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Saturday, 22 September 2007

W... T... F?

Well, the title is in response to Gavin's previous post.
Seriously, WTF? And no, I was high when I wrote it doesn't count as an excuse Gavin. Trust me, I would know.

Anyway, the reason for the unimaginative title was because nothing much happened to me today (nothing much ever happens on Saturday's for me). That's because Saturday is generally my day of rest. A day to lie in my bed for as long as I like and do sweet FA. And boy, Saturday's are awesome.

Sunday's are fast becoming a least than satisfactory day though. Due to the influx of college work and homework, Sunday's are slowly transforming from the once: good-natured, idyllic day of rest to a: power-hungry, homework-inducing velocity monster. No seriously, due to college homework I have to quite some time sitting at a desk writing sh*t. It sucks. And it's not going to get better either.

Further along the line (like next year - A2 Levels) the situation gets worse. Much worse. For anyone who has done A2 before - you'll know what I mean. For anyone doing A2 next year (like me, and many other) or is going to in the near future... pray for dear life... pray. That's all the advice I can give you since I haven't reach the "needing god to help me out" stage.

The reason for this gargantuan amount of homework is because apparently: 'At A2 Level, students are meant to spend as much time on self-study at home as they do in lessons.' Which basically means they set a sh*t-load of homework.

Anyway, I've managed to make a few paragraphs spawn out of nothingness (it's one of my special abilities) but I guess it's enough for now.

I'm actually writing this post from the actual blogger web-editor for once (my last time was ages ago) since I started using Windows Live Writer. It's because my sisters been on all day doing her homework (she's in A2 - told you so). And apparently, she's got several essays and transcripts lined up for her to do. Poor soul. But I guess it's her fault for letting the work pile up in the first place.

Anyway moving swiftly on to the next agenda on my relatively short (and spontaneous) list.

The story... ah yes... about that. I would just like to say something about Gavin's previous post... oh wait, I've said it already at the start of this post. But I'll reiterate it in one sentence:

WTF were you smoking at the time of writing it?

Ok, that may have been a little harsh. But I fail to see how he can conjure up a potion that allows the user to change the proportions of his/her body every 5 minutes without being either:
  • Mad
  • Stoned
  • Hysterically mad
  • Insane
  • "Round the bend"
  • Crazy
And I'm pretty sure Gavin isn't mad, hysterically mad, insane, "round the bend" or crazy. And through the process of elimination it leaves me with him being stoned. I know, I know, I have the wits to be a detective, but that's not what we're discussing here.

This whole thing is probably because Gavin's idea was totally unpredictable (to me anyway, I don't know about others who may be mentally unsound) and all my ideas about the future of this fight were thrown out the window, and dissected alive my vultures. Thrice. Then killed through a mortal stabbing to the multiple peck holes of it's festering wounds. In it's last nonces of breath, it can see the lead vulture physically ripping out it's heart and having it gushed into it's own mouth. Or something like that. I've never been good with metaphors... or similes... or whatever they're called.

But point is: The idea screwed everything I had in mind for the story and never called it back.


'HAHA!' Lewis laughed from the distance way upon high. It was kind of hard to hear as he was actual quite far away. 'I call this my: "Body-Proportions Limit-Breaker"!' Lewis bellowed out proudly. How can he say that name so proudly?

At this time, the three of us were still holding our guts. To prevent them from exploding through the power of laughter. This unnerving laughter carried on for a few minutes before Lewis got uneasy.

'Hey~ Stop it! I command you to stop laughing at this non-hysterical predicament that you are in!' Nothing changed. At this point I really felt that my head was exploding. The laughter got up to the point where it doesn't matter what you do it's still funny.

For example, Gimely rolling on the floor. In any situation this wouldn't be funny. But in this special situation anything was the subject of much besieged laughter.

'Fine! Laugh all you want. At least you'll have good memories before I send you to hell. Ah, right on time 5 minutes; next trans.' And instantly Lewis legs popped (accompanied by an actual "Pop" sound) back inside his body. Leaving them regular size. But now his arms grew magnificently out of proportion.

'Now you're all going to die!'

And with that Lewis lifted his two gigantic hands up into the air (you'd think it'd be physically impossible to do that because of the weird proportions - well, you're wrong). We just continued to laugh and laugh and laugh. It seemed that there was no end to the laughter.

Lewis got really angry now. Seeing as we were pretty much ignoring him altogether. And were now laughing at each other's half-hearted funny antics.

'DIE!' And Lewis swung his hands down recklessly.

Oh, is this a plan?

I wouldn't know, because all my ideas were destroyed unceremoniously by Gavin's few words, remember?

But no worries. I guess this is what makes doing this fun. You never know what might happen next.

No joke about that one. For all I know in Gavin's post there'll be a intrusion in the battle and a gigantic, hyperspace, galactic, hyperactive, pot-smoking, bald space monkey smoking a Cuban cigar will leap into battle for us. And will become the second Lewis.

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