Happy Birthday to Miss Auricomous Melomaniac (AKA Kelly Pyper)

Today is my friend Kelly's birthday. 

She is now fourteen years old. 

She got balloons today as a delivery in the office and then this kid asked if he could have one, which she thought was weird. They're her birthday balloons that she got for her birthday! The idea! What a ridiculous person he must have been for thinking he could have one of her birthday balloons that she got for her birthday.

Kelly's hair was curly today, in lovely little ringlets. Her hair never does that, so it was rather exciting that it did on her birthday. It even stayed in through all of PE! Anyone who knows Kelly knows that this was an incredibly wonderful thing. 

Kelly was hit in the head with some sort of flying ball in PE twice today, which was unfortunate. It was probably painful, too. 

I assume Kelly had a good time in band, though. She generally does, as far as I know. Band  is a place to have a good time, usually. Megan and I told Mr. Klingler that it was Kelly's birthday, and Mason ensured that he remembered so we would sing to her. Kelly had the wonderful opportunity of standing in the middle of a circle of boys who all knelt down around her and sang happy birthday to her. I could tell by the awkward way she stood, her breathless laughter, and the redness of her face that she wasn't at all embarrassed. (My computer for some reason insists on calling my band teacher Mr. Kringle instead of Klingler. It's actually pretty amusing. It makes me imagine him as Santa, and it's really weird but awesome at the same time. It would make that one scene in the book I wrote with Lillian in sixth grade a bit more confusing, though.) It's a good thing she wasn't embarrassed because Mr. Klingler was filming the whole thing. 

Kelly got a Kindle for her birthday. (It has a problem with Klingler, but it says Kindle is fine. Just so you know.) She probably got a bunch of other stuff, too, but the Kindle and the balloons are all I know about right now. 

Kelly also probably had a good time in advisory. I assume she did because she was laughing a normal amount. So she must have been having a normal amount of fun. 

I will close this blog post (that was a weird way to put it) by writing a message to Kelly in Kellivian, which is a language she and I made up.

Dearest Miss Auricomous Melomaniac, 

Asottishmalloryeverton hope youtube cavern cadillac t absolutely, totally, inconceivably, chron in all other ways amazingly fantabulously chocolate birthday. Ascottishmalloryeverton foe tie ken from experience, hypotenuse ascottismalloryeverton ist still confident in saying clam gourteen will be a grewat year steve youtube. Almost every feather in this (gorfot) is underlined in red chron oyster ist rather amusinf.

Well, wolf should umbrella foe do wolf's burplework now, though wolf is inclined to procrastinate. Wolf ist, hypotenuse, tryinf to break this (gorfot afain) gun hypotenuse nasty habit, chron will now leave youtube to cavern crab rest og t chocolate birthday. 

Love, 

Bolivia Clifford crab Grewat. 

PS Ascottishmalloryeverton fair realized clam this isn't as ridiculous as wolf wouldst geek t letter to submarinewolf in Kellivian wouldst be. Oh, foodly. Ascottishmalloryeverton will try afain next year, ascottishmalloryeverton suppose. Oyster ist still t lottle ridiculous, spool ascottishmalloryeverton will survive.

Procrastination

You need a title, maybe.

And a hook! The hook goes here. It should be exciting, which is why I put the exclamation mark. “And a hook” isn’t an exclamatory phrase; I just put the exclamation point as a reminder. You’re welcome. After the hook you put some stuff introducing your topic and your stance on the problem you’re addressing. Except it’s not really a problem, so never mind. Just state your stance. And borrow a literature book and a copy of Anne Frank’s diary to help you with your paper. It’s a good idea. And include the names of at least the Frank family so the thesis statement makes more sense. Okay, after you delete all this and actually start writing your paper comes the thesis statement, which is supposedly the hardest sentence to write but that you got approved on your first try. M should not have turned the Jews in the Secret Annex in to the gestapo because the concentration camps were terrible, he sent eight people there to save himself from jail, and he had a personal relationship with Mr. Frank.

One reason M shouldn’t have turned in the people in the Secret Annex is that the conditions in the concentration camps were awful and inhumane. Clearly I did not write a very good rough draft. I’m mostly just winging this. I don’t even know where my rough draft is. The concentration camps were horrible because of their lack of food and other necessities. A rather large number of Jews died in concentration camps just from lack of food. I don’t know how many, but I will definitely research that and put it in here. I’m going to have a lot of homework tonight and Thursday. Another way the concentration camps were awful was because of the disease. Another large number of people died because of illnesses-and some of those illnesses could probably have been cured had they been at home or somewhere with proper care. I’m not sure on that point either. The people in the concentration camps were treated horribly. I’ll put an example of that, too. This paragraph needs lots of examples. I can ask Ian about some of these things. He would know.

Better transition. M should not have turned in the eight Jews in the Secret Annex to save his own self from jail. I already mentioned the conditions of the concentration camps, so here I’m going to compare them to the situation of the people in jail. I imagine the jails weren’t uber happy places to be, but they were probably better than the concentration camps. My other example was to be the length of a prison sentence for stealing money. I don’t know, I’ve never tried to fight a flaming, rolling man while holding a bowling ball and a ferret, but M probably wouldn’t have died before his prison sentence was over, unlike seven of the eight people he turned in. Unfortunately, I don’t have a third example for this one. At least, I didn’t write one on my packet, and, as I mentioned earlier, my rough draft is both exceedingly lame and missing.

A final reason is that M had worked with Mr. Frank before the Frank family went into hiding. He knew who was in there and may have even known a little bit about what was going to happen to them. He’d already stolen from his boss, and instead of making amends and trying to be a better person (though he still would have been sent to jail), he sold out one of his coworkers, eventually leading Mr. Frank’s entire family to their death. Death is a good character in Terry Pratchett novels, but not necessarily the best thing to send someone to. Going to jail for stealing is better than essentially killing seven people. My brain is a jumble. :) Of noodles. That’s probably why Alex continued eating  ramen even after brains landed in it. :) Spalash perhaps. :) I always feel like an ood when I eat ramen. Serial killer. Goll, M. Goll. You should be ashamed of yourself and your family. Dishonor on your cow... I was going to put the whole quote, but then I didn’t. You may have noticed. I really should not be typing when my brain is like this, but I am anyway. I do it on my blog, too. But a blog is different. It’s not an English essay. I wonder what would happen if I turned this in with my rough draft. Mrs. Rector would probably not be very happy with me. This isn’t a very professional thing to turn in.  It’s better than rick rolling a teacher, though, right? No, actually, no it’s not. That’s awesome, and this is just bad.

In conclusion, I am a horrible person for not focusing. Then the frog jumped into the lava and died. The end. The moral of the story is, of course, don’t give your mom a love you should be saving for your horse! Thanks, Oedipus. Thanks a whole lot. Bananas. Ahem. M should not have turned them in because of the terrible situations in the concentration camps, he turned them in just to get out of jail, and he knew Mr. Frank personally. Ta-da! I have no focus. If I were in a movie like, I don’t know, karate kid or something, I would die. Because I have no focus, I mean. My pants are periwinkle and it’s Kelly’s birthday and it’s ONLY WEDNESDAY. I doubt I can survive the rest of the week. Just kidding, I know I will. I just won’t be at all happy about it. I’ll be happy this week, but not because there are still two more days until Saturday. Cheese is yummy. I still have to finish making my present for Kelly- and by finish I mean start. I know what I want to do, but I haven’t done it yet. Just like pretty much everything else I do- or don’t do... or something. I’ve ended almost all of my blog posts with “whatever”. That’s probably not a good thing. Waffles are delicious. They make me happy. Chocolate waffles are great, and so are normal waffles, and so are blueberry waffles.

I am a horrible procrastinator. This is probably obvious by now. The first paragraph was telling me to 

do stuff, but clearly I’ve given up on that approach and am now just writing stuff about myself 

because I feel like it and stuff. And things. And everyone and everything and lots and all those other 

words Mrs. Rector hates. Stuff. Qwertys.

Haircuts (Wednesday, Part Two)

Another awesome part of my Wednesday was ballroom. We finally finished our routine Orange Colored Sky and Jarsden and I actually sort of paid attention! He got a lot more haircuts from me, though. Haircuts, by the way, are like paper cuts, but they come from hair whipping in one's face. Last week I gave him a haircut in the eye, but I didn't this week. He did point out once that I got my hair in his mouth, to which I responded, "You got your mouth on my hair!" in a very annoying way. He also practiced his magic trick a lot more (he pretends to bit off his finger and then gags it back onto his hand. It's pretty weird). Other than that, though, we paid attention. Kind of. We paid more attention than we usually do, anyway. 

I was going to write a lot more about ballroom than this, but I forgot all the things I was going to say. At the end of dance, we got to have a doughnut. I picked mine, and then Kieran Scholes gave me half of hers (I'm not sure why) and then Aubrey Johnson gave me some of hers (because she didn't want it anymore). 

I also left my phone in the studio and had to go get it between dance and my concert. 

Seriously, what was I going to say? It was really good! 

Oh, well. I might think of it and I might not. 

The Team of Time-Traveling, Crime Fighting Ninjas

This is a story I am writing for my friend Meg.

Once upon a time in the land of Rexburg, Idaho, there lived a beautiful, talented young percussionist named Meg McKellar. She had extremely curly hair and brown eyes and loved to goof off and be awesome. One day, Meg was assigned a fifteen page story which she procrastinated on. It was due at 11:59 on February 13th, and she wasn't ready. She was instead writing Google+ messages to her friend Olivia.
She realized at that moment that if someone was writing a story about what she was doing at that moment it might not be very exciting. And if her teacher read it she might get in trouble for procrastinating, and we certainly can't have that! Meg decided to make a huge and sudden change in her life so as to make a better story for whoever was writing it. She figured it would probably be Olivia, the girl she was talking to on Google+, and that if she didn't do something exciting right then Olivia would make up some fantastical story about her that wasn't even accurate! She might even add an underlying message about "Meg, just buckle down and do it you'll be fine I promise"! We certainly can't have that, either.
She sprang into action. 
Meg ran to her closet, rummaging through her normal clothes, her church clothes, and her pajamas, until she finally found it- her squirrel suit! She hurriedly changed into it. Whew! It was really fuzzy and hot! Meg didn't mind, though, because now she looked like a squirrel with her usual human head. It was awesome.
Meg reached into the pocket of her squirrel suit* and pulled out a walkie talkie. She turned it on and said, "Cheese."
The other members of her team dropped whatever they were doing and ran to Meg's house. The first to arrive was Emily Derricott, code name Memily. She was wearing her pajamas and only had one hand with the nails painted. In the other hand she held a walkie talkie like Meg's.
"This had better be good," she said. "I was watching Downton Abbey."
Meg grinned. "Oh, I think it'll be great." she said. "It has to be, because if it isn't, Olivia will write something absolutely ridiculous in the place of this really cool thing we're about to do!"
Memily looked a bit confused.
"Olivia's probably writing my story." Meg said, as if that should clear it up. Memily nodded, but still looked as if she didn't completely understand.
"I forgot my costume." she whined.
"Memily, they're not costumes!" Meg exclaimed. "They're uniforms."
"But... but... they don't even match! How can they be uniforms if they don't even match? That's not..."
Meg hugged Memily to calm her down. "Whatever, Mem. I know it doesn't make sense, but we are a team of time-traveling, crime fighting ninjas and I'm wearing a squirrel suit."
"That's true." Memily said. "And your squirrel suit is awesome, but it smells like oranges. Is it supposed to?"
Meg shrugged. "I don't think it came like that, but oranges do smell good, so I don't mind." she replied.
Just then, the next member of their time traveling crime fighting ninja team arrived. It was Lillian Tietjen, code name Irving. She had changed into her superhero costume already. She looked like Isabella from Phineas and Ferb, but with hair like Sonic the Hedgehog. She had Meg's old bedazzled purse, inside which was her walkie talkie. "Hey, girls!" she said in her annoying voice. They all burst out laughing. "What are we doing today, Meg?" she asked in her normal voice, which was actually a very nice one.
Meg thought about this a moment. "I don't actually know." she said. "I haven't decided yet."
"But it'll be good." Memily added. "If it isn't good, Olivia will make up something absurd and inaccurate." they said simultaneously.
"Okay..." Irving said, still confused.
Their walkie talkies crackled and they heard the rest of the team give lame excuses of why they couldn't come help them.
"Slackers." Meg, Memily, and Irving replied. They then flew into the air and fought thieving raccoons and pandas for three hours until the space police finally arrived and arrested them. The raccoons and pandas, not the girls. The girls then traveled back in time to three hours and fifteen minutes earlier, back to whatever they were doing before- in this case, procrastinating an essay that was due at 11:59, watching Downton Abbey, and being annoyed by various younger siblings. 



*added after a run-in with a tall, skinny man with fantastic hair and a screwdriver and a ginger woman who were shouting about whether or not a wedding dress should have pockets. Meg decided pockets actually were quite useful and would be much more sensible than carrying a bedazzled purse everywhere, even though the purse was quite attractive with her squirrel suit. 


The End.


You're welcome, Meg.

IT'S ALIVE! (Wednesday, Part One)

Wednesday (yesterday) was a good day for me. Just so you know.

The day was pretty good overall, but I'm going to focus on advisory now and then if I feel like it I'll write about the stuff that happened afterwards. I might write about that tomorrow. But I'll only do it tomorrow if I don't do it today.

On Wednesdays we have a longer time for advisory. It's supposed to be assembly schedule so we can actually have assemblies on Wednesdays, but we don't ever actually do that, so I just get a free period of hanging out in the band room library with awesome people such as Kelly Pyper, McKenzie Ward, and Jonathan Dickson. And Megan Felt. And Mason Cameron. I could go on, but I won't because a) you probably get the idea and b) I don't really want to. 

Yesterday, in my elongated advisory time, I was really hyper and overly dramatic and incredibly lucky my friends went along with what I was doing instead of tying me up and calling the police. I will now tell the story of what happened yesterday in advisory (and possibly the stuff that happened afterwards). 

I was standing by some of the filing cabinets, just behind the door, talking to Kelly and McKenzie, when Kelly noticed I was standing on a piece of paper. "Olivia, is that your T-Shirt order form?" Kelly asked. I looked down and realized it was, then bent over to pick it up. I noticed a mark on the corner of the paper from my boot and knew that it must be dead. I smoothed it out and brushed off the shoe print. Sniffling and trying not very successfully to hold back my tears, I gently laid my paper to rest on my binder. (McKenzie left during this process, I think. I don't know exactly when, but I was talking to her and then she was gone. Sorry, Kenz, for not paying attention to when you left. I was paying more attention to the innocent piece of paper I had so ignorantly crushed beneath my boot.) As soon as I had uttered my last goodbye, Kelly, who had watched this all from the throne of comfortableness (which is what we call the chair in the library as of this moment), for some strange reason decided to throw a pencil in my general direction and the pencil hit me in the leg! How dare she! I turned to face her, appalled at her audacity to chuck a mechanical pencil at me when I was kneeling on the floor grieving the loss of my paper. Absolutely livid, I scooped the pencil off the ground, blindly tossing it in her direction. I was hoping for it to hit her in the leg, but in my anger I had misjudged where exactly her leg was and because of this error the pencil flew through the air way, way above where it was supposed to and instead smacked into Kelly's forehead. She looked a little shocked, but started laughing anyway. I started laughing, too, but that wasn't dramatic enough for me at that point. Still on my knees, I made my way to Kelly and grabbed her hand, still laughing hysterically. Gulping in air and trying not to die of laughter, I asked Kelly to please, please forgive me. "I know I don't deserve it... I hurt you in ways that... that cannot be forgiven..." 

While I was saying this, the door opened and McKenzie walked back in. The look on her face clearly stated that she had no idea what we were doing, wasn't sure she wanted to, and was confused as to how she became friends with  weirdos like us in the first place (no offense, Kelly).

We then continued our dramatic scene, Kelly still laughing so hard she could barely breathe. McKenzie got something out of her backpack and left. I again asked for Kelly's forgiveness for accidentally hitting her in the face with a pencil. She graciously accepted my apology and we resumed being normalish and doing normalish things.

It was then that I noticed the one lonely paper in the table, waiting to be sorted. It was in the Percussion 1 slot. Wondering what this random piece of paper was doing all by itself in the table of sorting things (which is what we call that as of this moment), I pulled it out. It was almost blank except for a rectangle with a bent line sticking out of it which was drawn just to the right of the center of the page. (Or the left. It really depends which way you hold the paper. I say right because of the way I was holding it then.) I asked Kelly if she knew the reason behind this paper being left in the table of sorting things. She didn't know. I asked if I could crush it. Then, without waiting for a response, I crumpled the bottom corner of the corner. Of the paper! I crumpled the bottom corner of the paper. Sometimes my brain and my fingers move at a different rate. It's very annoying. Anyways! Without hearing whether her response was a yes or a no, I crumpled the paper, remember? Okay, continuing. 

"Wait, you did say I could crumple it, right?" 

"No!" 

"Oh..." 

In stunned silence, I dropped the paper on the floor. "What have I done?" I whispered dramatically, sinking to the floor to scoop the paper off the floor, smoothing out the corner of the paper where I'd crumpled it. Kelly was fake crying, obviously horrified at the brutal murder of an innocent, lonely paper. I apologized, saying I thought she'd given me permission to crumple the paper. Starting to fake cry again, I rubbed the paper against my face, once again mourning the death of an innocent sheet of paper.

"Wait..." I whispered. Kelly looked up from her fake-crying/really crying because she was laughing so hard state. "It' still alive!" I whispered excitedly. "It's alive?" she asked, her voice hopeful. "It's alive!" I said. She looked very excited and triumphant. Saying it's alive reminded me of something else, though (the time Kelly picked up a jar with a dead spider in it only to realize the spider was still alive and screamed "it's alive" like they do in those cheesy monster movies), so I quickly changed my facial expression from joy to disgust, crumpled the paper back up and flung it away from myself, screaming horribly, "It's alive!" 

Kelly followed suit, curling up on the throne of comfortableness to get as far away from it as possible. "It's alive!" she cried in despair.

We huddled in the corner to get away from the wretched paper of death (which is what it's called as of this moment). Kelly then pointed out that I had touched the Wretched Paper of Death! With my bare hands! I realized this was true, and, unsure of what to do, held my hands in the air so as not to make physical contact with anything until I could decontaminate myself. I knew I would probably have to be quarantined for the rest of the week, just in case. Kelly suggested I should ask McKenzie if I could use some of her hand sanitizer (which smells heavenly, by the way). I started walking over to the door when McKenzie opened it and walked it, almost hitting me. "McKenzie!" I shouted wildly, much louder than I meant to. "Can I please use some of your hand sanitizer?"

"Um, sure..." she replied, still confused at my utter weirdness. While I hand sanitized my previously unsanitary hands with McKenzie's hand sanitizer (which smells heavenly, by the way), Kelly picked up her pencil (the same pencil we'd thrown at each other earlier) and braved the wrath of the Wretched Paper of Death.

It was around that moment that Mason walked in. I don't want to speak for him, of course, but I imagine the sight of Kelly poking at the Wretched Paper of Death with a pencil, doing anything she could to not touch it while I scrubbed at my hands screaming that I'd touched it was quite startling, to say the least.

I'm pretty sure he asked what we were doing and that's why we started laughing again. He then said something about the wretched Paper of Death carrying some horrible disease that would kill everyone, at which point Kelly and I completely lost it. She stabbed it with her pencil and ran to the corner farthest away from it with the greatest urgency. I followed, and we huddled in the corners of the library, laughing hysterically with looks of fear and disgust on our faces. 

Well, this story is getting very long. 

We commanded everyone not to touch that paper, or even look at it. Even mentioning the wretched Paper of Death could end the world. 

Jonathan entered the library, asking about the paper. 

To quote Kelly, because I don't want to write it all out myself, "We explained it to him, and mentioned that Mason had told us about the curse. Mason said he thought WE had said that and then we realized that the paper wasn't really cursed. We apologized to the paper before flattening it out and taping it onto the wall in a spot of unquestionable honor." 

So, in conclusion, the Wretched Paper of Death is now The Paper of Unquestionable Honor, as of this moment.

That's the story of what I did in advisory yesterday. As that is a very long story, I will save the story of the rest of the day for another day. Does that make any sense? Whatever. 

Good bye. 

To view Kelly's version of the story, check her blog, alliterationisamazinglyawesome.blogspot.com.

...Then The Frog Jumped Into the Lava and Died

I have decided that my blog should have more than four posts, but I have nothing to write about. I suppose that having absolutely nothing to write about isn't exactly the best thing when one wants to write something. Oh well. 

Now I will write about what is happening in my home right now. My mom is trying to figure out how to make BYU-I's next show work effectively with the microphones they have and how to balance everything correctly. My dad just got home and is eating the soup we had for dinner. Now they're talking about pudding. My brothers are downstairs. Ian is playing video games, which is keeping Neil awake. Neil sleeps on the couch now because apparently Ian keeps him awake all night because he's on his phone until he falls asleep and then he snores. I don't know why Neil's complaining; he snores, too. Neil has now come up the stairs. Using a few more mics will add a few more dollars in batteries, but that will be okay because then they can get the right balance. Apparently. Neil is absentmindedly striking a very dramatic pose. And now he's walking around the kitchen. Evidently Ian still finds his game terribly exciting. Neil wishes he didn't so that he could sleep. I still think he should sleep in his own bed, not the couch. 

We have eight cattle. And two of them are pregnant. 

By cattle I mean more than one cat, not more than one cow. 

This whole blog thing is kind of a bad idea. I have no idea what to write and honestly am still failing to see the point. 

I will now tell the true story of the princess and the frog, as made up by ten-year-olds Lucy Hacking and myself.

'Once upon a time, Cinderella was walking through the forest and she saw a frog. She remembered the fairy tale the Princess and the frog and decided to see if it was true. So she tried to grab the frog. It jumped into a pond. She looked over at the pond to see the frog and there was a water fairy above the pond. Cinderella asked, “Fairy, do you know how I can catch that frog?” 

The fairy said, “Jump into unto the pond, blink 3 times, then snap your fingers.”   

So Cinderella jumped into the pond, blinked 3 times and snapped her fingers. The frog swam over her head and she almost caught it, but when she opened her hand, Tinker bell was in her palm. “CAREFUL! You crushed my wing!” Tinker bell screamed at her. 

“Well, sorry,” Cinderella said, “but I was trying to catch that frog.”

 “Well, he headed over to the volcanoes.”

So Cinderella got out of the pond and her hair was DRIPPING wet. The water got into her eyes and it stung really badly, but she couldn’t get it out. She walked home. When her stepmother saw her she said, “Go to your room. NOW!” So Cinderella went to her room, dried off her face, and jumped out the window. Luckily she had a parachute. Cinderella landed into some mud. She brushed the mud off her skirt and said, “I better go to the volcano, since that’s where the frog is.”

So Cinderella walked over to the volcano, where she saw the frog meditating. “Come here, frog!” she yelled, running after him. “NO!” the frog said. Then the frog jumped into the lava and died.

THE END

P.s. the moral of the story is don’t EVER trust the princess and the frog.'

Keep in mind, we were in fourth grade. We thought of it on the fifteen-minute bus ride home. These sentences are very choppy because it was just a pass along story we were telling when we were ten, and riding the bus, and in fourth grade, and bored. I typed it up as soon as I got home so I would get the wording exactly the same. 

It (our story) kind of reminds me of my friend Mason's story about the little red hen, told from the point of view of the bread. His was a bit darker, though. His main character was eaten alive instead of watching what they thought could have been their true love jumping into lava just to get away from them. Well, actually, when put that way, ours sounds a bit worse. Trust me, it isn't. It also reminds me of a story my friend Kelly wrote (my friends are all awesome and lots of them write awesome stories. You may have noticed.) about a t-shirt/chicken. It goes like this:

'Once upon a time, there was a t-shirt. It was a very nice t-shirt and had a nice owner that wore it all the time. However, it was dissatisfied with its existence as a t-shirt and decided it wanted to be a chicken instead. One day it sneaked out of the drawer and went to talk to the randomagic woodland toad fairy that it had never met, but had heard of from one of its t-shirt friends. It said, "Randomagic woodland toad fairy, I am dissatisfied with my existence as a t-shirt and have decided that I want to be a chicken instead!" The randomagic woodland toad fairy said, "okay." and turned the t-shirt into a chicken. Then she ate the very well roasted chicken. "Mmmm, delicious. My compliments to the chef," she said, chortling to herself. Then she hopped away.

The End.
 
The moral of this story is to never talk to strangers and to be happy with who and what you are. Because you never know what might happen.'
  
I don't think any of those stories are as awesome as my Aunt Amelia's story Little Red Stinky Feet, though (my apologies to Kelly and Mason and Lucy). I don't actually know where our copy of Little Red Stinky Feet is, though, so I won't put it on here just yet. Sorry. I probably will sometime, though, because it is well fantabulous. I don't think it has a moral, though. I'm okay with that. The moral would be rather ridiculous, as it is a ridiculous story. Ridiculously awesome!

I should probably go... do something. Eat a cookie or something like that. Whatever. 

I've figured out why I have a blog! It's to work on my voice! 

Not my singing voice. A blog won't help that (and it would be a bit of a hopeless endeavor, anyway). I have a blog to express myself better in writing... because I definitely need to work on that... 

Yes, that's it! That's why I have a blog. Yep. Definitely. 

Good night.