a poem of sorts and a short storry

so, i needed to submit a something (as in just about anything) to be published to get some credit for english class. here are the two things that i wrote.
(warning not for the faint of heart, last i wrote a poem, 3 people died of internal hemorrhaging. i suggest you skip to the short story.


Fnord is the difference between stationary and stationery
Fnord is the 3 in H2O
Fnord is the green vertical lines on the college ruled paper
Fnord is the reason proprietary soft wear costs money
Fnord is the feeling you get when you forget what made something a bad idea
Fnord’s logic runs on peanut oil.
Fnord does everything! All ways!
Fnord is a bunch of radius
Fnord is a rice hull stuck in your teeth for medical purposes
Fnord has a production defect rate of Six Sigma
Fnord is a time traveling Raman noodle
Fnord is the daisy passing for a rose
Fnord is 5 minuets 35 seconds and 2 furlongs after tomorrow
Fnord’s friend is sentient yogurt
Fnord is the reason I wrote this
Fnord is why my math teacher is
Fnord is why math works
Fnord is neither a particle nor a wave

and now my second piece. be nice, this is my first attempt at anything like this.

Here I sit in the orthodontist’s waiting room. There are a several leather chairs, and a couple other people. I brush my teeth to make them sparkly and sit down. One by one the others are picked of by the orthodontist’s assistants. I linger just long enough to see the soulless husks ejected from the orthodontist and his unruly bunch.

Finally my name is called. Being a veteran of this dismal place, I know that resistance is futile, as they will tip one’s chair up and onto a conveyer belt and lead you kicking and screaming, into the office. I stand up and complacently walk out the back, through a field, and into the orthodontist’s office.

Lurking in a corner is the orthodontist’s chair. Big and sinister, like a monster out of the nightmare of a tiny child, the chair squats in the corner waiting for its next crispy chicken style meal. I steal my self and tentatively sit down.

Almost immediately, the chairs soporific power enfolds me and I begin to drift into a dream land filled with small, pointy needles and little plastic chairs. I am rudely awakened by the creaking of a door as the orthodontist, trailed by an assistant, enter.

Like clockwork, they begin to shackle me to the chair. Binding me first at my wrists, then at my ankles, they work their way up my limps and abdomen until I am completely immobilized. The orthodontist then begins to place a wide variety of clamps and rusty old vices into my mouth, while the assistant begins pumping my veins and arteries full of gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, and I loose consciousness.

And here I am today, fully recovered, with perfectly strait teeth and a small scar where my soul was removed as payment.


if you have survived thus far, you should win a metal