Story: Percival X and the Mysterious Blue Parcel

I know I haven't posted anything for ages and you all probably hate me, especially now that I'm only posting this so I can get your opinion on whether or not I should submit this for my Writing Portfolio assignment. This was one of my Writing For Young People tasks in which I was to write a children's chapter book. As it is part of a chapter book, I have included the introduction and a much later extract. It's a story I'd really like to continue with. Tell me what you think.

Introduction

Percival Xavier Crane, or Percival X as most people knew him, was eleven years old and lived in the eighth floor of an apartment building with his nanny, Mrs McClendon. The reason Percival X lived on the eighth floor with his nanny, Mrs McClendon, was because his parents were lepidopterologists. This meant they were often away, travelling the world, looking for rare species of butterflies. The last time Percival X had heard from them they were hot-air ballooning over the Amazon looking for the Spotted Orange Sundancer.

Percival X’s parents loved butterflies. That’s why they were always running around the world looking for them. Percival X hated butterflies. Even more so, Percival X hated that his parents were always running around the world looking for them. To tell you the truth, Percival X was jealous. He thought that his parents, not Mrs McClendon, should have lived with him in the eighth floor apartment. Better still, he thought that his parents should have taken him with them when they were travelling the world. Percival X would have loved to hot-air balloon over the Amazon, even if it was while looking for the Spotted Orange Sundancer.

Percival X’s parents thought that he was too young to be travelling the world. They thought that a hot-air balloon over the Amazon was no place for an eleven year old boy. They thought that Percival X needed a stable environment; somewhere normal, with normal friends, doing normal things. Thus Percival X stayed at the eighth floor apartment with his nanny, Mrs McClendon. He attended school, he played with friends in the park, he went to movies and he helped out with chores. Percival X lived a normal, stable life.

Percival X didn’t want a normal, stable life. Percival X wanted an adventure. His parents were always off on adventures, whether it was hot-air balloons over the Amazon or something else. Percival X wanted one of his own. It was for this reason he was so excited when he found a parcel on his doorstep early one frosty Saturday morning.

The parcel was odd for a number of reasons. First of all, the mail wasn’t delivered on Saturdays, particularly not early in the morning. Even when the mail was delivered, it wasn’t left on the doorstep. It was put in little mailboxes in the foyer or given to the doorman who then said things like “Ma’am, a parcel came for you this morning.” when you come down stairs. But Percival X’s parcel wasn’t in one of the little mailboxes or with the doorman. Percival X’s parcel was on the doorstep of his eighth floor apartment.

The parcel was a long and flat oblong wrapped in royal blue paper and tied up with pale lacy pink ribbon. In the upper left corner, butterflies had been drawn in silvery ink. There were fifteen stamps taking up the entire right half and scrawled on the left in the same silvery pen as the butterflies were the words:

To Adventurer

Eighth Floor

When Percival X turned the parcel over he did not find the senders name like one usually would with letters and parcels but instead, written in the same scrawl as the words on the front of the parcel was:

Your expedition awaits!

Later Extract

Percival X entered the room with caution. One should never rush into a room gated by a ten foot crimson door that mysteriously creaked open as one happened to be walking by. Percival X placed on hand on the door and the other on the doorframe and peered his head inside, careful to look both left and right to make sure nothing was hiding behind the door ready to jump out and gobble him up.

Once Percival X had diligently checked behind the door he stepped inside and examined the room. His mouth opened into a little ‘o’ and, without meaning to, let out a gasp. At first he thought the floor was carpeted in thick green shag but when he looked closer, Percival X realised he was standing ankle deep in luscious grass. The domed ceiling was painted navy blue, with tiny lights set into it, twinkling like stars. For a moment Percival X thought that he had stepped outside, but the walls proved that that wasn’t the case.

Every wall was lined with glass shelves. They started a foot above the ground and rose all the way to the ceiling. There were no windows in the room so the only place the shelves stopped was across the crimson doorway.

In the centre of the room was a very enormous lounge chair with a very tiny, very old lady perched in it. “Don’t let the door close, dear. It catches.” The very tiny, very old lady said. “And it is awful troublesome to get it open again.”

“I received a parcel…” Percival X began, thinking perhaps this lady could help him, but the very tiny, very old lady interrupted him.

“The door, dear.” She prompted.

“Oh. Right.” Percival X turned back just as the door was clicking into place. “Sorry.” He chewed his lip, “I guess I was too slow.”

The woman sighed a loud, drawn out, sigh, “It really is such awful trouble to get back open again.” She pointed Percival X to the glass shelves and told him to have a good look at them. The shelves were cluttered with hundreds and hundreds of tea cups and saucers and, when Percival X stepped closer, he noticed that none of the cups were with their matching saucers.

“Now.” The lady ordered from where she sat in the enormous lounge chair. “Match them up.”

Story: The Shadow

This week in my Writing For Young People class we are doing older reader picture books. This is the text for my picture book, it works fine without pictures so I thought it would be alright to share. Next week is children's chapter books, so expect an extract from that next week.

There’s a shadow inside mummy. You can’t always see it, but I know it’s there. Sometimes I see it under her eyes, a grey and green and black shadow, and I tell it to leave her, but it won’t.

The shadow makes mummy sad.

“She’s just a bit down,” grandma tells me, “feeling a bit blue. That’s all.”

“She’s had a little nervous breakdown.” My aunt says. I don’t know what this means. “It’s nothing to worry about.” She sends me off to play.

I don’t want to play. Not when mummy won’t leave her room. Not when mummy won’t stop sleeping. Not when mummy doesn’t talk to me or daddy or anyone else.

Some nights mummy cries so loud she wakes me. I go to her in her room and cling onto her. Maybe if I hug her hard enough I can squeeze the shadow out of her.

“It’s okay mummy. I’ll save you from it.” I tell her. I’ll fight away the shadow.

Daddy strokes my hair and wraps his arms around mummy’s shoulders. “Mummy’s fine. Go back to bed.” He tells me.

Everyone keeps telling me mummy is fine, but she is not. The shadow has her. It’s dark and heavy and steals away smiles.

One day I’ll make mummy smile again.

Story: Children's Poetry - The Lady

This past week I was to write a picture book for my writing class. I thought about sharing it with you, but decided against it. Because it hasn't been illustrated it reads more like a script than a picture book and it really loses effect. This coming week we are to write childrens poetry so, to make up for not posting something last week, I'm posting my poetry to you guys early.

One day a lady stole our dad.

She was a thin as a newspaper ad.

She was so mean, she was so grumpy,

She flushed mummy done the dunny!

She locked dad in the tallest tower,

Cut off hot water to the shower.

My brothers tried to break him out

An elaborate mission came about.

Danny had weapons skills

While Miles had been trained to kill

They plotted long and hard that night.

I supplied the dynamite.

Clad in black and camo paint

With a tank they broke the gate

The lady stood before the spire

And with a cry we opened fire

She threw her head back, gave a roar,

My dynamite blew in the door

Dad was free, it seemed we won,

But then the lady grabbed a gun.

Dad wrestled her for the rifle

Her last attempt had been stifled

So Miles, who had lost his cool,

He pushed her in a nearby pool.

Danny, with a colossal tug,

Pulled out the gigantic plug.

Swirling through the hole and down

To the sewage works out of town.

To this day we have not seen her.

It’s said she’s in Argentina.

What'd you think? Next week is Older Reader Picture Books, so I'm not sure if you'll get anything that week. We'll see.

Story: Trim the Rat Girl

For this semester I'll be taking a break from writing Story Saturday's but don't worry, you'll still be getting a story once a week. I'm talking a writing class, Writing for Young People, where I have to do a piece of writing once a week and share it with my Tutorial class on Thursdays. Because I have to share my writing with my group 24 hours before class I have it ready on Wednesdays, thus Story Saturday has moved to Wednesdays.
This week we were supposed to be writing a character description so that is what I give you. Tell me what you think and let me know what age group it comes across as being for. I'm not sure it's right.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

There’s a girl who lives in the walls of the subway. People pretend she’s not real, but everyone knows she is. If the platform is empty enough, and it’s late enough in the evening, you can hear her moving about inside the walls when you’re waiting for the train. On the quietest of nights, the nights when you feel as if you’re the only person awake in the entire word, if you have a little food, you can tempt her out of the walls.

She always materialises out of nothing. One moment there is shadow and the next there she is. She scurried over and snatches the food from you before scurrying into a corner to eat. She scurries everywhere. She gnaws on the food, nibbling at it with her front teeth. She seems more rat than girl.

It’s not just the way she moves and eats, she looks almost like a rat. Her nose is long and thin, and her eyes squinted and startled as if she spent her life hiding in the darkness of the subway tunnels. Then again, she probably had. Her hair was that undefinable almost grey colour that is somewhere between blonde and brown. She looks about eight years old but she’s been living in the walls for as long as anyone can remember.

Her name is Trim. Everyone knows it, no one knows how, they just do. Trim the Rat Girl. Trim the Rat Girl who lives forever. “She can’t be human” people whisper on the rare occasions that they acknowledge her existence.

“What else can she be?”

“I don’t know. Don’t let the children near her.”

And what else can she be, if not human? People have all kinds of stories; that she really is descended from rats, that she’s an otherworldly spirit, a monster, alien, brownie, fairy, some kind of magical being. I think that she is Trim. Not defined by other names. Not catalogued into some group of mythical species. But there is no denying that she is special.

I wonder if she is happy; living such an unusual existence. She has no friends or family, unless the rats of the subway count. The subway patrons certainly don’t count. It’s only ever the really curious and fanciful commuters who ever try and tempt her from the walls and she’s more interested in the food than the person who gave it to her. She doesn’t talk to you, doesn’t answer your questions.

Sometimes you ask a question and she looks up with you with the brightest grey eyes. They’re so inquisitive and intelligent that I wonder if maybe she wants to answer you but she can’t. Perhaps she is mute. Perhaps she never learnt to talk.

She’s a mystery. Sometimes I think she should stay like that. Sometimes I want to know more. I want to know all there is about her. So I try again. I bring butternut cookies, her favourite from my experience, and go down to the subway after the late train is gone and all the commuters have left. I tempt her from the walls again.

Next week is picture book week. Not sure how well I'm going to work the illustrations, but I'm sure I'll figure something out.

Macbeth’s Progress into Villainy

I wrote this essay in year 10 while studying Macbeth. My teachers reply sort of went along the lines of "...maybe for a history essay...". Enjoy.


Once upon a time there was an ancient country known as Alba. The kings of Alba were elected, from a group of clan chiefs by their fellow chiefs and churchmen. One of these kings to be elected was King Duncan. But there was a problem with King Duncan. You see, Duncan kept fighting wars to expand his territories and while Duncan was off at war his people back in Alba were starving to death. Something had to be done so the chiefs and churchmen of Alba elected the Chief of Clan Moray as king instead.
Under the new king, things in Alba were looking pretty good. The new king had united the country for the first time. He made and enforced laws. Alba had become a place where the old and the sick were protected, and where women had equal rights. Under the new king Alba was peaceful and prosperous.
Now, at this time, outside of Alba in all the other countries, kings were not elected. Kingship was inherited. This caused many members of the royal family to resort to murder and war as they tried to gain kingship. Duncan’s son, Malcolm, had fled to one of these countries where kings were not elected. In this country it was believed that the king’s son became king no matter what. It didn’t matter how bad he was for the country. So the king of this country decided to help Malcolm raise an army and conquer Alba.
But Malcolm’s army couldn’t take Alba. After a failed invasion Malcolm resorted to sending assassins to murder the king of Alba.
The king of Alba was Macbeth.

Macbeth takes place in Scotland in the early eleventh century, which, at the time, was known as Alba. In the play, though, Shakespeare makes it more relevant and people-friendly by referring to the country by its modern name, Scotland. The above story of Alba is the story of “the real Macbeth”.
According to Irish, Norwegian and Scottish historians, Macbeth was, in most aspects, a very good king. Even lady Macbeth is said to have been an exceptionally wise queen. It was really only the English historian, Raphael Holinshed that claimed Macbeth wasn’t a good king. Holinshed was from England, the country that Malcolm had fled to and the country that had assisted Malcolm’s war against Macbeth. It could be more than possible that Holinshed held bias against Macbeth and that his view was coloured in favour of Malcolm and England. Holinshed’s history, the Chronicles of Scotland, also show little understanding of ancient Scottish laws which could have affected his view of Macbeth.
Holinshed is believed to be the only source that Shakespeare used when writing his play. Shakespeare portrayed Macbeth even worse than the villain Holinshed had depicted. The main aim of Shakespeare’s plays was to entertain and impress those in power, at the time this was King James, a descendent of Banquo. Because of James’ relation, Shakespeare played up Banquo, showing him as a hero and Macbeth the villain. The addition of the witches was also for the purpose of entertainment and to impress the king. James was known to have a hatred of witches.
I didn’t matter to Shakespeare that the facts he used or his portrayal of Macbeth weren’t true because sycophancy was more important in his profession than historical accuracy.
Macbeth’s progress into villainy started with an English historian, Rafael Holinshed, who wrote the Chronicles of Scotland without a full understanding of Scottish law or governance. Holinshed let his bias influence his portrayal of Macbeth and also likely wrote his history to please those in power. Similarly, using information form Holinshed’s history, Shakespeare manipulated facts in his play to please those in charge; creating the villain Macbeth is known as today.

After Macbeth’s murder his step-son, Lulach Macgillecomgain, was elected as the king of Alba but after many years of fighting Malcolm he too was assassinated and Malcolm became king by force. From Malcolm’s time onwards Scottish kings inherited the throne rather than being elected. The laws in Alba that had given equal rights and protected the poor were abolished.
Malcolm was the first king not to be buried at the sacred island of Iona.

Were Romeo and Juliet Fated to Die?

In year nine my class studied Romeo and Juliet and we were given the above essay question. The obvious answer was yes. The easiest option to argue was yes. Everyone in my class went with yes. I said no. This is the essay that earned me both 100% and a drawing of a cranky face in red pen. Keep in mind I was in year nine when I wrote this, over four years ago, so it may be a little dodgy.

~

I have to say No Way! Despite the strong reasons for it (I’m sure you can think of many), I have two reasons that totally over-rule all other arguments. Reason one: Every one has choices, Romeo and Juliet just made the wrong ones, if they made wiser decisions the out come would have been different, more than likely better. Reason two: is there really such a thing as fate? And if so what really is it?

It goes like this- everyone has choices, if Romeo and Juliet made wiser choices they mightn’t have died. For example, if Romeo hadn’t killed Tybolt and instead let the law handle it (Tybolt was going to be executed anyway) then Romeo wouldn’t have be banished and none of the following events would have taken place.
Then you’ve got Juliet faking her own death, if she had thought through her options (skip town for example) they may both have lived.
And you have to agree that turning to that priest was the stupidest thing they could have done. For starters, what kind of priest just so happens to have a date-rape drug lying around? One that can't be trust, that's what kind.

Secondly, the whole fate thing, does fate really exist? There are actually special people who dedicate their lives to trying to find this out. They are called metaphysicians and they try to solve questions that can’t be answered on factual terms. Some of these guys think that if the universe is rational it must be based on a sequence of cause and effect: Every action or effect, must be began by a cause and must form an unbroken chain of causation going back to the first cause, that is, God or the Devine.
So. For there to be fate there must also be a god.
But as the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy says there can be no god because of the existence of the Babel fish. I quote-
‘The argument goes like something like this: “I refuse to prove I exist,” says God, “for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing.”
‘ “But,” says man, “The Babel fish is a dead give away isn’t it? It could not have evolved by chance. It proves that you exist, and so therefore, by your own arguments, you don’t. QED”
‘ “Oh dear.” Says God, “I hadn’t thought of that,” and promptly vanishes into a puff of logic.’
So that also means that all the miracles we have ever had prove God doesn’t exist by the above argument.
So by proving that God doesn’t exist we prove that fate doesn’t either and thus Romeo and Juliet were not fated to die.

Romeo and Juliet were not fated to die because they couldn’t make a good choice to save their lives, literally. And because from a reliable source (Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy) I have been able to deduce that fate doesn’t exist so they couldn’t have been fated to do anything!
I rest my case.

~

What do you think? Did year nine Penguins Quack prove her point or do you have a different opinion about our star-crossed lovers?

A Day in the Life of Penguins Quack

Both my beloved Zella (Grammatically Motivated) and Scott (Ergo) have written "A Day in the Life of..." articles on their blogs and I have been inspired to write one of my own.

May day's are pretty irregular. Because I broke my leg I've had to postpone Uni and I can't work so most days are spent bludging around the house. Except on Wednesdays and Thursdays I go with my mum to the school she teachers at as a volunteer. So here's a typical Wednesday/Thursday in the life of Penguins Quack.

6:45 - my alarm doesn't go off. I forgot to set it again. Instead I'm woken by mum's alarm going off in her room. Screw it. I'm not getting up.

6:50 - I realise mum will kill me if I don't get up but still can't be motivated to get out of my warm, comfy bed. I turn on my CD player. My theory says the Alkaline Trio will help me get up. For some reason Birds of Tokyo starts to play and I doze off again.

7:10 - Mum charges into my room telling me to get up. I tell her I already am, I just finished rubbing bio-oil on my scars. She leaves and I start rubbing bio-oil on my scars before putting on some jeans and my periodic table T-shirt.

7:15 - I stare into the fridge, then the pantry, then the freezer. I complain that there's nothing to eat for breakfast. I don't eat cereal and we're out of raisin toast. And bread. And milk. In the end I settle for mum's crumpets.

7:45 - Mum comes into the kitchen while I'm still eating and asks if I'm ready to leave. I'm not. I spent half an hour chatting to my brother, O'Malley, instead of getting ready. I run to the bathroom and brush my teeth while also brushing my hair and putting shoes on.

7:50: Mum makes me drive the 20 minute drive out to the small Aboriginal school she works at.

8:10 - We finally arrive. 10 minutes late. We go to the library where mum, the teacher-librarian, turn on the computer and sets up the borrowing system while I read picture books.

8:45 - School starts. All 23 students line up for morning notices and nose-blowing. For some reason we have to teach the kids how to blow their noses, and for some reason I have to participate. The kids then do two laps of the oval. Luke once again manages to get away with only doing half a one.

9:00 - Literacy. I take the slow learners out of the class. We do Look Say Cover Write Check with their spelling, I give them a test and then we do readers. The most boring stories ever written that i must read through about 4 times each day.

11:30-ish (I don't really know the school bell times) - Recess! Ramsey's about ready to thrash me with his reader and Maylan is asleep. The bell rings and the three of us enthusiastically run outside. I eat while chatting to the teachers. Someone asks Mr Nayler to peel their orange.

11:45-ish - Numeracy. I play snakes and ladders with the slow learners. The aim is number identification and counting forwards and backwards from a number. I lose the game, having gotten no closer to 100 that 20 the entire game.

1:15-ish - Lunchtime! At last! Escape! I flee from my horror, pledging never to play snakes and ladders again. Someone asks Mr Nayler to open their can of tuna.

1:45-ish - I have a choice. Take the infants for library with mum, or take the primary class for information tech. with Mr M. (the kids can't pronounce Reece's last name. I can't spell it). I take information tech. because Maylan wants me too. They're writing picture books for the infants class. Maylan and I spend all lesson trying to draw an alien on the un-oriented smart board.

2:30 - Mum returns and we do HSIE (human society in its environment). She's teaching "communities" so everyone has to draw a building in their community. At Natalie and Brianna's request I participate. I draw the doctors surgery. Then Brianna makes me draw a dolphin.

3:00 - Finally school ends and we head straight out to mum's friends place. He has a spa/hot-tub which I use for physio. Even when using it for physio, a spa is super-duper awesome.

4:45 - On the way home mum and I buy something for dinner because there's never any food in the house. When I say buy something for dinner, I mean a BBQ chicken.

5:00 - Finally home and I go straight to the computer. Facebook, Blogger, Twitter, Sparklife, Manga. On good Thursday afternoon's all the Shounen Jump manga's could be out. Otherwise I spend all evening refreshing the One Manga home page.

6:30 - We eat the BBQ chicken. Mum asks O'Malley how his day was and he gives an average answer. Mum and I then go and eat our dinner in front of the TV. O'Malley somehow manages to eat while playing TFC online.

7:00 - O'Malley and I wash up while mum goes for a walk. I then check Facebook and One Manga.

7:30 - after reading all my Shounen Jump I skype my twin brother, the Chairman, who is at a college in Canberra and whine about the latest Bleach to him. We then analyse everything that happened in Naruto to the point that an English teach would be shocked. We have nothing but praise for One Piece. I then complain that Skip Beat hasn't come out for three weeks and the Chairman hangs up on me.

8:30 - On Wednesdays I watch Spicks and Specks religiously, followed by Hungry Beast. On Thursdays I procrastinate until How I Met Your Mother at 9:00.

9:30 - I hope into bed and read and listen to music, at some point remembering to apply my bio-oil. I forget to set my alarm.

10:30 - Lights out. Music off.

11:40 - lights back on. Inspiration for something to write.

12:00 - back to sleep.

What do your day's involve?

Harmony Day

Harmony day was last week which is about dealing with culture, race and religious tolerance. So for Harmony day the Aboriginal school I volunteer at went on an excursion to another small school a long with the school for students with disabilities.

Unfortunately, even during Harmony day, people can be racist. I have never thought less of people of different race or considered them differently, and I am fascinated by different cultures so it shocks me when even young children make racist comments. I guess they must have been brought up with different attitudes than I was, but even so, I don't really understand why this thing goes on.

No that the disrest was one-sided. Kajika did get punched for making a comment that he was not willing to repeat.

Despite this, the day was great fun. Our school put on a performance of Aboriginal dances, there was a dance and a sausage sizzle. Highlights of the day for me included:

• Dressing up with the kids for their performance.
• Tangoing with Casey, the too-cool-for-school student
• Freaking Luke out by trying to get him to dance with me.
• Dancing while on crutches.
• Telling Jahnali she could only eat the watermelon she had been told not to eat if no one saw her take it (there's no way I can be a teacher. I'm too mischievous when around little kids).
• Ramsey, one of the kids who is always getting into trouble, saying "yeah I'm black, and I'm proud of it" to a kid after a racist comment.
• Arguing with Casey over horror movie cliches
• The look on Uriah's face after my mum (who is a teacher at the school) said that the 11-year-old she was dancing with from the other school was her boyfriend
• Hannah.

The major downside, besides Kajika (isn't that an awesome name) getting punched, was discovering that orange face paint does not come off easily.

Xerxmania

So it's March and, because I have nothing else to do, that means planning my Script Frenzy for April. Do you remember me telling you about National Novel Writers Month back in November? Yeah, well similar thing, but you write a script.

30 days. 100 pages. April. Are you in?

Well, I'll be writing the script to Xerxmania: Xerxes the Musical, it's the play my Ancient history class planned while procrastinating instead of studying.

Xerxmania is the untold story of Xerxes second wife who petitions for divorce because she's not his favourite wife. The play was based of the idea that only the king's mother and favourite wife could sit at his table.
Anyways, here's me encouraging you to get involved in Script Frenzy this year. Now I'm going to run (well the crutch-using equivalent) off and procrastinate elsewhere.

NaNoWriMo

Well. I only have one exam left. Extension History. Its been tough. Expectially when the clock stopped during my Modern history exam. But so far I've made it through, and I don't really care what happens to me afterwards. As long as I'm surviving, I'm okay.

You may have noticed my banner to the left: "NaNoWriMo participant"

Well, this November (so right now) I'm participating in the National Novel Writers Month where I have to write a 50 000 word novel by the end of November. I'm not really able to start until after my exams end on the sixth but I'm still attempting it. It's good motivation to finish something I write for once.

I might post some of it here, or start another blog for it, where you can read it. I enjoy constructive criticism and all that nonsense.

...I just lost my tissue and I have hayfever...

Alright, that's better. I'm feeling really positive about NaNo so I'm hoping to convince some people to join, even if its a bit late. But there's always next year!

Anyway, that's the end of this. Let's Write!

Choice Halloween Costumes

Yeah... so, these exams are going to kill me...
I hate maths. And...
Dude, we got SCREWED on that Ancient history paper, GOD DAMMIT!!

Now that that's out of my system, its Halloween soon, and I'm dying to dress up so hooray for the Halloween disco this Friday. To celebrate the occasion, here is a list of my choice Halloween costumes:

1. Karl Marx: This wonderful communist here is my first choice Halloween costume. Unfortunately I don't have a suit to wear or that much (or any at that matter) facial hair. Also I've been told no one will know who I am, so that would be a bit of a bummer.
2. Dr. Who: This is who I'm actually going to go as, the fourth doctor, the one acted by Tom Baker. Scarf and jelly babies. It'll be awesome.
3. The sword and martini guy from KoL: This is another one people may not get, because, although the should, not everyone plays the Kingdom of Loathing. But just by dressing up as a stick figure with a sword and martini, I think you have a pretty cool costume.
4. A Newspaper: Tape a newspaper to your chest and voila! (My brother has stolen this idea of me which proves its gold). If you really want too you can accessorise, but why ruin the perfect outfit?
5. Dr. Horrible: Dr. Horrible from Dr. Horrible's sing-along blog is one of the greatest characters Neil Patrick Harris ever acted, in fact he was born for that role. Goggles and a lab coat, a pair of gloves, and you're the coolest and sweetest supervillian of all time. If you can convince a friend to dress as Captain Hammer then you have one of the Raddest pair costumes of all time.
6. Lady Gaga: Glitter and a wig. It's easy!
7. Edward Cullen: Same goes for Eddie C as it did for Lady Gaga
8. Kanye West: This is the greatest idea of all time, dress up as West, hide in the bushes and when little kids come trick or treating, jump out and say, "yo kids, Ima let you finish, but Christmas is the greatest holiday of all time!" (Look, I'm not giving you a link for this, I'm sure you've seen enough parodies everywhere else)
9. The Scout from TF2: What's more nerdy than dressing up as a computer game character? Nothing, that's what. And if you want to be the coolest nerd out than the Scout is the costume for you. The costume is easy: red or blue T-shirt, head-set and a baseball bat. I'm trying to convince a gamer friend to dress as the scout. He loves the idea but he doesn't think he has an outfit that's authentic enough.
10. Sheet Ghost: This is just so cliche that its totally awesome. People with out a sense of humour may not get the sheer genius of it but you will look seriously cute

Scary Things

1. Nurse Ratchet
2. Light/Kira
3. Wrists
4. People with dandruff
5. Clowns
6. Bugs
7. Asteroids
8. Super volcanoes
9. Photocopiers that say "misfire"
10. War
11. The degeneration of Vampires in popular culture
12. My mum
13. Maths
14. Unrequited love
15. 20 missed calls from the one person
16. Ventriloquists
17. Ventriloquist dummies
18. Lady Gaga
19. Cliché movie plots
20. Cthulhu
21. Gnomes
22. Toilets that don't flush, and then begin to back up and overflow.
23. Overenthusiastic sports fans.
24. Vans with curtains
25. Remembering an assignment the day its due
26. I can't believe its not chicken
27. Dimly lit parking lots
28. 2012
29. Lack of a social conscience in society
30. Little kids who sing in horror movies
31. Realising you insulted Edward in a room full of Twihards
32. Jack Nicholson
33. Unclean hotel rooms
34. Neurosurgeon with shaky hands
35. The twins from the Shining
36. Phones ringing during a blackout
37. Cereal Serial killers
38. Chemistry
39. The Guy Made of Bees (from the Kingdom of Loathing)
40. Life
41. People who say "Look I got you this present, open it now. It's funny. No, you have to open it where everyone can see it. It'll be hilarious!"
42. Opening a present after someone has said "Look I got you this present, open it now. It's funny. No, you have to open it where everyone can see it. It'll be hilarious!"
43. Too wide smiles
44. Green potatoes
45. Those filthy commies (nah, just kidding, you guys are alright)
46. Writing a list of 50 scary things and running out of ideas around 46. (okay, so that’s not really scary but it is seriously annoying)
47. Most dolls
48. Most Coheed and Cambria lyrics, e.g. "I’ll kill anything cut the throats of babies for them break they're hearts for they were them"
49. The HSC
50. Spooky night noises

'Ban the Bomb'

From 1981 to the end of the Cold War: the Greenham Common Women's Peace Camp around the US Airforce base at Greenham Common, England protested against the base which housed cruise missiles. They used creative protests, including joining hands & encircling the base, picnics inside the base and floating a giant web over the base with helium balloons, etc.

This is just another awesome thing that has happened in history and is definitely the way protests should be carried out.

Bored of Studies

Don't you hate it when you're doing an assignment that needs a progress log but you don't realise that until the day before it's due?
Yeah, well that's my extension history major historical investigation. I still have to finish my conclusion, do a source analysis for 1 and a half sources and write my best work of fiction - my progress log starting from the beginning of the year.
Woo!
And also, why does the Bored of Studies website take so long to load?

The Bells Toll Five Times

Happy holiday's to those out there who actually have them or get to spend them relaxing and watching the Lion King.
I'll be spending my holiday's completing my History Project for extension history. A 2 500 word essay assessing how the interpretations the Salem Witch Trials have changed over time.
It's not as fun as I thought it would be. Interesting, but not fun.
Welcome to my new follower, Joe Lynch, who shares a name this several famous people including Kenneth Slessor's BFF who Five Bells was written about (thank you advanced english).

Time that is moved by little fidget wheels
Is not my time, the flood that does not flow.
Between the double and the single bell
Of a ship's hour, between a round of bells
From the dark warship riding there below,
I have lived many lives, and this one life
Of Joe, long dead, who lives between five bells...

Great Expectations pt. 1

I haven't been around lately, forgive me. I've been lacking inspiration and time due to school work. So I've decided to combine the two together and blog about Great Expectations and my reading experiences.
I'm already about twelve chapters into it, but here's what I knew before I started:

1. This book is thick!
2. This book is a classic (but I've never met anyone who likes it. Weird…)
3. It's about a kid called Pip (weird name).
4. At the beginning he's poor and alone and at the end he's still poor and alone.

So I hardly knew anything about the book, except that nothing progresses over its 555 pages. I assumed that there are some kind of events in the middle and just hoped that they were interesting. Fellow high-schoolers had not given me much to hope for.

So lets see what I've learnt:

Chapter 1
The narrator is this orphan, Phillip Pirrip, who has a ridiculous name so is called Pip instead, even though it's also ridiculous. He is looked after by his sister, Mrs Joe Gargery, who doesn't get her own name but instead has to share her husband's, the blacksmiths, name. That says a lot about a woman's place in society in the Victorian age. You'd think having a female ruler would do something for women's rights but no.
One day little Pip is in the churchyard at his parents grave and contemplating what they would have looked like as he never knew either of them. Also buried are his five dead brothers who died as infants. At least that's what I gather from Dickens ramblings.
As Pip muses over his dead family an escaped criminal suddenly appears and threatens to cut his throat!! (Does it sound like I made that up? Well, I didn't, that's really what happens).
The crim tells Pip that he has to get a file and wittles for him, whatever wittles is, or he 'ave 'is 'eart an' Liver out!
Pip promises that he will and the crook says that he'd better or the crooks friend, 'the young man', will come after him.
Pip's terrified so runs home to do what the crim said.

Prediction of what happens next:
Pip goes home and cries a lot - because he strikes me as a bit of a sook - yet still tries steals the intended objects - because he's a coward, so won't stand up against the crim - but his sister, the Mrs Joe Gargery catches him, he gets the scolding of a lifetime, sent to bed without supper, 'the young man' comes after him, kills him, and the book ends 525 pages too early.

Bohemian Rhapsody

I like to think I'm slowly going insane.
I am trying to study, I promise you, but it is as if there are two people inside my head and when one isn't looking the other starts to play solitaire or starts typing something like this. I keep telling myself to stop but I will not listen.
I admit I am wont to distractions but this is just rediculous.

Study.

In February 1917 (by the Julian calander) a revolution took place in Russia in which the Tsarist government was over thrown and replaced by the Provisional government-

I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Scaramouche,scaramouche will you do the fandango-

...Curses...

Three Little Birds

I had a stairwell party today.
It was my friend's birthday and I've always wanted to host an elevator party, but, lacking an elevator, I had to settle for the stairwell.
So we set up a table and chairs (stolen from maths detention) in the stairwell, ate jelly and fairy bread, drank a lot of coke and laughed excessively.
We had maths teachers and a music-teaching conspiracy-theorist (who was aforementioned in my JFK spiel) try to steal our food, a substitute who thought it was the most exciting think she ever saw, and a music teacher who saw us as 'a problem'. The music teacher was easily bribed with my 'healthy' fairy bread and a handful of Allen's lollies.
We had sugar hits that must boarder overdose and sang Bob Marley.
I wore a tie.
I had fun.
So...
"Don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing gonna be alright..."

The assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy

I'm sure someone out there is wondering about the introduction of my poll and wants to now why I'm so curious about who killed J. F. K. so let me explain.

The year 11 modern history syllabus calls case study and every year my school does the Assassination of John F. Kennedy. I did this last year and thoroughly convinced myself that Jackie did it. But then someone asked my why you would pay someone to shoot the person sitting next to you while in a moving vehicle and my whole case crumbled. Instead I focused my case on the Secret Service and I think I built a very convincing argument and, although occasionally an argument breaks out between my friend as to whether it was the CIA or the Mafia, J.F.K. was forgotten about.

This years yr 11 modern history class has recently begun their Kennedy case study and old theories have re-emerged. My two person extension history class will be studying Kennedy this year and both of us having our differing theories a heated argument broke out one day in the library as yr 11 modern history listened to John F. Kennedy's inauguration speech. Our fight was broken up by a music teacher who KNOWS it was the Illuminati and we could not convince him any other way.

So now I want to know your thoughts. Who killed J.F.K?

Will you help me prove statistically that yes, it was the Secret Service? Are you with my friend and believe the Mafia are behind it? Do you believe the jazz musician-music teacher and blame the Illuminati? Do you begrudge conspiracy theorists and think Lee Harvey Oswald was a lone assassin? Or perhaps you have your own theory?

All theories are welcome! Tell me what you think!

Who killed J.F.K?

The Freak in the Bed Sheet

Why is it so absurd to wear a toga to a school sporting event?

I waltz down the street wearing it, waving a two-dollar plastic katana around my head (I don't know why I chose the culture clash, but it seemed to fit) and no one gives me a second glance. But the second I'm in with my peers I'm the freak in the bed-sheet.

The teachers thought I had a cool costume, my friend thought me brave, but to everyone else: the freak in the bed sheet.

But then, most of my friends weren't even there and those who were ranged from an exact Naruto double to a L33T gamer, so they're the type of people who'd find anything bizarre cool. But then again, those are the type of people I tend to befriend.

All the same, if a toga at a sporting event is a strange occurrence, I am still going to be the freak in the bed sheet.