Somewhat clever

okayokayokayso

story time: presidential edition

adventures-in-theatre

so you know how everyone has a story
you know
like the story
like if you’re at a party and someone turns to you and says, tell the story
and you know exactly what they mean
the story
well
i have a story
and not unlike most good stories, it involves three key components:
barack obama
pre-2008 reebok sneakers
and the absolute earth-shattering horror you can only feel after making the worst mistake of your life

so here we go
it all began eight years ago
(i was a gangly child then)
and barack obama came to town
(when i was a young girl)
(my father took me out into the city)
(to see the president of the united states, obama)
(barack obama)
except it wasn’t the city but where my parents worked
and my mother was hired to take pictures of obama shaking the hands of others
(rich people)
(ceo’s)
(people who didn’t wear reeboks to meet the president)
so i skipped school to see obama
(naturally)
(but my teacher was a republican so it still counted as an absence)
and the adventure begun
but as i soon learned
most of the adventure was waiting in a large room with my mother and some secret service men for roughly eight hours
because there is no timing with obama
(barack obama)
no one can know when obama is supposed to be there
(barack obama)
there is no, like, obama warning system
(barack)
it’s just that one second he’s not there
and the next second
he’s there
(barack obama)
so it was eight hours
and i remember nothing from those eight hours except for when one of the secret service men tried to talk to me
‘how are your studies,’ he said
how’s school, he probably meant
but i didn’t understand at the time
i was a gangly child
i was scared
he was tall
(i cried)
and then all of a sudden
(about eight hours into the eight hours)
he was there
(barack obama)
he was beauty
he was grace
he was
(barack obama)
he walked into the room
he wasn’t wearing reeboks
(i noticed)
(i began to feel i’d made a mistake)
my mother took pictures of him shaking the hands of others
(rich people)
(ceo’s)
(none of whom were wearing reeboks)
and at the very end
obama began to leave
(barack obama)
i was happy enough to have graced his presence
but my parents
my parents were not happy
they needed more
‘mr. obama,’ they called
and they pointed to me
‘of course,’ obama said
(barack obama)
he’s so nice, i thought
and then it hit me
oh no, i thought
oh yes, my parents thought at some point, probably
i’m obama, obama thought, most likely
i was going to meet obama
up close and personal
obama
(barack obama)
the rest was a blur
and the next thing i knew i was there
with obama
(barack obama)
his hand was shaking my hand
his hand was on my hand
(nothing had ever felt so right)
‘so what’s you’re name,’ he asked
(with obama’s voice)
(because he was obama)
(barack obama)
and i almost forgot but i told him
and he said it correctly even though it’s weird
(obama said my name)
and we were off to a good start
how was i to know
how was i to know the horrors to come
‘so how old are you,’ he asked then
and that’s when this dream became a nightmare
‘twelve,’ i said
a seemingly innocent answer
but here’s the thing
i was
thirteen.
(thirteen)
(13)
(12+1)
(16-3)
(13.0)
(Thirteen.)
what have i done, i thought
(panic! at the election)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3LGopSVju4
i still don’t know why i did it
did i really forget?
did i do it for the thrill of the chase?
to see if i could?
maybe
but obama didn’t know
i did it, i thought, i lied
i lied to the president of the united states
i pulled it off
the greatest lie in history
the greatest heist
(i didn’t know what a heist was)
(i was thirteen)
‘oh so you’re in 6th grade then,’ obama said
shit.
i was so close
shit what do i say, i thought
the journey is not over
the nightmare rages on
what do i say
i open my mouth to say, yes
‘no,’ i say
what the fuck, i think
‘no i’m in 7th grade”
(because i was)
maybe he won’t know, i thought
but he did.
(obama’s been around the block)
(obama knows what’s up)
‘so you’re ahead of your class, then’ he said
(i wasn’t)
(i failed basic math at least twice by this time)
‘yes,’ i said, just wanting this nightmare to be over
just wanting the lie to end
for obama to call me out on my shit and arrest me
to spend the rest of my youth locked away in prison where i couldn’t hurt anyone any more with my lies
i waited
i waited for arrest
but arrest didn’t come
and that was even worse.
obama trusted me
obama thought i was a good kid
obama thought i was ahead of my class
(ahead of my class)
i let him down
i let obama down
(barack obama)
i watched him leave
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYNH1baA_7k
obama, i mouthed out after him
obama i’m sorry
(he trusted me)
why did i do it, you ask
i don’t know
after all these years
i still don’t know
it still haunts me
i still wake up at night, shaking, and i think
i lied to the president of the united states
(twice)
the photographic evidence of my nightmare hangs in my father’s office
i’m smiling through my pain
i’m wearing reeboks
obama is not
(barack obama)
i hope that someday, after obama’s retirement
we can put this all behind us and start anew
start fresh
(no more lies)
(no more deceit)
but i’m not naive
i know that we can never really go back
back to the way things were
five seconds after i met him but five seconds before i lied
but i can dream
i can hope
obama
obama i’m sorry
(barack obama)

nightmare-hospital

@the kid who brought extra calculator batteries

nightmare-hospital

get that shit under your desk you can’t use those for the reading section

warshwallow

Therminia

thelittlecatlover thelittlecatlover

I stood nervously at the door, waiting for the yellow glow of headlights to appear in my driveway. I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt. Come on, Herminia, I told myself. If you can set la patria free with your poetry, you can do this.

My wolf pup, Douglass (named after one of my heroes), waddled over to my feet and stared at me with his enormous eyes. I smiled and stroked his fur, which was a soft as Spanish moss. “You be good for Papa and Mama while I’m gone, okay, Dougie?”

Douglass continued to gaze into my eyes, unlike most wolf pups his age did. It must have been genetic.

Suddenly, I heard the screeching of tires on the asphalt. I threw open the Dutch doors and watched as he stepped out of the car.

Thad was a handsome young man who had long black hair and eyes the color of rainbow trout. He had asked me out on a date to a Fourth of July celebration at a local farmer’s market. Though I was against celebrating the holiday (I even wrote a poem about it), I couldn’t resist because Thad was just so cute.

He smiled at me. “Ready to go, my pup?”

I giggled and skipped down the steps to the driveway. From inside the house Papa yelled, “Close the doors!”, but I paid him no attention. After all, I was living my life to defy him.

I slid into the passenger seat. The car wasn’t Thad’s; he had borrowed it from his friend Martin, who was renting it. It smelled deliciously of octane gas.

Thad and I grinned at each other, and we were off. In about (x+y)(x+2y) minutes, we arrived at the market.

The sky was darkening, and people were gathered at various booths and tables. Thad selected a fold-out table for us to sit at. He gazed in wonder at the crowd. “Great holiday, isn’t it?”

“For you, yes. For slaves, not so much.” I stopped before I could say more. Oops. Had I insulted him?

Thad either didn’t hear me or didn’t care, for he was too busy hungrily eyeing a sack of potatoes at one farmer’s booth. “Man. It’s a shame how there are so many different kinds of potato chips and not enough kinds of potatoes, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” It was true.

“All this talk of food is making me hungry,” Thad sighed wistfully. He turned to me. “Is there anything you want?”

“I’ll go with you,” I said.

We stood up and made our way to the concession stand. I looked at the menu. “I think I’ll have a salad and some water.” Lately I was trying to watch my weight. Didn’t want anything too fattening. Thad looked like a weight-watching sort of guy, too.

“That’s all?” he said. “Alright.” He turned to the lady running the stand and declared, “I’ll have 14 sandwiches, 4 salads, 35 cookies and 23 bottles of water, please.”

The lady looked surprised, but quickly recovered from her initial shock and said, “That’ll be $149 dollars.”

“Okay.” Thad pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and handed her a wad of cash. In return, he received a stack of three big cardboard boxes. I offered to carry one, but he waved me off and hobbled back to the table.

Thad gave me my pathetic little salad and water bottle and began stuffing his face with his own food. “Sho,” he mumbled between bites, “do you pway an inshtorment?”

Inshtorment? Instrument! I shook my head. “Not unless you count pen and paper. In that case, I’m a musician.”

Thad nearly spit out his entire mouthful of food. “But playing an instrument helps increase brain function!” He paused and blushed. “I-I mean, not that you’d need to, anyway. You’re smart already.”

I chuckled and looked at the ground.

A delightful smell wafted through the air. Thad sniffed it longingly. “Mmm. Fish. If I didn’t have so much food I’d go buy some of that.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “It’s farm-raised, you know. Wild caught fish is so much better. Did you know you can get sea lice from farm-raised fish?”

Thad looked hurt. “I don’t have sea lice. Anyway, farm-raised fish is much better. Did you hear about what they do to those tilapia pens? They submerge them in lake water. It has a great affect on the taste of the fish.”

“You mean effect,” I corrected him. “Affect is a verb.”

“No, it IS affect,” Thad shot back.

“It’s effect, Thad. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I’m a writer.”

So the great “affect-effect” debate lasted forever. Once we finally settled on “effect” (thank God), I felt awful. I just wanted to DELETE the conversation.

The sky was black now, and the fireworks were starting. Everyone “oohed” and “ahhed” at the colorful display—that is, everyone but me.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Herminia?” Thad whispered. He wasn’t upset anymore.

I was seething with anger. “You know what this represents?” I said quietly.

“What?”

My patience snapped. “AMERICAN SLAVERY!” I screamed.

Everyone else had turned to stare at me, just as a huge firework exploded above their heads.

Thad frowned. “You know what. I’m going home.” He stood up and stormed off, not before grabbing his leftovers.

I marched after him, almost relieved. I had made my point. I had showed that oppressor—no, those oppressors—what July Fourth was really all about.

The car ride home was silent and awkward. Once we pulled into my driveway, I immediately left the car and slammed the door behind me. Thad sped off, never to speak to me again.

Later that night, I curled up on my bed with my pen and paper, Douglass snuggled up next to me. Though our relationship was a flash in the pan, I was a little sad it had ended so abruptly. However, a sense of pride washed over me, and I began writing, grinning.

Not only had I set la patria free—I had set my heart free, too.

studyent-life

These PSAT jokes “made my day”

studyent-life

A) “were making my day”

B) “do make my day”

C) “having made my day”

D) “are made of my day”

E) NO CHANGE

cinnamontoastcrises

just-shower-thoughts

If I was born after nine months, and an hour before me, a premature baby was born after seven-and-a-half months, they would be older than me despite existing for a shorter period of time.