I need some JIMI HENDRIX?
You Are Romanticism
You are likely to see the world as it should be, not as it is.
You prefer to celebrate the great things people do... not the horrors they're capable of.
For you, there is nothing more inspiring than a great hero.
You believe that great art reflects the artist's imagination and true ideals.
What Art Movement Are You?
So I was sitting in class, getting 100%s on my math tests and whatnot, when THE FIRE ALARM GOES OFF.
AGAIN.
See, people these days think it is fun to disturb my time of shining awesomeness and make me walk with the common people into the gross nasty outside. So I go outside, then I go back inside, and sit down and you know, do quantam physics.
But then it starts smelling like Christmas. Kinda like cinnamon and joy, you know? And I am full of yuletide cheer as I walk around and shed light upon the lives of the downtrodden/repressed citizens of CENTRAL HIGH.
But then it turns out that the source of cinnamon and joy smell is really just THE GIRL'S BATHROOM ON FIRE. Onnanokootearaidesuyo. ON FIRE.
So I have come to the conclusing that Christmas smells like flaming poo. Only not really.
The problem with the flaming poo was that um, THE FIRE ALARM THIS TIME DID NOT GO OFF.
Because our fire alarms are like, "You thought!" and we were like, "Oh Noes, We is gunna burn! Why didn't yous go off?" and the fire alarm was like, "Uh, nuh uh, girly, you kept on pushing me and nows you're going to learn a lesson and be BURNED TO THE GROUND and all because of FLAMING POO"
But luckily we did not burn to the ground, so I am pleased.
ONLY A FEW DAYS TILL HALLOWEEN.
HAIKU!
You thought we would burn.
But we did not, THANKFULLY.
Darn you, Flaming Poo.
You are likely to see the world as it should be, not as it is.
You prefer to celebrate the great things people do... not the horrors they're capable of.
For you, there is nothing more inspiring than a great hero.
You believe that great art reflects the artist's imagination and true ideals.
What Art Movement Are You?
So I was sitting in class, getting 100%s on my math tests and whatnot, when THE FIRE ALARM GOES OFF.
AGAIN.
See, people these days think it is fun to disturb my time of shining awesomeness and make me walk with the common people into the gross nasty outside. So I go outside, then I go back inside, and sit down and you know, do quantam physics.
But then it starts smelling like Christmas. Kinda like cinnamon and joy, you know? And I am full of yuletide cheer as I walk around and shed light upon the lives of the downtrodden/repressed citizens of CENTRAL HIGH.
But then it turns out that the source of cinnamon and joy smell is really just THE GIRL'S BATHROOM ON FIRE. Onnanokootearaidesuyo. ON FIRE.
So I have come to the conclusing that Christmas smells like flaming poo. Only not really.
The problem with the flaming poo was that um, THE FIRE ALARM THIS TIME DID NOT GO OFF.
Because our fire alarms are like, "You thought!" and we were like, "Oh Noes, We is gunna burn! Why didn't yous go off?" and the fire alarm was like, "Uh, nuh uh, girly, you kept on pushing me and nows you're going to learn a lesson and be BURNED TO THE GROUND and all because of FLAMING POO"
But luckily we did not burn to the ground, so I am pleased.
ONLY A FEW DAYS TILL HALLOWEEN.
HAIKU!
You thought we would burn.
But we did not, THANKFULLY.
Darn you, Flaming Poo.