Thunder’s Bad Day in School
[ 10 Comments ] Posted on 11.23.05 in awesomeness, bad grammar, books
In honor of my 18th birthday, I thought I’d take the opportunity to show you how my genius has remained steadfast throughout my growth. Take, for example, an epic piece I wrote in kindergarten. For 12 years, it has made readers laugh, cry, and inevitably learn something about themselves and the state of mankind.
Consider the following (text in bold, comments in italics):
“Thunder’s Bad Day in School,” by Casey Peterson
Note: Thunder is a brontosaurus, and does not resemble in any way the stupid tyrannosaurus rex sticker my teacher slapped on at the end. Gosh.
“Thunder, sit down!” the kids say. So he sat down. Uh oh! Gum on the seat! Thunder is stuck on the seat on the bus.
Notice the detail given to that piece of gum. It’s not just a blob, like the rest of the photo, but actually resembles a chewed wad of Bubblicious. The idea there was that the reader would focus upon that main piece while the other parts of the picture sort of revolve around it.
The driver has to unscrew the bus seat because Thunder is stuck to the seat. Then, as he got to the bus driver’s seat, he couldn’t get through the door. So he had to walk sideways through the doorway.
No human elements were introduced into the picture like the bus driver’s hand to portray the insatiable sentiment of loneliness in a dreary and unforgiving world that Thunder is experiencing presently. Also, the basic ideals of the three-element plot that is implemented in many, many fairy tales begins to take shape here. Problem 1: Gum on the seat. Problem 2: An immovable seat. Problem 3: You’ll see.
When Thunder got to school, he got off the bus, he got into his red line, he got inside the school, and he sat down in his cubby. Then, he gets stuck in his…
To clarify, the “red line” is a colloquialism to my particular elementary school, as it was a line painted on the ground upon which you were until the school opened its doors in the morning. Also, it was cool at my school to sit in your “cubby,” which was pretty much a locker sans door and made of pressed cardboard. We hung our lunch boxes there. You should pay special attention here to the suspense implemented by the discontinuation of the final sentence. Even in kindergarten, I knew that suspense is a vital component necessary for making any climax more exaggerated.
Cubby! Then he goes home with the cubby on his back and the bus seat on his bottom.
Problem 3 has arrived! It’s the cubby on the head, which is pretty much the oldest trick in the book. I like how suddenly I changed my mind about the type of dinosaur Thunder is, which caused me to draw him like Nessie of Loch Ness fame. I did this to convey the inherent feeling of belittlement within Thunder: with the entirety of the world looking upon him, he had to come to terms with the fact that the being he had become was totally different from the Brontosaurus that got on the bus that morning. He was now devoid of all confidence and made his sojourn home, dejected and alone.
By Casey Aostin Peterson, C.A.P.
I included my picture along with Thunder’s on this page to convey the message that Thunder’s tale is not an isolated event. Deep down, aren’t we all a little like Thunder, green and herbivorous? Also, I used the less common spelling of my middle name to make it look fancy and European.
The End
This piece serves two purposes. There’s the obvious fact that it exists to formally end Thunder’s tale of hope and heartache, but there’s something deeper in the conglomeration of pictures gathered below the text. The rain clouds, rain, and mud all serve to convey a motif of sadness and hatred, but the smiling sun in the midst of all of Mother Nature’s fury hints at a small bit of hope: hope that Thunder had, hope that the author has, and hope that, I think, exists deep down in the hearts of every person who is to read this classic piece of modern American literature.
You’re all morons.
[ 2 Comments ] Posted on 07.22.04 in bad grammar, complaints
I think a grammar refresher course is necessary for about 70% of this country’s population. When someone puts quotes around totally random fragments of the sentence, I cringe. When someone mixes up “there” and “their,” I cry. And when someone puts an apostrophe before the “s” of a word they wish to be plural, I die a little on the inside.
Shopping
[ 3 Comments ] Posted on 07.11.04 in bad grammar, complaints
I went grocery shopping with my ole chum Ian for my mother this weekend, and as we romped around the local Publix, I realized that there are a few strange words associated with shopping.
Grocery – Since when did we pronounce the “c” as if it were an “sh?” I say (phonetically) “groshree,” but I can only assume it’s meant to be pronounced “groseree.”
Aisle – Who decided to put an “a” at the beginning of this word? I wasn’t called about it. They didn’t invite me to any U.N. vote on the subject. Did they just assume I would ignore the first letter and not pronounce it “a-iyle” because of the possible homonym clash with Gilligan?
Coupon – Some people pronounce it “coopon.” Others, “C-you-pon.” Me? I go with the former. But the inconsistency of dialect that coupons inspire is enough to irk me nonetheless.