Who you talkin' to?

Who you talkin' to?

If only life were that easy.

I think we're going somewhere, we're on to something good here.

pojo345: who takin the three *itches?
Jad773: mike takin jamiee, danielle, and sarah in the Stang

Reliant K - Charles In Charge

Wok it, Hsieh. Wok it so good.

MiniMrBigelswort: ya
MiniMrBigelswort: people I didnt even know at school were like hey thats the pringal can kid
PoJo345: lol

You are fulflilling the prophecy of the last man. Oh, the incompetence.

When the end of the beginning cometh, don't touch the monkey with the three-ring binder. Singing in the rain mixed with a strawberry bagel and the next run-off of the water main hit by the saigon-city egg rolls and the super duper man. I wish I had it. Love me, love me, say that you'll love me. Hold me, hold me, say that you'll hold me. So good. And if i had the end of the beginning then it would work particularly well, mixed with the 3 ring circus. Please. Go now. No more time until the end becomes the beinning, and the end of the rear becomes the doughnut trooper and in either case the girls play at 10:30. If we lose, we're done. Bart City lost. Ouch. Don't foul out. Please. Oh no. You fouled out. Hurt. Hurt. Sometime we play like the buggart in the closet we're Lupin loves to dance with the rest of the town. I wish I had it. Please. Please man. I concur. No more love for you. No more. None of that for you and your facadic cape of regular escapades, fulfilled by a mixed-up capitalist. The end of the beginning we're the rest of the day ends. Man. Help the rest of the gadflies. So good.

Some of the most interesting discoveries occur when we least
expect it. I realized this first hand earlier today after I had
taken a leisurely swim. Upon taking the towel and thoroughly rubbing
my hair to remove the excess water, my nose began sending signals to
my brain indicating wet dog. "Dangit. Someone probably forgot to
put it in the wash after drying the dogs." Then I realized
something. The wash was done this very morning. I actually saw the
towell I was using at the moment it was taken out of the washer and
placed in the dryer. Then it hit me. Flakes of my hair must have
gotten on the towel as I was drying, and it was these fragments that
caused the odor. I came to the conclusion that after spending a long
and arduous week worrying about homework, the end result is a smell
not unlike a mud-covered dog. If only I were a feminist. Then I
would be able put to rest the statement, "Men are dogs."

Not when the children come out the winners.

Whut up with my wiggas?!

I'm so tired.

This is college, Adams-style.

Kirk has got a system.

Why you chuggin' so much Mike? Slow down! Wait!?! Through your eyes? How the...?

Who is comin' to the big bash at Stenard's on Friday?

Szabo: Thanks guys! I can't believe you all grew your beards out like me to make me fit in again!
Hsieh: It was no problem. NO PROBLEM AT ALL! (strokes his bristles) Oh yeah...!
Mike: I was going to do it anyway. Honest.
Adams: My enigmatic self grows ten-fold with this Islamic cut. (SS walks by) Hey, how you doin'?
Howell: Truthful hypocricy has never seemed better. And now, all those capitalist pigs will pay.
Tiff: I concur with you, man. The Democrats just have to go, while the heroic Republican economists will take their place and reign.
Stenard: I lost my Aryan - good looks. But really, who likes a blonde beard?
Szabo: Ah. I have such great friends.

Payce to all my brathahs and sistahs out there in da streets..

Hsieh: Look, it's Osama Bin Laden!
Mike: No, that's just Szabo, he grew out his beard again.
Hsieh: Oh, well, he looks just like him.
Mike: Hey, you're right! Let's turn him in for the 25 million dollar reward!
Hsieh: AHH AhhHHH AhhHhhh Ahhhh (in the voice of squealing pig)

Flan and Osama, livin' it up.

Stewart: Welcome to my humble abode. Help yourself to my extensive library. The English authors are on the left, the mathematicians are in the middle, and the Nascar magazines are on the far right, including exclusive biographies on the greats such as Dale Earnheart, Jeff Gordon, and the rest of the sport's superstars.

Last minute soul spillin'.

Stenard shows us "his" college.

David and Adams discover the brighter aspects of college life. (Adams in the middle, Dave on the right)

Nonono. I'm a good student!!

He's watching.

Cement Dreams

A Short Story by Matthew Szabo

Glancing at the training manual for the fifth time that morning, Macedonia looked out over the cliff's edge. People, thousands of them, crawled everywhere like fire ants, seeking food for the queen. "Despicable", muttered Mace, wiping the saliva dribbling over his bottom lip. "To return is unacceptable". These words rang constantly in his ears, threatening to drive him to the brink of insanity. What had Protractor meant?

Mace knew a return to civilization would prove disastrous, not only for himself, but for his family. Thirteen years ago, give or take a few hours, Mace had left that melting pot to seek a life of solitude as a Monk of Love, a secret society founded by himself and a now deceased comrade. He alone, would have to return to the place that took his honor without his consent. They tore it into four nice and neat strips, handing it back to him like a borrowed handkerchief. He fingered his feathery hair and the unshaven bristles above his lip and on the perimeter of his soft chin, instantly triggering the memory of Lily, that girl he left behind so long ago.

He never brushed the dark hair, or caressed the ivory-white sea of implacable skin. "Esteban knew nothing," he pronounced slowly to no one, letting the truth of those words sink deep into his pores, into his very being. He reached his hand along the length of the parachute, hoping to check the integrity of the ripcord just one more time, but then he stopped, abruptly. His thoughts had practiced today's performance so many times that he knew, without a doubt, that all would go well. Mace glanced one more time over the cliff's edge, focusing his fovea on what looked like a small child wearing a mariner's outfit. How he knew that, he could not say, even if there was someone there to talk to.

A crouch, a quick momentum, a fearless leap into the most unknown part of the known, and he was off. He sailed downward toward the buildings and people and carts and cars and coaches and bugs and books and schools and people and the little mariner and, most of all, toward Lily. The air was exhilarating. He felt cold, but not too cold. Wait. He didn't feel cold anymore. He felt so warm, warmer than he had ever been in the monastery. Warmer than the cotton blankets, warmer than the hot thing pushing deeper and deeper into this past, threatening to disintegrate again without his permission. His eyes were dry, his lips parched, his voice hoarse from silent screams of joy. Arms flapping as if he were flying, legs wriggling like a liberated night crawler, free of the dark emptiness in that wet, muddy, reeking soil.

In an instant, a moment of enlightenment, he realized the futility of his selfish independence. Why had he left those that loved him? Why did he run from the warmth of their loving cage? The thoughts prevailed over his logic, keeping him entranced on the idea. What if? What if he never left? Would he be married by now, a father with a white picket fence and a loyal beagle? Would he come home from a profitless day at work with unmarred joy, a feeling devoted entirely to his loving wife and son?

Mace cracked a small smile, not unlike that of a roguish bandit, leaping from town to town pilfering the booty of the fat capitalists and their picture-perfect families. He closed his eyes for too long, tasting the very thought of a family he never had. Yet, while a fantasy, for him the hope remained. Hardworking maybe, smart perhaps, but young, certainly. He would have all the time in the world. All the time in the world. His smile grew larger, not from the strength of the wind, but because he knew it would all work out. There was no doubt, no problem. He had taken care of everything. Sure, coming back to society would be difficult, maybe close to impossible, but that's what he did best. The impossible. No danger was too large for him. Nothing at all.

Her eyes. Those not too large, not too small, not too bright, not to dim, eyes. They would be his again. His own. The words delighted him. Without a care in the world, he cast his eyes downward again, for the first time in minutes. He didn't notice how close he was to the ground, or that he had deviated off-course by nearly two miles. Instead of a small park with soft grass, he would land on a pretty street lined with alternating pear and poplar trees housing twittering birds making songs.

What he did notice was the woman with the dark hair. She was walking underneath the trees wearing all white with a small black jewel on her neck. His heart leapt, not because of his proximity to the ground, but because of her blinding beauty. She was here, to meet him, to welcome him back to the world. He never noticed the man holding her hand, nor the bright diamond ring residing on her delicate hand. He was too busy thinking of the future, forgetting the past, and not paying much attention to the present.

A loud sound, nothing short of a thunderclap, echoed the city that day. Some say it was lightning, others say it was the local military base testing out a new weapon of mass destruction, certain to bring peace to the world. A Romantic poet offered that it was the sound of a lover's heart breaking at the sight of betrayal, and furthermore he wrote a simple yet emotional poem entitled "Falling Hearts" that propelled him into literary fame. But that wasn't the sound of a broken heart.

It was the sound of dreams, of hope, of life, of death, of children, of love, of a fence, of a dog, of the ripples in the pool, of the apple cobbler, of a black and white cat napping on the seat of a green chair in the light of an ever-fading sun...hitting a cement wall.

I think

Good here

Get a ride here

Somewhere back there

Back of my mind

Never knowing

Where we're going

Press

On

Going

Going

Gone

"It's three p.m.," She said.
I said, "You're crazy."
She said, "Get out of bed,
why are you so lazy?
Why waste the day away?"
I said, "Because I'm tired."
So reckless for all these years,
I crashed into a wall.
There's a ringing in my ears,
And it's my wake up call.
Jesus gave me a wake up call.
Take this world with a grain of salt.
Jesus gave me a wake up call

"It's three a.m.," she said.
"Who are you Matchbox 20?"
She said, "Are you getting rest?"
Sarcastic, I said, "Plenty!"
"Don't be a hypocrite"
I asked, "What are you saying?"
"When you praise God do you mean it?
Are you sleeping when you're praying?"

I know that pride and summertime come before fall.
Almost missed the bus, but Jesus gave me a wake up call

I'm Lion-O - Relient K
Chillin' at the lair.
Snarf, me and the twins.
My favorite feline is the one who wore cheetah skins.
Fighting evil, we drink milk, and we purr a lot.
Ask me to cross them, and I would say I'd rather not.
Thundercats Ho!
I'm Lion-O!
Sword of Omens, come to me.
Your eye opens so you can see.
Fly from the sheath into my paw.
I am the greatest Thundercat of them all...
I'm Lion-O!

All you could hear

KA-CHUNK KA-CHUNK KA-CHUNK

RelientK1789: SZABO

Auto response from Marc9674: It's the principle
it's the issue that your principal would dismiss you.
Because you don't fit into that all-American Box.
That coffin created for creative thought.
It's disgusting his priorities
And how we're entrusting him with authority.
His gavel's gone down before he looked in your
heart. He finished this race(ism) before he reached the start.
Jesus loved the outcasts.
He loves the ones the world just loves to hate.
And as long as there's a heaven, there'll be a failure to excommunicate.

My problems fell out of the back of my mind when I read Kyle's little post. But I wont sit back, and take this anymore. Cause I'm done with that, I've got one foot out the door. Out of mind, out of state, trying to keep my head on straight. I never know when where we're going. Going gone. Going going gone. I'm Pressing On.

I think there's something seriously wrong with the kid sitting to the right of me. I mean, cmon, what is he doing? Working it the wrong way I think. Stop doing such a thing. Stop being so condescending.

I can do almost anything, with my pals pokey pickles and blue.

Flan is crap.

I'm the player with the slayer. You feel the reed?

I love him.

Oo but you know I'm yours.
Oo and I know you're mine.

HAHAAHAHAH!!!!

Yeahhhh!!!

HAY!!!!

YEHAHAHAHA!

When the thought enters your brain, just grab hold. Forget about life's sufferings, the stick in your shoe, the water in your eyes, the chip in your tooth. It all means nothing next to you. Just lift that hand up high, indicate your favor, the flavor, oh, that everlasting shaver. And when they ask you the theme, the motto, the phrase or sentence that gave you the strength to press on, to continue, to endure, well then maybe....JUST maybe...you'll say "maybe it's maybeline".

I'm not the one to blame. No no. Nonono. Not me. Not that child. No. Him. The crouching man. The crouching man took the key. The key to your heart. He clawed at it with 4 month-long nails, crusted with dirt and the remnants of dried fish. He didn't ask. Didn't tell. Didn't make a sound. One swift swipe, and. Gone. For good. Even though it's not the right, maybe it is now. Maybe it is me. Well. Maybe it's Maybeline.

And now my spanish oral is over. Payce brotha.

OOHHH Hsieh's Spanish oral is in what..a bit more than 40 minutes? OUCH. Hsieh, we are rooting for you.

And I said, "What about breakfast at tiffany's?"
She said, "I think I remember the film,
And as I recall, I think we both kinda liked it"
And I said, "Well, that's the one thing we've got"

I love school. It makes me cool. Whopee, hipee hipee who who.

Alfaddd: wow, its getting late and i have hw to do...aah!
PoJo345: like what
Alfaddd: AIM distracts me
PoJo345: AIM is life
Alfaddd: along with baseball video games
PoJo345: video games are life

Where?

Yao Ming.

"El Toreador alucin�geno"

Hey Hsieh, your views are so right...forget the dissenters that rain on your light...

The Sadie Hawkins Dance
in my khaki pants
There's nothin better
oh oh oh
The girls ask the guys
it's always a surprise
There's nothin better
baby do you like my sweater?