im aware im not a pro, i just put it out there. besides, what else do you do in detention?
EGO PART !
"eloquently spoken", The Idiot told me. With quiet insult i accepted his compliment. I felt bad to resent him for his praise but i KNEW i was above him; that i was better. One shouldn't have to feel doubtful if on is as... oh i don't know how to put this without sounding arrogant and pompous for i am certainly neither...If on is as flawless as i, to complete the dangling thought. Its not that im perfect, i assured myself in order to control my ego, simply that i have no flaws.
as i stepped of the podium, a riotous applause sounded. The volume, however, was not as large a rucous as i deserved, but enough to ensure that the audience had indeed beeen listening. I again turned to The Idiot, anticipating his annoying praise, but the man only collapsed into a protoplasmic puddle on the floor.
"clean up, isle right here" i said, more or less to myself. Sometimes my own wit asounded me. Acctually quite often.
PART !!
He brought his hands to his face and slowly, self-conciously began to draw a deep breath. It was a strange habit, he was aware (how could one not be?) but it was a habit that was tough to break. He made a game of identifying the scents on his hands similar to the way a man desiphers wine. Panchito was straining to remember the last time he washed his hands as they smelled (and tasted) destinctly fecal. Shane entered the theater to see Panchito wedged into a corner, hands enveloping his tiny face. She assumed he was crying. Shane hated to se a man cry, especially a man of his sort, so she walked past him, hoping he would think she hadn't seen him at all.
"eloquently spoken", The Idiot told me. With quiet insult i accepted his compliment. I felt bad to resent him for his praise but i KNEW i was above him; that i was better. One shouldn't have to feel doubtful if on is as... oh i don't know how to put this without sounding arrogant and pompous for i am certainly neither...If on is as flawless as i, to complete the dangling thought. Its not that im perfect, i assured myself in order to control my ego, simply that i have no flaws.
as i stepped of the podium, a riotous applause sounded. The volume, however, was not as large a rucous as i deserved, but enough to ensure that the audience had indeed beeen listening. I again turned to The Idiot, anticipating his annoying praise, but the man only collapsed into a protoplasmic puddle on the floor.
"clean up, isle right here" i said, more or less to myself. Sometimes my own wit asounded me. Acctually quite often.
PART !!
He brought his hands to his face and slowly, self-conciously began to draw a deep breath. It was a strange habit, he was aware (how could one not be?) but it was a habit that was tough to break. He made a game of identifying the scents on his hands similar to the way a man desiphers wine. Panchito was straining to remember the last time he washed his hands as they smelled (and tasted) destinctly fecal. Shane entered the theater to see Panchito wedged into a corner, hands enveloping his tiny face. She assumed he was crying. Shane hated to se a man cry, especially a man of his sort, so she walked past him, hoping he would think she hadn't seen him at all.