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.

The List Poem: Its a list... AND a poem. At the SAME TIME!!!

The Falcons, the Panthers, Fantasy Football doesn't care! Neither does Sallie, or Sallie, or Hannah Montana. Morgan Freeman is to Alain Bernard as sleep is to quiet time. When I interview the elderly, they tell me of spoons, and sauteed peppers. I hate being marinated at Fantasy Football. I love juice. And by juice, I mean Juicy. 

Fame: Terrible? Or THE MOST terrible?

"Why'd you do it?" Ron asked.
"Do what?" said Harry in his charming British accent.
"You know what." Ron glared at him.
"No, Ron I don-"
"Why'd you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" Ron angrily cut him off.
"I didn't. I swear. I don't WANT that. I don't WANT to be famous! Said Harry vehemently.
That famous scene, taken from the 4th installment of the Harry Potter series, truly captures how famous people truly feel about fame: It sucks. Fame is not all its cracked up to be. People imagine that if you're famous and everyone knows who you are, you will be happy. In reality, it is exactly the opposite. The more famous you are, the more unhappy you are. Unless your name is Barack Obama, but we won't go there.
Fame is terrible. It drives people to do terrible things. Although this was never proven, it was said that Anna Nicole Smith's last words were "I just can't TAKE this fame anymore!" It WAS completely proven that Owen Wilson was REALLY DEPRESSED, and was rumored to have tried to kill himself. Although there are a few famous people (see: Barack Obama, George Clooney, Others) who handle their social status with grace, the reality is, that for every Clooney, or Morgan Freeman, there are 10 Janet Jacksons.
Being famous is simply not good. Ask Eliot Spitzer. He'll tell you in a heartbeat. being famous eliminates that overlooked, under-appreciated, and absolutely necessary right of privacy.
Fame drove Winona Ryder to shoplift, even though she was insanely rich. Fame also caught her red-handed. Fame impregnated Jamie-Lynn Spears. Fame made Paris Hilton make a sextape. Fame makes the Hot 'n Tots so hot, Fame puts the "Ape" in "Apricot"! ...uh...yeah...
Fame does not bring happiness, it destroys it. Don't be fooled by the fake, plastic smiles of the red-carpet studs on your television screen. They are only hiding the emptiness of their soul. An emptiness caused, of course, by fame.

Underneath the rubble, a golden key lay dot dot dot...

"Underneath the rubble, a golden key lay."
"No No NO! That's TERRIBLE! That's PATHETIC! 'A golden key lay' what is this 1950? Do you see Katherine Hepburn anywhere? I didn't think so! This is 2008! Movie audiences are dumber than ever! All they want are some big explosions, some heartwarming moments, and maybe some cheesy romances. And of course Heath Ledger in makeup... But that's not the point. The point is, you're supposed to be writing a script for a movie in 2008, and you're trying to give me 'a golden key lay'? Is that even a sentence? Jesus Jenny I thought you were supposed to have potential. They told me you had potential. You're lucky I'm not one of those asshole, egotistical movie producers or your ass would be FIRED! You know what? Go take a break. Take all the time you need. Take even 5 MINUTES if you have to. Then start over. Just write me something that doesn't SUCK!"
I could tell he was enjoying himself. He loved power.
"Nice job Dick. Sandy walked up to him. She had witnessed the entire spectacal.
"WHAT did you just say?" he fumed.
"I said nice job RICHARD, you made her cry. Now her eye-liner is all messed up and she'll come back looking like the ghost of Christmas-Yet-To-Come!"
"The ghost of WHAT?"
"It's from 'A Prayer For Owen Meany'. A wonderful book by John Irving about a little boy and his friendship with... another little boy. I'm only halfway through it, but I'm loving it. But that's not the point, the point is if you keep scaring off all your writers you'll never get the script to Morgan Freeman's Voice in time!"
"Yeah... you're probably right." He sighed. "Did you HEAR the crap she was reading to me though? I mean, 'a golden key lay', like it was Shakespeare or something. I would be downright embarrassed showing that to Morgan Freeman!"
"Give her a break Dick, she's trying really hard."
"WHAT did y-"
"Sorry give her a break RICHARD, she's trying really hard."
"Maybe that's her problem. She's trying too hard. I mean, it's Morgan Freeman! All he has to say is 'Hi, I'm Morgan Freeman' and the audience melts before HEY WAIT A MINUTE THAT'S A GREAT IDEA!" He walked off with those words echoeing in his head, and the plot of the movie formulating itself in his mind.
Sandy rolled her eyes and walked off in the opposite direction.
Two days later, Jenny emerged from her hiding spot, with a brilliant script in her hand. It was a heartwarming tale of a man who becomes God for a week thinking he can do God's job better than God. He later finds out that he in fact would do a terrible job, and God was actually way better than him all along.
"Hello?" She called out. "Hello? Anybody there?"
"Hello." A voice said from behind her.
"Who is it?" She said cautiously.
"I am Morgan Freeman."
"CUT!" Dick's voice rang out. That was PERFECT Mr. Freeman! PERFECT! And Jenny, you're a natural! When did you learn to act like that? You can get up now the scenes over. Jenny, you can get up! Jenny?"
"But Jenny did not reply, or even hear him, for upon the instant that she heard Morgan Freeman speak to her, she had fainted.

The Day I Talked to God and HE TALKED TO ME BACK!

Through her connections with famous Hollywood directors, Sallie had been able to hook me up with an interview I knew I would never forget. He met the qualifications required for the interview project... in that he was old. And that I didn't know him personally beforehand. I had called earlier to set up the interview. I had talked to his secretary - he himself was much too busy to be answering phones. I drove to one of his mansions, convenienly located in Decatur, GA. The door to the parking garage opened as I drove up to it, almost as if it knew I was coming.
"It's almost as if the garage door knew I was coming," I thought to myself.
I got out of my car and walked into the lobby.
"M-mister Freeman will s-see you now," the secretary stuttered at me. Then she burped. Then she blushed, because she had burped in public. Than she burped again. I turned in the direction she had pointed me. There were stairs that led upwards. A sign pointed me to "God's room". I was intimidated adn excited at the same time, to be interviewing God. I kept walking.
"S-sorry." A man had staggered past me on his way downstairs, and nearly knocked me over.
"It's fine." I muttered, and kept walking. I passed a women sitting down against the stairwell, holding her head. I was astounded. God's workers were all drunk! "Oh my GOD, his workers are all inebriated!" I thought to myself.
I reached the top of the stairwell. I knew this was it. Armed with my Ipod and Camisia's recording device, I opened the door, and walked inside. There he was, sitting at his desk. God. he looked up at me and smiled.
"Hello."
It struck me with the force of a monstrous wave. My knees felt weak. My vision was blurred. I sat down in the chair across from him. I was determined to make this interview awesome, so Sallie's senior project wouldn't suck.
"What is your name?" I asked, even though I already knew it, even though the world already knew it.
"I am Morgan Freeman." I fainted.
Weeks later, when I was working at his office, they would tell me I was a lightweight. Most pass out after a few sentences. One boasted that he had gotten through 6.5. On TV, in movies, the voice makes you laugh, it makes you cry, it makes Jacob's mom cry, it calms you, soothes you, re-vitalizes you, and makes you believe in God. in person, Morgan Freeman's voice gets you drunk. Instantly drunk. For me, it had taken 5 words: "Hello, I am Morgan Freeman."

I Had A Dream

I was walking through a pool of marshmallows in my flip-flops. At least, they looked like marshmallows. Soft, fluffy, and white. They tasted kind of like flip-flops. I dove in the pool. The crowd was cheering wildly. The French guy was ahead but somehow I knew I would catch him. So i didn't bother trying to catch him. Michael Phelps was there, but he didn't look like Michael Phelps, and that was kind of... freaking me out. I wasn't swimming anymore. I was driving in a car. Michael Phelps was still there, but he still didn't look like Michael Phelps and that was still... freaking me out. A squirrel joined us, then a wolf. They were both singing, "Rock me Baby". I knew it wasn't real. Nothing was real. It was like Strawberry Fields Forever. But it wasn't real. It was a dream. I couldn't wake up. A giant panda was chasing me through a restaurant. I knew it "eats shoots and leaves", and I didn't want to be the "shoots". I kept running. I knew I was about to wake up. Then suddenly, I woke up.