doomshotgun-blog

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A drawing I did in face of Trump's horrid executive order. Stay strong.

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A drawing based off of the song Beyond the Veil by Lindsey Stirling.

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I saw this during the March and spent like half an hour trying to get this picture which I will treasure until the end of time. 

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Things overheard in my English class:

“Dude, hey dude!  Bro, I dare you to eat this bee!”

“Yeah, he got a concussion from running into a pole.”

“Inhaling Sharpie fumes is my favorite activity!”

“Dude, dude, bro, dude, don’t.”

“I’m 90% sober.”

“I’m the next Virgin Mary!”

“I am a homo-sexual!!” “Dude, we know!”

“MAKE AMERICA GAY AGAIN”

“I hate when things rhyme, I don’t know why.”

“I’ve never even, like, signatured, I just write bad cursive.”

“When I was in the third grade, I thought that I was straight.  Boy, was I wrong!”

“I accidentally turned in my essay when it was still titled Julius Caesar fanfiction!!!”

“He’s like, ‘I can’t buy you anything, but like, I’ll buy you a steel drum-set!’”

“So, I made fake scars on my face last night using Vaseline.”

“I’m not emo, I’m just listening to the most emo song I’ve heard.”

“You’re the dependent variable.”

“I’m gay, or as biologists would say, unsaturated.”

“My lips taste like chemicals, and it’s really gross.”

“I like coffee, I like bees. No, tea!”

“I will stab you with my uturus!”

“Get nippled!”

“I did pot once, now I’m gay.”

“That was a thing written on a Christian pamphlet.”

“Teenager shark!”

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What I will never forget about the march in DC.  Walking to the march, the streets were packed. Every once in a while you’d hear loud, distant-sounding cheering. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from until we walked over a subway grate.  It was coming from underground. There were so many women coming in on the trains that you could hear us through the street. 

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“Donald Trump can’t read this but he’s still scared of it.” (Women’s March on Portland, 1/21/2017)

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what she says: i support the women's march

what she means: i don't care what your race, gender identity, sexual orientation, or religion is, whether you're a dog or cat person, if you like pineapple on your pizza or not. if you feel that your government doesn't represent you, won't listen to your concerns, and doesn't give a flying fuck about any of your basic rights as a human being, then i stand with you in resisting it and those in power.

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Approximately 3.4 MILLION people in america went to these Women’s Marches, and that’s just in AMERICA.  There were dozens, maybe hundreds of other marches on all 7 continents.  Even ANTARCTICA had a protest!  Yeah this is definitely going down in history books holy crap

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The Blue Eyed Boy

       A long time ago, there sat a blue eyed boy under an apple tree.  His eyes were weary, drawn and worn, like someone fighting a battle they’ve not yet won.  He smiled as I approached him, wary and confused.  What are you doing here, sitting alone under this apple tree? I asked.  He pointed at a tree on the other side of the clearing, which was stout and strong.  Wishing I was over there.  I’m fighting a battle with this tree, see?  I looked him up and down, at his hunched shoulders, his shirt drawn purposefully away from his chest, his eyes hopeful and hopeless in equal measure.  A crooked smile graced his face as he looked up at me.       Yes, I said to this boy, I believe you are.  But there is grace in this tree.  Why not simply stay here?  The boy considered this.  It doesn’t like me, and I’m not like it, he explained.  The other tree might not like me either, since I come from this one, but at least I am like it.  He smiled again, and turned back to the tree, reaching for it with fingers that were frozen blue.  You are such a kind boy, I said.  Why would they not like you?  He shrugged his shoulders and replied, Because they do not think I am a boy.

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Element

if you ever get stuck in a burning fire, don’t worry.  All you have to do is be in your element.  But it’s not my element, I’d say.  This is clearly someone else's.  Shouldn’t you find them?  They laugh, shaking their weary heads.  No, no, you must listen, they reply in earnest.  We know how you are, this is clearly where you are suppose to be.  Your hands are covered in water, but that’s only because it’s not been burned away yet.  No, fire is your element, don’t you see?

The smoke is blinding me, of course I can’t.

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The Fishing Pole

I sometimes write stories instead of essays.  It’s not that I feel the need to put off the essay; I do it either way.   It’s just a simple way for me to make my ideas concrete before they flow away.  If I forget them, then they are too far downstream for me to get them back.  Then, I have to fish for a new one, my mind a fishing pole in the river of thoughts.  And sometimes the fishing pole breaks a little.  And I’ve already used up too much duct tape keeping it together.

Fishing in the river is dangerous, some people say.  If you fall in it’s difficult to get out again, and you might sink to the bottom where all is dark and still.  The mud down there sticks to you, keeps you there, even when you finally try to get out.  Never get lost at the bottom of the river of thought, they say.  Even struggling at the surface is better, for then you might catch a hold of a log or idea floating down the river, and that will keep you afloat, at least until it rots and starts to sink.  Then you need a new one, at least until maybe, just maybe, you reach the river bank and pull yourself out.  The fishing pole will still be waiting for you then.

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MY FAVORITE MEME OF 2017 IS MICHELLE OBAMA ACCEPTING THIS TIFFANY’S GIFT FROM MELANIA AND THEN IMMEDIATELY LOOKING INTO THE CAMERA LIKE SHE’S ON THE OFFICE OH MY GOD

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I will be posting random short stories and writing prompts that I think of here now, simply because I want to show people my stories

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Pretty much me, except my mom is mad that i have a B in four classes.

My mood currently

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2016 was Unfortunate: A Dialogue

2016: *David Bowie dies*

Everyone: 😱

2016: *Harper Lee, Muhammad Ali, and Prince die*

Everyone: 😱 😱 😱

2016: *election from hell*

Everyone: 😱

2016: *election results from hell*

Everyone: 😱

Everyone: Almost done, what else could go wrong

2016: *George Michael dies*

Everyone: 😱

Everyone: Well, surely nothing else bad can happen

2016: Hold my drink

2016: *Carrie Fisher dies*

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Kindness is often mistaken for softness and let me tell you, friends….that is a mistake you don’t want to make. 

Kind people are not born that way, they do not stumble into it, kind people are forged in fire and darkness and imploding stars…they have steel cores. Throw a punch and you’re going to break your hand. 

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honestly the way lance says ‘thread the needle’ in the pilot literally haunts my dreams i can never rest because of that face