Concisity

Okay, okay, I procrastinate on my freaking blog. Not good. Anyways, ramblings tonight commence.

So we're doing a group project in English on the Canterbury Tales. It's a whole write-your-own-modern-version thing. So, you know, you'd expect us to do something normal about some really normal inoffensive stereotypes, but no. No. You know what we do? My group is basing its tales around a group of random people high on freaking pot because some dealer snuck some brownies into an unlicensed samples stand at freaking Costco. Here you know what? I'll just put the somewhat-edited prologue here.

"Rain splattered across the flooding sidewalk as a plethora of Thousand Oaks citizens struggled to find shelter. Many flocked to the nearby Costco because of the undeniably pleasurable prospect of heart-warming food samples. Watching them all enter, a group of vagrants pretended to sleep in the untenable line of shopping carts. Three wore thin teal sports jackets in which secretly held a handful of hi-tech play toys, including two iPods and three cell phones.  Yet nearest to their hearts they clutched at their crumpled and battered welfare checks.              

Keeping a watchful eye upon these hobos an African-Canadian janitor stood by the wide entrance, leaning his chin against his broom handle—white moustache twitching as he stood sentry. An employee for fifteen years, he looked on quietly, his bald head gleaming in the fluorescent lighting hanging above the aisles.              

Meanwhile, out back near the truck loading docks, a 50-year-old transvestite waited for passing cars, hoping for a prospective client. Clad in a faded red trench coat, the aged woman endured the pouring rain. Luckily, a passing Mercedes stopped by the loading docks. Out of it came a businessman, formally dressed—suit, shirt, and tie galore—he had gone through this process before. After conducting the financial aspects, however, he found the Mercedes dead, for the battery had gone out in the pouring rain. The grey sky and curtains of rain forced the two to enter Costco to conduct business somewhere warmer.              

Immediately after the promiscuous couple entered, a group of blond-haired girls tiptoed inside, huddling together for warmth, giggling and complaining about the erratic weather. They dressed in almost nothing but cutoff shirts and shorts high enough to classify as Speedos. Following silently behind them, the swarthy male cheerleaders shook their curly hair, spraying the surrounding Costco customers with a mixture of both grease and water.              

Behind them entered two teenagers following their busy uncaring parents.  With night-black porcupine hair one of the teens stared at his GameBoy ^tm through half inch glasses, a glazed look in his almost-black squinty eyes. A Pokémon T-shirt hung loosely on his slightly pudgy frame. He was obviously Asian, but of which nationality who can ever tell? Spinning around him with Heelys the other young adult texted his cooler non-Asian friends. He clothed himself in a fine collared shirt inscribed with the insignia St. Paschal Baylon, which looked as if the student tried extremely hard to remove it but the ink settled deep within the threads. To remedy this he popped up his collar in a surprisingly vampire-like style and tucked but half of his shirt in his rumpled slacks.              

Striding into Costco with an air of pride, a hardworking Jewish student with short curly hair aimed for the school supply aisle to buy pens and pencils in bulk. He received both envious and annoyed looks from both the Catholic school student and the janitor. Nevertheless he hurried to his destination without observing the people around him—he was too good for them.              

Meanwhile, a shady looking man stood in the back corner of Costco. Wearing a black leather coat and ragged beanie he stood behind an unauthorized brownie stand. Although he seemed a creepy and undesirable man his delicious smelling pastilles attracted the noses of the cold and wet Thousand Oaks citizens, most of which found that nothing could go wrong in such a safe city. None of these mindless-sample-grabbing-never-actually-buying-anything customers knew of the “secret ingredient” the hook-nosed man snuck into their brownies. For the man was actually a drug dealer. The customers were soon all on what they called a “journey into a whole new mind” and after rounding them up in the Costco security office and capturing the pot smoking dealer that caused the entire dilemma, I heard them speak without restriction. Many times I want to forget that fateful day when I heard THE COSTCO TALES."

This is so freaking ridiculous we are going to be the only people in class laughing. Oh, oh, guess what? I get to do the hooker's tale. Wheeeeeee!

In other news we got crushed by Newbury on their home course. Everybody except varsity girls. We need to pull it together. Back to you, empty plot of future blog posts.