tho
se ignora nt enough to desire these c  halle nges. Take th em, I                 say. Go a
head. Not onc e have I seen anyon e actually step for ward . A bunch of phonie
s they are. No . These challenges I overcome on my o wn. I’ ve come to terms w
         ith t                   hat predicament ag es a  go. Right here, right now , I’d just l
         ike                     to pre pare myself for this next mission. To far off lands I w
                  ill ventur e. To unknown territory I shall explore. The going may be di
                  fficult. B ut I swear to the heavens that as long as I can brea the and a
         s long as I can fight I will continue. There  
         is too much at stake. I will never give up
         this fight
         for love…  

Sunday, June 24, 2012


A little while ago I decided to start an "Idea Journal," or the Banana Journal as I call it because there's a banana on the front. Basically whenever I get the chance, I fill up a page of the Banana Journal with the most random ideas I can think of. This way, whenever I can't think of anything to write, I can just open up my Banana Journal and get inspired. Or confused. A few minutes ago I opened up my Banana Journal and read the first few pages. I can honestly say... WHAT WAS I THINKING?

For some reason my past self assumed that my future self would understand where my mind was going with all of these random ideas... but I don't. I have absolutely no idea.

You want an example?

Exhibit A: Page 3

-living life with bears
-leaking (yes, this is underlined in the journal)
-monopoly in real life...

Dafuq, Banana Journal?

But seriously... What? Clearly Gfish from the past thought that she could write something worth her while about leaking, veggies, and a sasquash farm. These aren't even the most ridiculous ideas in the Banana Journal. Some bullet points are just random tangents of thought that are completely irrelevant to the Banana Journal's purpose. 

Exhibit B:

-what do you see?
-good luck
-why is this paper so weird?
-y u no smell of bananas??
-everyone's been getting these weird seizures

This Banana Journal is doing more harm than good. Well, I don't really know what harm it's doing exactly... but it sure is making me doubt my current sanity. I mean I knew it was bad... but this is just getting weird. 

So, to give past Gfish a bit more credit to her name... here is part I of the Sasquash Chronicles:

  Once upon a time, there was a young, beautiful, dashing young lady named Gfish. She planned on becoming a famous writer one day, but the fates were against her. Although Gfish dreamed big, her reality was far from what she wished it would be. The poor, alluring star was sent away by her parents to work for her Uncle Grapesoda. Her parents were snow wolves, and they wanted to spend the summer penguin-hunting in Antarctica. Since Gfish was human, she wouldn't have been able to survive down there without some serious snow gear that the family simply could not afford. 
     Upset that Gfish could not spend her summer writing and playing board games, she spent the entire boat-ride to her Uncle Grapesoda's farm sulking. However, once Gfish got to her Uncle Grapesoda's farm, she made an incredible discovery. Uncle Grapesoda didn't farm vegetables or fruits or livestock... he farmed Sasquash!! Naturally, Gfish was instantly drawn in to this odd phenomenon. Her Uncle's Sasquash farm could provide her with so much material for her next writing project!
     So Gfish began to document her time spent on the Sasquash farm. The following Chronicles are bits and pieces taken from this remarkable girl's journey of self discovery, adventure, and love.

Chronicle 1: Meeting the Sasquash

Dear Diary,
I saw my first Sasquash today. Uncle Grapesoda says his name is Herfunkle, but I think I'll call him Jewfro since it looks like he has a Jew fro and I can't identify him from the other Sasquash in any other way. They all look pretty similar. There are ten Sasquash in all, but I think one's pregnant. Her name is Urpopsequashe, although she honestly looks like a male Sasquash. Not sure how this whole Sasquash reproduction thing works. 

Dear Diary,
Today I touched one of them. His name was Kookoofoacocoapaffs. Uncle Grapesoda has been explaining a lot more about how he farms Sasquash, and I think I get it now.  What happens is he plants a macaroni necklace into a pile of bacon and then waters it with the hair of the Sasquash he wants to get pregnant. Two weeks later, BAM. Pregnant.  

Dear Diary,
I've developed a very strong friendship with Kookoofoacocoapaffs. At first he was a bit hostile, but after I fertilized him with some Sasquash Humus Manure, he really seemed to take a liking to me. Now we do everything together, from holding Urpopsequashe's body hair back when she/he is experiencing morning sickness to finding more macaroni in the Field of Noodles and Rigatoni. I've really enjoyed his/her company, since it can get pretty lonely here on the farm. Uncle Grapesoda isn't really fun to hang with. 

Dear Diary,
I think Uncle Grapesoda is hiding something. He refuses to tell me how he found his first Sasquash, since you need at least one to get another. Every time I ask, he just gets all secretive. Maybe it has something to do with that locked chest he always keeps by his bedside, with the key around his neck. I'll have to look into this further. 

End of Chronicle 1

Please join me next time for Chronicle 2: Uncle Grapesoda's Secret

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Free Writes- Part 2

Hello! I'm ignoring the fact that I broke my challenge to myself on the very second day. I just... meh. Yeah. I'll make it up to myself with fattening foods in due time. No worries.

Before I begin this post, if you haven't read Free Writes- Part 1, you might be a little lost. To briefly sum it up, I used to hate writing free writes (a blank topic) in my Composition class back in tenth grade, so I wrote all my free writes about hating free writes. Here is a continuation of my free write detestation from my old Composition journal.

Journal # 41- Free Write: A Letter

Dear Free Write,
      I truly and sincerely despise you. It's been roughly twenty minutes and I can think of nothing except for my intense hatred of you. Even now I can think of nothing else to satisfy this empty page, except for my horrible, half-assed cursive. You deserve only the worst, dear free write. The fact that you are titled on the board, "Free Write Friday" disrupts my mentality about Fridays because I associate Fridays with fun and relaxation and free writes are antagonistic roadblocks in any attempts to enjoy the perks that come with a Friday. So I lace my tone with sarcasm as I thank you, free write, for contributing to the diversity of tasks I face daily. Thank you, oh so much. While I have your attention, allow me to point out that you have no substance, no backbone, and no power without the creativity and effort that others give you. You would be nothing on your own and would simply rot in your own pathetic blandness. If you have a problem with my hatred of you or my handwriting, well you can just go write yourself.

Yours Truly, 

I'm not going to lie, these entries scare me a little. Somehow my mild distaste for free writes blossomed into a deep rooted disgust. This next one really hits it home, revealing a darker side of me that I never even knew existed.

Journal #46- Free Write

      The bottom of my shoe. Gigantic and flat, it rushes down in a rage of frustration upon your face. In slow motion, the shadow expands until you are shrouded in panic and fear. The shoe is upon you. Flattened. 
      Smashing your face into the pavement was satisfying... but the giant wants more. You are lifted into the air, rubble from the ground clinging to your side. Thrown into the wall!. Crushed between fist and concrete- this is not your day. Clearly you are not wanted here. Yet you still return, and the giant is angry, the giant is furious, the giant is exasperated. 
      You must die. 
      Pried from the concrete, you think it is over. It is not over. Now flat on a desk, you see an object in the giant's fist. A pencil. For the briefest of moments you feel the slightest glimmer of hope- is this pencil meant to write me into something beautiful? Has the giant been pacified? The giant has not been pacified. For as long as you, the free write, exist, the giant will never be appeased. 
     The pencil point stabs into your thin pages, running long lines of anger across your surface. Scribbles of injustice and frustration create fissures and rips. These tears are not enough, and you are torn up, ripped to shreds. The thousands of pieces of your soul are scattered into the bottom of a trashcan, and the giant can relax once more. 

There are three free writes left, but I'll save those for another day. I can't have everyone thinking of me as a violent, grumpy old banana who likes whining about activities that I now chose to do in my free time.

Logic is for apricots.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Color Me Rad!

Summer is here!! 

Ahhhhh, this is crazy. The first week of summer was absolutely insane, but things have finally started winding down. That means I can actually write some blog posts! It's been way too long since I've written something, and I really miss it. THEREFORE, I am issuing myself a challenge:

A blog post every other day from now until August 28th (the day before I head off to college).

It's going to be intense, I know. BUT IT WILL ALSO BE MAGICAL.

Yes, it will be this magical. 

Ok, moving on! Yesterday I participated in pretty much the coolest run ever. It's called the Color Me Rad Run, and basically they shoot massive amounts of color powder at you as you run a 5k. It was absolutely crazy, but awesome. Our white shirts are no longer white. Here is the tale of my magical Sunday morning. 

"You're at the wrong run..."


Friday, June 1, 2012

Guest Post: Taylor's Conspiracy Theory

Hello there! I'm Gfish's friend Taylor and I am here to make a guest post! So I decided it would be a good idea to talk about my stupid conspiracy theory.
Everybody needs at least one conspiracy theory to halfheartedly believe in. So one day, I invented one. Nic Cage is not a real person. He's actually a mass hallucination. True story.
Nic Cage started out as a social psychology experiment. They announced that he had a role in a movie, and since everyone expected to see him in that role, they did. Pleased with their success, the movie industry realized that they now had an imaginary actor to use. In the beginning, fewer people knew about Nic Cage, so he was actually a pretty decent actor.

But then, more and more people began to watch movies with Nic Cage in them. The hallucination got all distorted and from then on, Nic Cage has steadily become a worse and worse actor. Also, my theory totally explains why he's never turned down a movie role.

Think about it.