Once Upon a Time in A Land Far Far Away... But not THE land Far Far Away... This isn't Shrek. It's something else...

Once upon a time in a land far far away there lived two hobbits with large hairy toes. But these hobbits were far away from there home. Dirt sprayed in all directions as they trudged through the deserted forest. The hobbits, named Frito and Spam, were on a mission to find Kanye West's lost bling. 

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Frito flung his giant cloak in front of the both of them. "There. Now no one can see us!"

"You idiot!" Spam hissed. "That's only in Harry Potter!" 

Frito cursed loudly. "Over there! Quick!"

They leapt quickly and dashed behind a fat tree trunk. All of a sudden, an obese pine cone hit Spam on the top of his head. Along strand of golden hair dangled from its spikes. 

"Oh my GOD!" Cried Spam. 

"Nothing, nevermind." Said Spam.

"Oh. Ok." Said God dejectedly, and he went back to answering all his prayers. 

"Are you guys trying to hide from me?" Said the damsel from up high in the tree. She looked young and orphan-like, almost as if she was lost in the forest.

Frito and Spam leapt up like Willy, in Free Willy. 

"Um... No. Not at all. We were just... um... scared." Frito stuttered. 

"Nice cover-up!" whispered Spam in his ear. 

"Hey are we animals?" Frito asked.

"Um, yeah... Why?"

"I was just wondering if we counted as talking animals. Cause we're supposed to include talking animals in this story."

"Oh. I think so. I guess Ms. Cassell will have to decide."

"Yeah I guess -"

"Jesus Christ shut UP!" Said the beaver from behind them.

"Excuse me? What did you just say to me?" Said Jesus.

"No, I was talking to them." The beaver hurriedly replied. 

"It definitely sounded like you were talking directly to me!" Said Jesus. 

"Ok. Ok. I'm sorry." The beaver muttered. "I should really look into that buddhism thing." And he skulked away. 

"Are either of you hunters?" The damsel asked. As she and her long golden hair descended from the tree.

"No." Said Spam. "But I think she is." He pointed to a  witch-like, elderly woman with a dead deer slung over her shoulder, and a broomstick in her other hand. 

"Nice to meet you." Said the damsel. 

"Do you happen to heave red-ruby slippers?" The witch/hunter/old woman asked. 

"No." Said the damsel. The witch raised her bow. "But I do have water!" And the damsel raised her SuperSoaker5kg3000SniperPlatinumEdition squirtgun, with a dual suspension water hose, available for only 2 payments of $9.95, plus shipping and handling, which reminded her that those lucky bamboos she had ordered yesterday as a last resort christmas present for her mother-in-law had still not arrived yet, even though she had ordered it in rush delivery, and fired. 

"I'm MELTING!" Screamed the witch/hunter/old woman,, as she sank to the ground and died. 

"Wow." Said Spam.

"I know." Said Frito, "We didn't help her out at ALL. That distressed damsel did it all by herself!"

"Mom? Dad? I thought you guys were dead!" The damsel said incredulously.

"Honey, we're so proud of you, but we can only stay a few minutes, kind of like Lilly and James in Harry Potter. We're still dead as a doornail." 

"Oh." Said the damsel. She disappeared into the woods. 

And Frito and Spam lived happily ever after.

The moral of this story is: When you don't have enough time to write a story, the ending is rushed and anti-climactic, and Kanye West's bling will never ever be found. 

Gods of Small and Insignificant Conversations

Oteka Showa, Goddess of Personal Hygiene, walked up to 10-4, the God of Plagiarism. 

"You smell terrible. Go take a shower."

"You smell terrible. Go take a shower." 10-4 replied. 

"Oh great. THIS game again." Oteka Showa rolled her eyes.

"Oh great. THIS game again." 10-4 giggled in a manly way. 

"You are so ANNOYING." Oteka Showa was ready to slap him.

"You are so ANNOYING." 10-4 was enjoying this.

Suddenly Oteka Showa had a great idea. "I am an immature little girl." She smiled to herself. 

"I am an imma-HEY WAIT A MINUTE! I see what your doing!"

"HA. I win. You smell bad!" and Oteka Showa walked away victorious. 

10-4 had sex, then died. 

The Black Cat and The Chamber of Secrets

"For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen I neither expect nor solicit belief."

"Wait HOLD on a second Grandpa, I thought you were gonna read me the Princess Bride again!"

"Again? Scooter, I've read you that story every night for the past FIVE WEEKS. It's getting really old. Like, it was cute the first couple times maybe, but I think it's time to move on. I mean, Andre the Giant isn't even alive any more!"

"He's NOT?" Scooter's eyes began to tear up, almost as if he was watching Mufasa fall down the cliff. "W-what happened to him?"

"Nothing happened to him. I was just kidding." He sighed. "He'll find out later that Andre the Giant actually WAS dead..." He muttered under his breath.

"Well Grandpa, why can't you read it again? I don't want to hear about a black cat! I don't even believe in superstitions and all that stuff. I saw Freaky Friday the other day, and it was terrible!"

"Hold ON! Did you just compare Edgar Allen Poe to a movie with Lindsey LOHAN in it? I mean, Mean Girls was kind of awesome, but that was literally her only good movie!" Images of Herbie: Fully Loaded flashed through his head. He supressed the sudden urge to vomit violently.

"No Grandpa, I'm just saying I don't like this with black cats and stuff in them."

"Have you ever read Edgar Allen Poe before?" His Grandpa was becoming increasingly annoyed.

"No but-"

"There! How can you know you don't like it if you've never even tried reading it?"

"It's the same thing with you and facebook!" Scooter cried out.

"What? That's totally different. Facebook destroys lives!"

"Have you ever tried it?"

"No but-"

"There! How do you know it destroys lives if you've never tried it?"

"That's totally different. Facebo-"

"No it's not! It's the exact same thing. I win!"

"Wow! You are really ANNOYING!" His Grandpa glared down at him. "I'm not reading you any more stories at all! Good luck entertaining yourself. You know, since you can't even READ." Even in his current mental state, he realized that the last insult had been kind of harsh.

Scooter fought valiantly against his urge to cry... but he lost. After a few minutes of awkward sniffling, and complete lack of eye contact between Grandpa and Grandson, he stopped and wiped his eyes.
"I'm sorry Scooter." His Grandpa sighed. "It's not you it's... it's... You know what? I'm DONE pampering. It IS you. You are so DEMANDING! You're just an ungrateful, spoiled little boy. Good luck paying for my social security benefits!" And with a mad cackle he skipped out of the room, leaving Scooter hurt and confused, still lying in his bed.
Outside, the sharp chattering of crickets drowned out the Grandpa's screams as Karma choked his last breath from his body.
The boy turned to Karma. "Why'd you have to kill him?" He asked.
"Well, the only characters in this story were you and your Grandpa, so I thought it would be best not to make the story about sex dot dot dot..." his voice trailed off.

A Cry For Help II, The Cradle of Life

"Poems always about sex and always about death."

That statement had just escaped her breath. 

"No way!" he exclaimed, "that can't be true!"

"Would you like me to demonstrate it for you?"

"Sallie calm down!" as she raised the gun to his face.

"Can't we all get along in this human race?"

"Sex and Death" she said once more,

While she violently threw him onto the floor. 

With a thunderous crack the bullet hit his chest.

But the poem had only half fit in with the rest. 

Though you may thin this is a disturbing text,

You don't even want to know what happens next. 

My Two Cents About The LitMag...

After reading through last years LitMag, I felt like I was traveling through a surreal world of fantastic literature, a land of organized chaos, a place where the visual art complimented the literary work, where the layouts really added to the work rather than took away from it. I liked the size of the pages, I liked how the them was divided into 4 different sections, and I liked how most of the pages were unique. Though the front and back pages were a little... ugly... I thought that overall it was a beautiful manifestation of artistic creations. 

The 2004 literary magazine also contained marvelous literary work, but it lacked the aesthetic appeal of the one from last year. The pages were too big, which led to way too much blank space. The layouts were rudimentary and simplistic, and didn't do much to enhance the actual content of the magazine. I also felt like the binding of the book was uncreative and slightly messy. 

For our LitMag this year, I think we should learn from that of last year, and make sure that above all, the layouts and artwork enhance and add to the literature. 

 

It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's... Got a Problem.

I believe I can fly.

I believe I can touch the sky.  

I know that I can fly so high. 

I am Superman. 

I am also an unhappy adolescent. 

I am on anti-depressants. 

I just HATE the smell of Herbal Essence. 

I am Superman. 

Sure I have a bright blue cape. 

But it's got so many holes, it's mostly made of tape. 

The other day I got hit in the head with a grape. 

I am Superman. 

Superman chases down the bad guys,

Superman eats lots of homemade pies. 

Superman gets the girls with the pretty eyes. 

Except for me. Because I am Superman.... with a problem. 

I first learned about it when I was Fifteen. 

While with this one girl named Maureen. 

And at the risk of sounding slightly obscene. 

I am Superman... with a problem. 

I took the Viagra before I got into the shower. 

They said to call the doctor if it lasted four hours. 

After a month it went limp, but I still had my flower.

I am Superman... with a problem. 

They told because I was so super,

Viagra did way TOO much for my little trooper. 

They said I just had to learn to live with my mini-cooper. 

I am Superman... with a problem. 

So I guess I'll have to go on saving the earth. 

And hope my wife can have a virgin birth. 

I pray that life can give me some mirth.

Because I will always be Superman... with a problem. 

That Guy Across The Street

Intently he stares at his prize, his precious. 

Every day he brings it to work without fail, 

Through rain or shine, through gas crisis and road work. 

Now he admires his beauty, he stares in silence.

So much depends upon the red pick-up truck,

in the sunshine,

beside the white road signs. 

At the end of the day,

No wife, no children,

Just him and his truck, 

Content. 

Return of the Jedi II: Now They Just Won't Leave

Supreme Jedi Master. That's right, that's what I am. 

It sounds really cool. But it's not. It actually kind of... sucks. 

All day, all night, all my time spent fighting with lords. 

They all think they are SO cool, but in the end, they are just,

a huge waste of my valuable time. 

But they are not even close to the worst part of my job.

I'd fight with a sith ANY day over meeting with 

the STUPID JEDI COUNCIL.

I mean, since Yoda died, there has been no interesting conversation.

AT ALL.

We used to spend half the meetings trying to UNDERSTAND 

what Yoda was saying, and then the other half, we'd argue about it. 

But now that I took his job, it is unbearably boring. 

I just get so ANNOYED. Not even just cause it's boring, but because,

the Jedi's are so dis-orginized! My ex-wife had OCD. 

Our house was always neat and clean. When she left to go off with

that JERK Hans Solo, she left ME with OCD.

Now every council meeting, I watch in unbearable silence as the Jedi's,

re-arrange chairs, drool on the carpet, spill food on the floor, and of course,

always leave their braid's slightly to the LEFT. I can barely take it anymore.

But, I guess protecting the galaxy was never supposed to be easy. 

Hey Jude - The Beatles

Hey Jude, don't make it bad,

Take a sad song, and make it better.

Remember to let her into your heart. 

Then you can start, to make it better.

Hey Jude, don't be afraid,

You were made to go out and get her.

The minute you let her under your skin,

Then you begin, to make it better.

And any time you feel the pain, Hey Jude, refrain,

Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.

For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool

By making his world a little colder.

Na na na na na

Na na na na.

Hey Jude, don't let me down

You have found her, now go and get her. 

Remember to let her into your heart. 

Then you can start, to make it better. 

So let it out and let it in,

Hey Jude, begin

You're waiting for someone to perform with. 

And don't you know that it's just you,

Hey Jude, you'll do.

The movement you need, is on your shoulder. 

Na na na na na

Na na na na yeah.

Hey Jude, don't make it bad

Take a sad song and make it better.

Remember to let her under your skin.

Then you begin to make it better

Better, better, better, better, better, yeah, yeah, yeah. 

Na na na na na na na

Na na na na Hey Jude. 

This poem, written in song lyrics, has a powerful meaning to me. It deals with making the best of a bad situation, and with overcoming the struggles of life to ultimately rise above, and "make it better." And it is of course, an awesome musical song. 

15 Minutes Can Save You 15% Or More On Car Insurance Haiku

The autumn leaves crack

beneath - the graceful steps of

the Geico Gecko. 

Morgan Freeman and the Chamber of Secrets

MichaelPhelps

Orchestrated 

Rambunctious 

Gatherings

After

Naked

French

Runners

Elatedly

Evacuate

Madagascar 

And 

Nicaragua

An Inconvenient Truth:

BUSH

Do YOU Remember

I remember,

That December,

When you walked into my life... 

Via my shower. 

I gave a scream, 

But then it seemed,

You were such a little harmless chipmunk...

In the shower.

You were so slim, 

You couldn't swim,

And I had really taken a bath...

Instead of a shower.

I ceased to shout,

I climbed on out, 

And left you alone... 

In the shower.