I currently am taking a creative writing class. I have to write for said creative writing class. Why not post it on the internet?

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I have a fascination with betrayal. I enjoy stabbing people in the back and then twisting the knife around, loosening the flesh and allowing the blood to flow. I enjoy pulling out the knife and sticking my hand in the wound, reaching deeper and pushing farther until I can grab the heart and pull it out, letting the blood spray everywhere as the heart eventually stops beating. And then I’d like to push them, punch them, kick them — it doesn’t matter, as long as they turn around — and look into their faces. I find it mesmerizing, that expression of shock and that every lasting question of “Why?” imprinted on them like a brand. I’d throw the heart back at them, then, let them fall and collapse before I took my foot to their throats, crushing them and leaving them there, broken.

I enjoy the act of betraying someone.

So, here’s my question: If I were to betray you, if I were to stab you in the back and throw your own heart back at you, how would you react? Would you cry? I hope you cry. I want you to cry. I do enjoy it ever so much when people cry and spill their weakness onto the world, allowing everyone to see the true frailty of their spirits. It’s even better when they ask why as well. It’s a like a mantra, really. They repeat it over and over again as if that would offer them some answer, as if that would suddenly make time go backwards and erase the ugliness of reality.

Cry for me. When I betray you, cry for me. It’s the least you could do for me, really, since we’re friends and all. ♥ And don’t feel so bad! When the time finally comes, truth is I’ll probably stab you in the front. Because that’s how I treat my friends — with dignity and respect.

Besides, it’s easier to reach your heart if I stab you in the front. There’s no need to turn you around, either. Your face will be visible to me during the entire process, not just at the end.

Get ready. I’ve got my knife, and I’ve got my gloves on. The good, strong, leather ones. You know, the black ones that I love so much? They are a bit short, but they’ll at least keep my nails clean.

It’s only a matter of time, now.

I am so deliriously happy right now. It feels like life is going exactly the way I want it to. ♥ Odd, how I can only write things like this when I’m happy. Although I really am fascinated by betrayal. That doesn’t mean I’ll betray anyone, though! I just like writing about it. That’s all.

There are 613 seniors in Fort Worth, Texas, that did not pass the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills exam (TAKS) — a standarized test that is required for graduation. As a result, those students are not allowed to participate in the graduation ceremony. A few of these students, wanting to still participate, have decided to picket against the policy.

All right, sounds fairly normal (As normal as that is, anyway), right? Check the sign in the picture.

“LET ARE KIDS WALK.”

Gee, I wonder why you didn’t pass the TAKS! </sarcasm>

Although, to be fair, I admit that the girl is mostly likely holding the sign backwards, thus indicating that she is aware of the mistake. But, still. What an error.

Fandom Wank, once again, brings the funny. In a thread about bad writing, I stumbled upon a man named Lionel Fanthorpe. He was, apparently, paid by the word, causing him to write wonders such as:

The darkness all around him was thick, black, stygian. It was a stifling, overwhelming, suffocating darkness. A horrifying terrifying darkness. A darkness of the nethermost pit of hell. Indescribable. It seemed an oppressive darkness, like the darkness of some foul underground dungeon, to which the blessed light of the sun never gained access. It was velvety, almost tactile. He was inhaling it; it was penetrating the pores of his skin; it seemed that the world had always been darkness, that the world alway would be darkness. It was a timeless darkness, a weird, horrifying, overwhelming eternal blackness. He felt as though this was the darkness of a tomb, and that he had been buried alive. . .

I read that and laughed for at least five minutes straight.

There is a quote generator here. Other gems include:

The alien ship landed and the things emerged… They were about six feet tall, and at a rough classification could have been described as mammalian bipeds. Their forelimbs terminated in digital extremities; they possessed primary optical organs; and the respiratory orifice was subdivided. The oral orifice was provided with an articulated mandible at its lower extremity, and to sum up—they bore a striking resemblance to homo sapiens

The city slept. Men slept. Women slept. Children slept. Dogs and Cats slept.

Then there was Paul Whiteland, as different from Jansen as chalk from cheese. Which of them you preferred depended on which type of character you preferred—chalk or cheese. They are both useful in their own way. You can’t write on a blackboard with a lump of Cheddar. You can’t satisfy your appetite with three sticks of coloured Writing apparatus.

Maginty was singing; at least he thought he was singing. His mouth was opening and shutting and a noise was coming out. The noise was not all pitched on the same level and to that extent, at least, it would probably be true, if not musically accurate to define the sound as singing.

The button would kill men, one man, a hundred men, a thousand men, a million men, women and children; not just one million but a hundred million, a thousand million; a fool with a button, an irresponsible finger on a trigger.

I could keep on going all night long.

I have to buy one of his books now. If I ever felt sad or depressed, I would read one of his novels and begin cracking up in an instant.

ETA
Neil Gaiman says this of him:

Do not read too much Lionel Fanthorpe at one go, your brains will turn to guacamole and drip out of your ears.

I love Neil Gaiman. ♥