.

I’m rather upset with myself. I began the day at 3:20 AM, as previously mentioned, yet still (somehow) ready to tackle the day. In fact, when Craig and my mother returned home from last night’s Project Graduation, I was still unwilling to go to sleep. Instead, I decided to go exercise for a solid hour, returning home to begin reading and cook myself breakfast.

Somehow, something went wrong. After finishing a chapter in America: The Book, I crashed. And hard. I didn’t wake up until just a few minutes ago. Sonofa…

So, to punish myself, I have decided to post something embarrassing.

For years, members of our school district have been baffled by the current generation of students’ inability to write properly. After all, they’ve done everything they could to promote good writing habits in us from a young age. One of these methods was the William O’Schaeffer Publishing Center.

For those out of the loop, the Publishing Center was a normal classroom, staffed with a woman (who, for all I know, was a parent mother doing volunteer work) who would assist children in writing and illustrating their own stories. This was accomplished with a typewriter in the corner of the room, which was used for “printing” the “novel”, and then a combination of bad construction paper and gift wrap (or cheesy wallpaper) to bound the book together in hardcover form. ((Wow… typewriters… that’s hardcore))

Perhaps my class’ inability to gain a mastery on the English language was due to too much television (you’ve got to admit, Nickelodeon was in its prime back then). Perhaps it was the fault of introducing us to computers at such a young age (and therefore teaching us to rely on the computer’s spell check and thesaurus instead of using it to supplement our skills). Perhaps the combined forces of Dr. Babs Blight and Looten Plunder, who’ve always had it in for the entire planet earth, caused this “crisis”. We may never know. But, after reading my first attempt at the world of written literature, I may rest assured that my grade’s mental ineptitude may have been caused by that soccer mom sitting in the Publishing Center.

How the adult in the situation could not attempt to steer any form of logical thought through these stories astounds me. We’re children. We go to school to learn. At the very least, correct the spelling. Please.

It’s a wonder I can write English so good.

Enjoy!

* To cut down on load time for the main blog page, I have provided direct links to the individual pages from here on in. *
Dedication Page - I have no idea what that’s a picture of… any ideas?
Page One - Illustrations ripped from a disturbed eight-year-old sexual psyche (I’m convinced)
Page Two - classic, if only for the “Ti-quando”
Page Three - apparently, you avoid mean people by jumping through a plate-glass window
Page Four - possibly one of my favorite pages
Page Five - I think Catwoman has something wrong with her hand…
Page Six - News Team! Assemble!
Page Seven - The obvious resolution to the conflict
Page Eight - Who is that a drawing of?

The fact that I wrote “To Be Continued…” scares the crap out of me. There was another story of this caliber inside my eight-year-old head?