This Post is dedicated to Patrick, for being Spongebob's (faithful?) friend and for poning the other starfishes in the world by being the COOLEST STARFISH EVER TO BE KNOWN AROUND THE WORLD

Patrick is... INDESCRIBABLY UNIQUE. 

LMFAOOOOOO GANGSTA PATICK WOOT WOOT

His wonderful traits include:

 - being SPONGEBOB'S FRIEND(?) :D

- having an attention span of less than 2 seconds, a rare quality not found in many marine creatures 

- hailing food as the most precious thing in the world and willing to abandon anything/anyone for the sake of food 

- being the dumbest and most dim-witted but well meaning creature on bikini bottom

- loving ice cream, jellyfish jelly sandwiches, krabby patties, chocolate bars, peanut butter tacos, cheese from the hooks, peanut butter, pickles, Astronaut-Dried food marshmallows, sandwiches, turkey, hot dogs, smoked sausages, roast chicken, beef, pizza, and especially rocks. He lives in a rock, had a rock for a pet, uses rocks to make Valentine's Day gifts, eats rocks, uses rocks as tools, and relaxes flat and enjoys sun ray catching while sitting on a rock flat 

Sparta jokes never get old :D

- admiring Jeffrey Jellyfish and Kevin the Sea Cucumber

- being high on air.. water?.. (and meth?)

Don't do drugs look what it did to PATRICK AND SPONGEBOB >:O

- having Zs for eyebrows

- being kicked out of his original home by his parents and believing that Spongebob's parents are his parents

- going to jail several times before

 

- being the King of Bikini bottom for one episode of SpongeBob Squarepants

 - being drunk with Spongebob

- inventing the Back Scratching, Nose Picking, Hair Combing, Ukulele Tuning Machine 9000. 

- often being unintelligent and is usually carefree, magnanimous, and generally detached, but has frequently acted cold, shrewd, often selfish, even sociopathic at times.(OHOH :O)

- his famous line; "Uhhhhhhhhh..... *Drools*"

- still alive after he ate a piece of explosive chewing gum that blew his head off

- last but not least, FOR BEING PINK!!! ZOMG.

Patrick's real parents, Margie and Herb

Oh now lookie here. Kanye West made Patrick cry :'( how could he?!?!?

Hehehe... I did me research arrr :)

VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE!!!

I think everyone who reads this post should vote. Wait not should, but MUST vote in the wonderful little box in the top right corner of the screen that ANYONE and I mean, Anyone, can fill out in a matter of less than a minute unless you are severely mentally disabled/and or just plain stupid/and or need to go back to kindergarten because you were busy stuffing SPITBALLS into other childrens' faces while the teacher was talking and completely missed the various (nevertheless usually unsuccessful) yet (creative?) ways they try to derive in order to teach you how to read (BLUCK -.-)/and or you have short term memory loss and have already forgotten everything I've said so far (which would be kinda sad I have to admit)/and or you really couldn't care less and should go shove your nasty @#$%#$!!^# faces into a pile of ~~~~ ~ ~~~ **** :) 

No offense :) *cough cough*

I'm joking peoplieos does it seem like i would eveeerrr say something so inconsiderate and cruel? Don't answer that.

I think this post wins the best award for most colorful post ever founded :D *sighhhh* what I do for you duddies and peeps...

But I am serious about voting. Go. Now. 

>:)

We are apologizing on behalf of our teachers' sakes...

WE ARE SORRY PEOPLELIES!!!!!!! lmao pooplelies ;D Everyone has been having a bummer week, cuz the teachers have all gotten together and plan to overthrow THE UNIVERSE just cuz they have their human masks on.... DON'T BE TRICKED PEOPLE!!!! DUNDUNDUN >:O 

Hey. Twenty years earlier and you would have believed them too. I know you know.

I swear, it's the INTERNATIONAL I'M GOING TO TRY TO KILL ALL MY WONDERFUL STUDENTS BY PILING UP ALL THE HOMEWORK AND TESTS ON THE SAME WEEK week for all those evil mutant teachers out there...

And you wonder why some people don't feel like asking questions in class... -.-

Well. There are a couple of exceptions of course ;) but WHY NOOOO DON'T THEY HAVE HEARTS THIS IS CHILD ABUSE :OOO

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHYYYYYY IS THIS SOOOO :'< CHERRY'S MISSING. LAST TIME SHE WAS SPOTTED WAS IN THE SUPER GALACTIC QUATOMOBILE IN THE THIRD DRAW FROM THE SECOND ROW FROM THE TOP OF THE DRAWER WITH THE HIDDEN BOOTY OF TWIZZLERS. NOW WE MUST FIND HER.. GET READY, SET, GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And with flying speed, the hamster ninja squad sets out...

 Here are some pics from their epic journeys...

Randomness may unfortunately have to stop. Temporarily. AND I'M COMPLETELY SERIOUS, FROM THE TIPPY TIP TOES ALL THE UP TO THE TOP OF MY CHINNY CHIN CHIN.

:( cheerios

AGAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! CHERRRYYY?!?!?!?

CUTEST PUPPY EVA

I SWEAR THIS IS A EFFING DOLL. DOLL STUFFY THING WATEVA. NO PUPPY IN THE WORLD CAN BE THIS ADORABLE!!!!

MY FUTURE PUPPY RIGHT THERE. BAMM.

*YAWN*

IM TIRED. YADDEEEDA. BUT I DONT FEEL LIKE GOING TO BED. SO I WONT. BUT TO ALL YOU DUDDIES AND PEEPS OUT THERE WHO ARE SLEEPING PEACEFULLY AND SOUNDLY, I HAVE SOMETHING TO WISH YOU. BAD NIGHT, SLEEP HORRIBLY, LET THE BEDBUGS BITE. 
 CHEERIOS :)

My Cow Died

Hullo Duddies and Peeps. Today we are here to announce the unfortunate passing away of Moo Moo, my ever so lovely, faithful, (lazy?) cow.

Rest In Peace, Dearest Moo Moo

 

 Oh Jolly.  Moo Moo's gone to heaven and became an angel.  God bless his innocent ol' soul :)

Ahhhhh. Good old times, my friendios. 

Anyways. I am bored of reminiscing on the beautiful past.  Now we shall look forwards to the ever so far yet speedily coming future.  Farewell mes amies!

Cheerios >:)

Thinking Caps On My Fellow Pupils of the World

Today is a INTELLECTUAL LESSON granted possible by our almighty lord. I don't care who that almighty being may be for you, but personally mine is ME. Obviously. There's not even any room for negotiations.



All hail before my divine power.

I am being ESPECIALLY omniscient today.

The optimist says the glass is half full.

The pessimist says the glass is half empty.

The rationalist says the glass is twice as big as it need to be.

That makes it as clear as glass.

Now we must be civilized and rational human beings, writing in proper sentences with proper grammar and sentence structures, and spelling in all its properness...

RAANDDOOOM TIME!!!

*

**

***

**

*

"It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but everything that happens happens for no real reason."

Meta physicians have always been confounded by the concept of infinity, but non meta-physicians have been less impressed.

      Two cows are standing in a pasture. One turns to the other and says, "Although pi is often abbreviated to five numbers, it actually goes onto infinity.

      The second cow turns to the first and says, "Moo." 

Here's another joke.


     A woman is told by her doctor that she has 6 months to live. "Is there anything I can do?" she asks.

     "Yes there is," the doctor replies. "You could marry a tax accountant."

     "How will that help me with my illness?" the woman asks.

     "Oh, it won't help your illness. But it will make that six months seem like an eternity!"

You may be wondering the following question, "How could something finite, like six months, possibly be analogous to something infinite, like eternity?"

Those who ask that question have never lived with a tax accountant.

I believe in the principle of Parsimony. Theories should not be any more complex than necessary. Or, put metaphysically, theories should not "multiply entities unnecessarily."


     Suppose Isaac Newton had watched the apple fall and exclaimed, "I've got it! Apples are being caught in a tug of war between gremlins pulling them up, and trolls pulling them down, and the trolls are winning!!"

     In the perfect world of Parsimony, we would have retorted, "Okay Isaac, so your theory does account for all observable facts, but get with the program man---- keep it simple!"

People these days are so used to getting what they want, that they expect everyone to immediately know what they are asking for. However. If you actually take the time to think their questions over, often, they are missing the key point.
    
     For example, let us assume that we had just had a conversation. 

You: I ask you one simple answer, and you give me ten different answers. It's not exactly helpful.

Me: If it's help you want, go see a social worker. I heard they've got loads of them in Sparta.

You: Hmm. Well. Care to tell me which one of the answers is true?

Me: Ahhha! Now we're getting somewhere..

Do you think you are logical? That everything is composed out of pure logic, because things must happen in certain way because it is simply logic? Well Athenian logic is messed up, I'll tell ya that.

     Holmes and Watson are on a camping trip. In the middle of the night Holmes wakes up and gives Dr.Watson a nudge.

     "Watson, look up in the sky and tell me what you see."

     "I see millions of stars, Holmes."

     "And what do you conclude from that, Watson?"

      Watson thinks for a moment. "Well," he says, "astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I see that God is all-powerful, and we are small and insignificant. Uh, what does it tell you Holmes?"

      "Watson you idiot! Someone has stolen our tent!"

You gotta love this one :D

Farewell dear pupils. We shall embark on the journey of life once again. Adios.

BRAIN EXPLOSION

HI THAR. OUR BRAINS HAVE BEEN SUCKED OUT BY THE DREADED INTERGALACTIC BRAIN SUCKING MONSTER. NOW WE SHALL ACT LIKE ZOMBIE MINIONS AND HUNT U ALL DOWN.. WE'RE COMMMMIINNNGGG FOR YOUUUU 


>:)

HEYA.

So. Duddies and Peeps, we realize that we have not written anything for Thursday, November 4th, 2010. So we shall be telling you what what we were up to. We were finishing up our horror story, and now we shall share and our grand masterpiece with you lucky bumheads.

With his heart pounding, desperation threatens to engulf him. In his tired, cracked voice, he still feebly cries out for help. Heavy, laborious pants echo throughout the tomb. It is his own personal study, as he usually likes to call it, but right now, with perspiration running down his stiffening body, there was no time to reminisce on old thoughts. Falling to the ground, he clutches at the accursed coffin of Asaph Sawyers- ultimately the cause of his own demise- and thinks back to how this has all happened...

Being a mortuary artist is not a desirable job for many, but for the lax George Birch, it is ideal. There is just something indescribable about the dark musty odor of caskets and the graves they lie under that attract him. Be it the degree of dignity in posing lifeless bodies or the costly "laying-out" clothes beneath the casket's lid, the feeling cannot be put into words. It is almost with a rush- a crude satisfaction that George coldly stares with at his final masterpieces. But nevertheless, he is only human, and the quality of his work differentiates.

One late April afternoon, George sighs and drags his tired legs to the door. He has been neglecting his work lately, giving the same excuse that the winter ice has not yet thawed until even to him it sounds like nothing more than the lame excuse it is. And now that not a speck of ice is left among the fresh dew that layers the withered grass, even he cannot back up his own argument.

Heading out the door, there is a strange foreboding of misfortune hanging in the misty air. Being a strictly non-religious man, George haughtily puts off these feelings as mere nonsense- an after-effect from drinking the night before. However, even his usually dutiful hearse feels unusually vexed today. All this easily irritates the already annoyed George, and he does not handle the frail body of Matthew Fenner as carefully as he usually might have. Viciously drawing up his hearse at the tomb, he relishes the damp, odorous chamber with the coffins carelessly placed around. As he recognizes the coffin of Asaph Sawyers, the light vanishes, and the rusty latch to the tomb door clicks shut.

Suddenly, he is engulfed by the dusk of the tomb. Cursing to himself, he weaves carefully through the coffins only to be confronted by the realization that the latch on the door is broken due to poor conditioning- a result of his neglect. Knowing no one is likely to hear him, George starts to grope around, remembering the tools he saw in the corner earlier. He selects a hammer and chisel for the job and proceeds to the rusted faulty latch. Onwards, he toils at the latch, but when he realizes that the latch was not going to give he decides to try and find a different path of escape. George scans the room twice over, he considers going up through the ceiling but almost immediately deems it impossible. He then selects the only other way out: the slit of the brick ventilation opening. George plots out his escape through the slit via a staircase of stacked coffins. Satisfied with his plan he quickly gets to work. Upon finishing his makeshift coffin structure, George scrambles up the staircase and frantically begins to chip away at the opening, growing ever so anxious of the deathly presences below his feet. So on went George with his hammer. Despite his progress coming in small increments, he perseveres knowing that he can’t stand staying in this damned place a second longer than he has to. It must have been near midnight when George decides the slit is now big enough for his slender frame to pass through. George decides to take one last rest before the laborious task of hauling himself out of the opening. He descends the flight of coffin stairs to take a break at the bottom since the air there is much cooler, but as he makes his way back up, he feels his weight give in on the coffins. Upon reaching the top, he is certain that the stairs wouldn’t last any longer. Without time for a second thought, the coffin underneath him collapses and brings down both George and the rest of the structure with it. George gathered his last reserve of strength and attempts to pull himself through the slit, but even in his ghastly situation he unmistakably recognizes something from below pulling him down…

He feels fear for the first time that night. No matter how much he struggles, he cannot escape the captivity of the unknown grasp. Searing pain flies through his calves like sharp knives. His mind is in a state of fright, and all he can think of is the splinters, loose nails, and the breaking of the wooden box. Maybe he has screamed too, but somewhere in between the frantic kicking and the squirming, his mind is too distraught to remember much.

The man wiggles through the ventilation opening and lands in a heap on the damp ground, incapable of walking with the pain biting at him. He also knows with what is left of his lucidity that he can’t drive his hearse, so he continues to crawl. Moonlight illuminates the way as he drags his bleeding ankles to the to a residence across the cemetery. His fingers claw against the door in a mad haste, and everything feels slow- like how one would feel being trapped in a nightmare with no escape. There are no pursuers; there is nothing, since he is still alone and alive by the time Mr. Armington opens the door.

“Whoa, George? What the hell is goin' on?” At the sight of all the blood, Armington hurries to carry his friend to a spare bed and shouts, “ Edwin!”

“What is it dad? The boy freezes at the door.

“ What are ya doin’? Don’t just stand there! Call Doc' Davis!”

Armington can do nothing but wait for the doctor’s arrival by the injured man’s side. The only sound perturbing the silence is George’s occasional delirious mumblings.

“ …Oh my ankles…”

The local doctor comes and immediately starts to treat the injured man, examining his wounds with an expression that grows more and more serious each second. Both of the Achilles tendons of his patient are torn brutally.

“… Let go…” George continues to mumble.

“ Where did you get this?” the doctor demands, hands shaking and eyes averting as he dresses the mangled limbs. It is wrapped quickly, almost as if he wants to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible.

“…Shut in the tomb…” George groans and his head tilts to the side.

Once his patient is more lucid, Doctor Davis makes the man spill everything there is as to what happened- about his grotesque experience down to the last detail. The identity of the top coffin of the pile, how he has chosen it, and how he has been sure it’s Asaph’s coffin in the dark.

To make sense of things, the doctor himself ventures back to the tomb with a flashlight. Wrenching open the door and illuminating the inside, Doctor Davis begins to put the puzzle pieces together. The sight that greeted him compels a wave of nauseousness and a string of profanities out of his mouth. It turns out that George has been lazy and careless with the bodies- not treating them properly. At the edge of the mountain of piled coffins Doctor Davis discovers the body of Asaph Sawyers. It appears that his legs has been sawed off from the ankles onwards- just perfect enough to fit Matthew Fenner's diminutive cast-aside coffin.

“It seems like Sawyers kept his reputation for being a revengeful prick after all.”

 Aren't we geniuses :D

Toodlelioodles 

BLUCK

Tooodddayyy. Everyone is lazy. And I mean it when i say, EVERYONE IS LAZY. Even you are. Believe it or not. Course. I don't appear any differently.

BECAUSE FOR ME, EVERYDAY IS A LAZYY DAYY!!!!!! WOOT WOOT.

If we lived in the world of dogs, that'd be me :D

And I shall take my leave now. You may be thinking; Why on earth would you do that, my honorable LORD HEATH, but I already told you. Today's a lazy day. Actually. Make that today is a TIRED day. I've already used lazy day before :/ (darnit >:'O)

:)

:)

:)

:)

D:

WHATR U LOOKING AT HUH?!?

Maybe I should make it a irritatable day instead now...

>:) Toodleioodles

(Horror?) Short Story

Okay duddies and peeps. Today we have decided to write a (horror?) story but we do not exactly know how we should sum the whole thing up. So we shall leave you hanging for now because we're soooo evvviiilll >:) muahahaha wut now :P ENJOY (cuz you better)

     His heart pounding, desperation threatens to engulf him.  In his tired, cracked voice, he still feebly cries out for help. Heavy, labourous pants echo throughout the tomb; his own personal study, as he usually likes to call it, but right now, with perpiration running down his stiffening body there was no time to reminisce on old thoughts.  Falling to the ground, he clutches at the accursed coffin of Matthew Fenner, ultimately the cause of his own demise, and thinks back to how this had all happened...

    Being a mortuary artist is not a desirable job for many, but for the lax George Birch it is ideal. There is something, just something indescribable about the dark musty odour of caskets and the graves they lie under that attracts him.  Be it the degree of dignity in posing lifeless tenants or the costly "laying-out" apparel beneath the casket's lid; the feeling cannot be put into words. It is almost a rush, a crude satisfaction that Birch coldly stares with at his final masterpieces, but nevertheless, he is only human, and the quality of his work differentiates.

    One late April afternoon, Birch sighs and drags his tired legs to the door. He is neglecting his work lately, giving the same excuse that the winter ice has not yet thawed until even to himself it sounds nothing more than the lame excuse it is.  And now that not a speck of ice was left among the fresh dew that layers the withered grass, even he can not back up his own argument.

    Heading out the door, there is a strange foreboding of misfortune hanging in the misty air. Being a strictly unreligious man, Birch haughtily puts off these feelings as mere nonsense, an after-effect from drinking earlier. However even his usually dutifle horse is unusually vexed today, and all this easily irritates the already annoyed Birch, and he does not handle the frail body of Matthew Fenner as carefully as he usually might have. Viciously drawing up his horse at the tomb, his original destination, he relishes the damp, odourous chamber with the tombs carelessly placed around. As he recognizes the coffin of Matthew Fenner, the light vanishes as the rusty latch to the tomb door clicks shut.

Any suggestions as to what should happen next? PEOPLE PLEASE COMMENT BELOW :) 

I have recently noticed something.
WHY DO WE HAVE BARELY ANYYYYY FOLLOWERS?!?!?!? WHY IS THE WORLD SO CRUEL?!?! heartbreak :'O

So click the follow button on the right side near our profile. Unless you would like to see some innocent wonderful people cry and mourn. WHICH WOULD MAKE YOU A HORRIBLE HORRIBLE PERSON HOW COULD U LIVE WITH URSELF AFTER THISSSS!!?!?!?

CHERRIOS >:D

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
 The World is Ending. Because I Said So. And I Am Supa Awesome According To My Wubby In Law. So I AM Supa Awesome. I Dislike Homework. My Business Teacher Is Cool Because He Does Not Leave Me Any Homework. Zero. Zip. Nano. Remember My Business Teach Mr.A? He Was The One Who I Said We Were Going To Kidnap To Suck Out His Brains And Steal All His Info In His Mind To Find Out How To Contact Corntos Manufacturers. But Now We Have Decided That He Is Really Cool So We Will Let Him Off The Hook This Time. Yes. Amnesty Is Granted. Now. We Must Depart. 

Farewell Duddies And Peeps.