A
selection of literary Masterpieces
- Their
dress code
- ("there"
"their" "they're" do you want to die yet?)
ID Cards
ID cards are to be carried at all times and, upon
request, must be given to faculty or administration. Student
can be referred for failure to follow directions. If a faculty
needs to identify a student they can always ask for their ID card.
Not having one is a violation of polocy itself.
fyi i have no id card
Dress Code
1 In general dress may not interfere with the educational
process.
6 No midriffs exposed.
7 No visible cleavage.
10 Clothing must cover the prosterior. Pants must
cover undergarments.
11 Undergarments must be covered at all times.
Aha!
Feel the great weight of my mind! (I wish) hahahahahahahahahahaha
We need a dictionary suspended
above our table in the canteen. "Summon the dictionary!"
we could say and it could slowly but commandingly fall before
us. The oracle would then lean forward to receive the tome. All
eyes would be upon him, the rabble of useless conversation would
cease, tension would fill the air and grapple each face as if
we were all possessed. Tension, broken by a low cough, a pause
and then a murmur. We all look perplexed, briefly, before we slot
it into our little worlds of clouded perception. The dictionary
has spoken! (madness)
Revenge
is a dish best served without Wotsits
In the elongated view of
his mirror three cop cars abreast, a hopelessly impractical method
of chase, but it looks good, screeched round the corner. Lights
flashing in the dark street, sirens wailing like banshees. The
mystical, the astounding, the Great Federico; also known to those
more sympathetic people whom he called friends as Fred. Fred clung
to the wheel, his white gloves sticking to his sweaty fingers,
as he steered the van towards what he dearly hoped was a gap in
the traffic or at least in the direction of a soft looking part
of the barrier. The giant ungainly top hat wobbled from side to
side on the roof of the brightly coloured van before finally tumbling
off onto a parked car. The plastic rabbit resigned its position,
half out of the hat, and ploughed most determinedly through a
pet shop window.
It had been a hard enough day for police chief Simmers. The school
kids at the road safety road show had a horribly unnerving way
of paying attention to every word he said. The last thing he needed
now was some crazy magician suspected of 'first degree assault
by edible condimentation' careering around in a motorised magic
show. He swerved to avoid a flying collapsible wand, but only
succeeded in comprehensively removing his deputy's wing mirror.
Simmers had had a thing about magicians ever since he was a child
at a rather unfortunate birthday party.
"I'm calling for back up," he said to no one in particular,
just out of a need to sound decisive.
It wasn't meant to be like this, thought Fred as he scraped past
a hydrant veering into 22nd Street. I meant to get him back, revenge
sure, after all he did to me, but no one deserved that. He shuddered
as he remembered the small pile of round, orange crisps on the
floor, not even a packet! The cheesy tang still hung in his mind
making him feel sick. The guilt was shooed out of his mind by
more pressing matters, for example the thirty ton truck innocently,
but none the less rapidly cruising towards him.
The truck screamed, quite like a stricken pig, but somewhat more
like a truck travelling at thirty miles an hour with its breaks
on. Eyes closed Fred frantically pressed all the pedals his feet
could reach.
Simmers watched in horror, as the gaudy van accelerated down the
wrong side of the road, towards a large truck, which was itself
showing no inclination to slow down, despite the smoke rising
from its tyres. No one is quite sure what happened next, but somehow
one minute the collision looked inevitable and the next the rickety
van was wobbling down the road and the truck was approaching Simmers'
car at a quite undesirable velocity. He swerved briefly cruising
serenely onto the correct side of the road, just between a cab
and a hearse, before continuing into an unforgiving post box.
As for Fred, he opened his eyes and was surprised to discover
that his brains were not evenly spread across the front of any
oncoming vehicles. In fact they seemed to be quite happily located
on the correct side of his skull. Happy that is apart from the
part that was yelling at him to get back on the right side of
the road.
Simmers clambered from the wreckage of his car and into the deputy's.
"Where's that back up?," he wheezed trying to regain
any composure he may once have possessed.
"Waiting for us at the bridge," said the deputy, showing
no sign of hurrying after the van.
"Well get moving then," Simmers was by this point becoming
exasperated.
"We've got orders to pull back. Seems like it was wotsits.
Sir."
"Wotsits?! What do you mean?"
"The victim was turned into wotsits. Sir."
"…"
"Sir?"
"There hasn't been a wotsit assault for over five years!
And that was in a lunatic asylum. Don't go anywhere near that
van! Pull back!"
"Right you are Sir."
The mini rabbit hanging from Fred's rear mirror jerked around
like a kangaroo on steroids, as he raced towards the bridge. Doritos
maybe or even Quavers, but not Wotsits. No one deserved that.
Not even Abe. Sure he was annoying; with his superior tricks;
and the way his robe always had one more star than mine. The way
he always had to go one better. But he could have put up with
that if it wasn't for the cruel practical joke: "I think
you'll find that your rabbit is actually in my hat not in that
old piece of cardboard."
Then Fred realised no one was actually listening to his excellent
impression.
He glanced into his wing mirror as he pulled into the fast lane.
There was no sign of the cops. Then he looked up…
A search light flashed across the bonnet of the Van picking out
the words "The Great Federico, Magician ordinaire, available
for children's parties, (except on Tuesday), just call 849 383"
Out of nowhere two police helicopters rose, one either side of
the bridge. Throbbing like a pair of genetically modified bees.
A distorted voice blared. We have you surrounded. Blocking the
bridge just ahead was another row of cop cars determinedly shining
their lights right in his eyes. Fred chose the left hand barrier,
on the basis that it looked friendlier than the right hand one
or the police cars.
The river gushed up towards Fred as the van soared not very gracefully
over the edge of the bridge. His life passed before his eyes,
many parts of which were not pleasant. The rabbit broke loose
from its elastic and shot through his vision.
Simmers screeched to a halt leaping from the car to join the crowd
peering over the mangled rail. But all that remained of The Great
Federico was a faint whiff of tangy cheese.
Top
Fred and the tightrope
The sun plummeted into the
cool purple sea
never to be
seen again. What next? Fred asked himself
as he wondered
along the warm
dry, dark, greenish, monotonous tightrope
of time// It
all started in "Dunkin Donuts" back on 103rd
and Elm, he'd
only gone in there to
borrow a radish, when he had the idea to
create a thermonuclear
device to destroy the sun - that would
fit nicely in
his breast pocket. So as
he left, they didn't have a radish of course so he went to
the nearest
arms dealer to find this small red weapon of mass
pollution, on
his way there, he
stopped at several bagel shops, but no radishes!
It was late
evening before he finally found out that
radishes had
been extinct for 5 years and
water melons had gone out of fashion, that he met
a 12 legged
dodo with an apatite for ring binders. Suddenly
a cat came crashing
through his window
and the fellowship was complete. First task: to
destroy the
sun and make them pay. Just who do those
parsnips think
they are? Running around
roots flopping arrogantly all happy and selfless
honestly. You'd
think they would have something more
important to
do, instead they spend their
time helping everyone AAAAAAGH task 2: to
eat eighty seven
chickens whilst all balancing on a
heart shaped
piece of cheese - that'll show
those fashion models, pumpkins indeed. Scribble
out the planet
and then replace it with turkeys. Turkeys!
That's worse
than wotsits. Task 3: kill all
The teachers; public execution by onion
gravy. Task
4: Never complete another task. Task 5
eat all my friends,
then cry due to lack of
air mainly, but emotion may make a small
difference//The
tightrope stretched into the unimaginable distance
Fred struggled
to keep his balance as
The wind howled up his nose. Life's so
fucked up. It's
a shame, he thought, that the solar system
had been nearly
destroyed - it put the unfairness
right out of perspective why does everyone see
two apples when
I only see !
I must be nuts
- but I only see 1
I'm so crazy it is not even original. Welt
hibaloo, dilonany
abacusootion did blabok
eat a horse?
"Oh shit" exclaimed Fred as
he tried to drag the still kicking hoof from
his head he
found that it was in fact his nose
Suddenly, he
lost his balance & tumbled
down several malicious pipes into a pile that smelled
like death.
He had fallen off time. Nothing but nothing
for an eternity
downwards "Help" cried
of course he didn't actually cause that would need time
In which case
this story can no longer exist.
Burn! Burn! Burn!
THE END
OR IS IT?
You Decide:-
Top
Revenge of the Parsnips
It was a
beautiful winter morning
…no it wasn't who am I kidding? Life is a pile
of strangely
arranged, water, carbon and some
vegetables.
All I ever seem to do is
arrange flowers in pretty little vases Dentures
are also a problem,
but that's in the past now
that I've had
half my face removed
is quite irrelevant although it does confuse passport
forgers. Speaking
of forgers I wonder how Bobs
doing with that
bus pass. I need to
eat a marshmallow, one of those gooey melted
ones with a
large palm sized, sausage flavoured, Olive
in my underwear
for moral support
I quite liked the sun really its just
Those darned
parsnips. They keep running between stories
messing everything
up - not unlike my pet
marsupial with his stupid pjamas DOH!
Fuck. Dammit.
Bloody hell. Argh. I really must stop
Swearing, especially
with only ½ a face, I'm
sitting beneath a cherry tree in the sun eating chocs
Oh what a beautiful
morning.' Oh what a beaut-
y that lassie
is, she's got a fine pair of
dogs there too. Wonder if they're for sale? "How much
is that doggy
in the window?" That one with the
waggly tail?"
How much is that doggy
why are you turning so pale?" That's not a dog.
Good God! Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo
[gasp for
beer] it's a
hideous, fat, ugly,
little mushroom. Y do you have two hideous fat ugly
mushrooms orbiting
your head? I don't until
I get my mushroom
permit, its due
only then did he realise he was asking a babe about
the stiletto
heals she was wearing on her long, long
smooth sexy
legs, Oh my Lord he thought
before being knocked out by a flying mushroom
He approached
the light at great speed, Slow down
Top
Bacardi Cat Maybe?
This is
crazy, how can this be happening? Who
has the authority
to do this to
an undefended, helpless, pathetic, serial murderer?
Poor soul. It
shouldn't be this way. How
can I convince
them that I murdered those
snivelling little children for their benefit?
They wouldn't
be able to cope with the world in
this state.
We can't afford to have kids
Red and yellow and pink and blue, orange and
flamingos. Yes.
No. Yes. No. I hate having a split
spleen; I think
I may have to
go to the vet again. Do they still give out
spleen repair
kits? They probably stopped after that poor
cat fucked his
up and had to go spleen-less
to the bar. No one, bought Bacardi after that
Nope old Bacardi
cat went down the tubes. But that was the old
Bacardi cat
- the new one they've got is
a frog - "welcome to the marsh quarter"
Its just a copy
of the Budwiser add as far as in I'm
looking at it
but right now I must kill
Miss Lowing onions onions onions ONIONS
This is it.
D-day. The end. Why? Why? Why
are there no
onions here? I must go to
Dunkin Donuts see if they have any. Not again
and so Fred
is trapped in the network of stories
all inter linked in strange and yet wonderful ways
by Hamish. How
great he is!!!!!!!!
but not as grate as the grate ordinare Federico
No No No No
No. Turkey is a much better way to
get a girls
attention! Just show her some poultry
and reel her in. Trouble is I'm not looking for a fish
I'm looking
for 'No Man' The much fabled person
who can kill
a bear with his bare feet!
Thus far we have encountered the seagulls,
the fish, the
infantesimally small people of Zooag
and a small
martian named Bob
who is not trying to eat a horse, but a bear
By Hamish
Mike
and Kirsty The
Best
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