YET ANOTHER HORENDOS HOMAWORK 2 DO FOR DA NIGHT!1!11!! OMG DA ASIGNMENT WRIET A STIMULATNG INTRODUCTION TAHTD COMPAL DA REAEDR 2 PERUES DA WHOLE S2RY!1!1!!!!1 OMG LIEK I SADE IM HORIBL3 AT WRITNG INTRODUCTIONS!!1!!! OMG WTF IN MOST CAESS ITS TEH V3RY PART TAHT I SUK PRACTICALY B/C I DONT KNOW HOW 2 BGIN WRITNG ANYTHNG UNTIL TEH THIRD PARAGRAPH OR SO WHERE THEYRE PEKS IN A LITLE TWIST OF SOM3THNG CONTROVERSIAL OR AT LEAST SOMATHNG INTER3STNG!1!1!! OMG WTF BUT MAH REAEDRS DONT HAEV DA PATEINCA 2 R3ACH TEH THIRD PARAGRAPH BFORE I CUD HIJAK THERE DORMANT IMAGINATION AS IF I HAEV REAEDRS AND CRITIS 2 BGIN WITHXP!1111 OMG EITHER WAY I CAN PRODUCE ONLEY ONE DAC3NT INTRODUCTION IN SAY THRE HUNDRED!!111!!! OMG WTF SO BFORE I PAS MAH ASIGNMENT 2MOROW P3RHAPS ID JUST HAEV 2 MAEK SURA I MAEK A LOT OF INTRODUCTIONS 2NIGHT AND PIK ONE IN DA MORNNG!!!!1 OMG WTF

- 12-year-older Translator

Yet another horrendous homework to do for the night. The assignment: write a stimulating introduction that'd compel the reader to peruse the whole story. Like I said, I am horrible at writing introductions. In most cases, it's the very part that I SUCK practically because I don't know how to begin writing anything until the third paragraph or so where there peeks in a little twist of something controversial, or at least, something interesting. But my readers don't have the patience to reach the third paragraph before I could hijack their dormant imagination; as if I have readers and critics to begin with.XP Either way I can produce only one decent introduction in, say, three hundred. So before I pass my assignment tomorrow perhaps I'd just have to make sure I make a LOT of introductions tonight and pick one in the morning.

Confessions of a Mosquito

I am a wretched, cursed beast cruising the narrow squalid streets only in the dead of the night, when annoying human beings have deserted the streets and the buildings and apartments emit the faintest of light. And in the depressing, oppressive, eerie silence of it all, there is but the conical steady floodlight of lamp posts illuminating the city in regularly measured distances; the moon surrounded by an iridescent aureole of a rainbow; cold winds blowing curtains from open window sills, turning rusted windmills in a creaking nail-biting portent and scattering all the foul garbage--torn foil wrappers, plastic bags, polystyrene cups, bus tickets, and so on--that'd been left uncollected during the day. For it is only in this opportune moment that I emerge from the dark and let the streetlights give form to my body casting a magnified monstrosity of a shadow as I vehemently flap my wings and rove the filthy streets of Milan, scouring for a victim--a niggardly ragamuffin sleeping unperturbed on the streets, or under the bridge, or some drunken man who'd passed out insensate in an alley--whoever it is I would suck him dry in an edified carcass just for the authorities to find him dead and fossilized in the morning.

Santa Claws

Once upon a time but not necessarily long ago, there came a loud crash that skidded raucously at the roof of the Madison's in the middle of the night. Little Nikkie awoke in a traumatic fright in his room, scolding himself to calm his nerves, hold his breath, and even hide under his bed. But he just lay there, eyes crazed darting at the door, the roof, the window, and back, his palms sweating clutching the sheets up his neck. Up on the roof, a corpulent protuberant-bellied white man in white feathery overalls clenching a large folded red bag under his arm stepped out of his flying sleigh and slid effortlessly into the chimney. Little Nikkie heard a crash of human flesh onto burnt wood suspecting the burglar has already entered the house at the fireplace. The pot-bellied white man stood up and straightened his feathery suit and laughed a maniacal "Hohoho!" ensuring that there wasn't a soul in the house. Little Nikkie tried to brave himself and see who the burglar was, or at least catch sight of his face so that he may identify him to the police the next day. But that was not any more necessary for Little Nikkie could hear the burglar's footfalls slowly walking towards his room. The moment he felt the burglar was standing, listening attentively behind his door, he held his breath for as long as he can, and released a sigh of relief upon hearing the steps walk away... towards the direction of his parents' room. In a few minutes there were screaming and muffled voices behind the adjacent room, crying, weeping, begging, and then a siren of wails and suddenly, dead silence. Little Nikkie scrambled under his bed, eyes rapt wide-awake expecting the burglar to appear next at his door. And then there were footsteps, heavy meaty steps shaking the ground. The door opened, and there he was with a large red bag of chopped bodies behind his back, the portly bearded man, casting an outstretched shadow on the floor, his clothes gleaming and dripping red with blood.

I'm sorry but I am a morbid writer.XP Now I can't force myself to write another one. I myself cannot any more take my own self-induced morbidity. So I'll just end it here.:D

Mark this day!

I quit:

1. Caffeine (ow! :bitter:)
2. Alcohol (owww!)
3. Cigarettes (owwww! Not as easy as I might think.)

And begin:

1. Exercise! Yoga! Pilates!
2. Sleep only 4 - 6 hours a day (3am to 9am, max, as I've been doing the past two weeks.:p)
3. Drink lotsa fluids

Har. Bought two books today!:D One's a Spanish Dictionary and the other's *Reality, Man, and Existence: Essential Works of Existentialism*by Kierkegaard, Sartre, Nietsche, Jaspers, Buber, and Merlaeu-Ponty--me favorite atheist authors!:D Hoooooooooo. I have an extra five hours before I sleep.:D WOOHOO!:DD

Word did you say?

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