Just Bloody Funky

My first name has been, over the course of various nicknames, shortened down to Ki -- pronounced "key". Now, in the context of a comic strip in which all of the characters -- including the sentient slime mold -- are intelligent, that is merely an exotic first name.

In my case, I get to hear every bad pun involving the word "key" that can be thought of. Especially in A.P. Statistics.

It started with "Ki, where's your lock?", from a football player, whom I shall refer to a Creamofwheat.

After the third week of this, my A.P. Statisitcs teacher started in on it. ("Are your parents going to retire to the Florida Keys?")

Today, Creamofwheat took off his shoes, and threw them in the corner, behind his desk. Teacher pulls out scented air freshener spray. Rather than spraying it himself, the teacher makes the mistake of handing it to Creamofwheat.

Naturally, I start coughing.

Creamofwheat declares "I think I'm killing Ki!"
What does my teacher say? "Oh, it's okay. We can get a new one at the hardware store."

And I have to put up with this. If I try suggesting new ideas, they might run out of them by Christmas. But I could be wrong...

Link of the Whenever I Damn Well Feel Like It.

I give you the most biased political site on the web. It's the Political Cartoonist's Index, which, I think I should remind you, is supposed to be biased; that's what makes them funny.

Just thought I'd say that. If you go to Mr. Cagle's Blog, he has angry emails from people, complaining that the cartoons are biased.

Now, on the subject of politics: Who should win, and why? (I'm not limiting it to Bush-v.-Kerry, either. I'd be pleased to see Badnarik or Peroutka, or anyone else, for that matter. For all I care, you can say Snoopy*If you know the song, you know what I'm talking about.*)

Write, Update, Republish...

Something I need to learn to do more often, perhaps?

I could complain to you about my week, but, I shall leave you with this:

Kathryn and I walked to the local pizzeria -- which, it turns out, is a three-mile round-trip walk -- instead of the Pep Rally. On the way back, we are contemplating how to make sure no one notices us.

A car drives by; a teacher is driving it. He honks and waves.

Believe it or not, no one really cared that we skipped out on the Pep Rally.

Wrap your brain around that one, Grasshopper.

Yesterday, I became the Vice-President-by-Default of the Photography club. What does that mean, you ask? That means that no one bothered to run against me.

Also, the fall Pep Rally -- which does an exceptionally poor job of rallying Pep -- is tomorrow. That means that all of the periods are shortened (sound familiar?), the school day technically ends around 1:20 in the afternoon, and we sit in the gym 'til three, watching the jocks, jockettes, cheerleaders and other sports-related individuals prance around the gym.

Kathryn (of Sixty Percent semi-fame) and I are skipping it all together. This is, believe it or not, the first time I will have ever cut a class. Ever. (Yeah -- we have nine periods, and your ninth period teacher can legally write you up for a cut if you don't go. But my teacher doesn't mind, and Kathryn almost never goes.)

I feel so... rebellious. Like, I should get a black leather jacket, or something.

Also, I'm leaving the comment section on, for a change.

Say something.

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the Earth.

Costume shop + Getting close to Halloween + School + Blog = something gets ignored.

Who am I to buck the trend?

I just sent chills up my spine, typing the post's title. I am always the one to buck the trend. Most of my graduating class is convinced that the phrase "Devil's Advocate" is my phrase.

Nonetheless, I thought it'd be cool to do I "link-of-the-day" sort of deal.

There's only one problem with that: I don't update my blog nearly that often.

So, really, it's more of a "link-of-the-whenever-I-damn-well-feel-like-it".

And I've got two for you. Both of which are the official (or semi-official) webpages for political parties.

Deal.

The first, I cannot describe on my own. In the words of someone else: "These Libertarian Green Nazis are either the strangest conglomeration of diametrically opposed political ideologies of a political party I have ever seen -- or one of the most wry political practical jokes found anywhere on the net." Yes, you read that correctly. The Libertarian National Socialist Green Party.

The second, is the Monster Raving Loony Party. Once again, I lack the capacity to say anything about it.

My brain is broken. Homework = bad.

I really have to, like, actually bother to update my blog.

Number one: Some of you may remember me vaguely mentioning something about running for homecoming queen. To answer the obvious question, I am serious. It's going to be awesome. I even have my own tiara. It's plastic, and it has feathers on it. It roxxors.

One office to rule them all, and in the darkness bind them.

I wish I could change the time of this post to "homeroom".

You, dear reader, get to hear about my first day of school.

For some really odd reason, "homeroom" is actually "second period"; but I'm not even going to get into that right now. Anyway, the first day, they have a half-hour of homeroom before first period. And then they shorten all the periods. You get your schedule, and they go over any major policy changes in homeroom.

I'm scrawling at a legal pad right now.

Half of the people in the room -- exactly half, because it's every other person -- doesn't have a schedule. There are two other homerooms missing half their schedules, and then three homerooms with no schedules at all.

This situation -- this odd, rediculous situation -- has reminded me of the iron-like grip that the Guidance Office has on my school.

See, I can complain about the principal, or teachers, or stuff, but you know what? It's Guidance you have to watch out for.

They don't even call themselves "Guidance", either. They call themselves "Pupil Personnel Services".

And now, nearly 47 minutes into the 24 minute homeroom -- they convinced the principal to hold the bell, while we waited for them to print the missing schedules -- we wait, with baited breath, for their next move.

(I'm bored, and that was supposed to sound dramatic. Or psychotic. One of the two.)

The meteorologist lied; it's not raining...

I put this up over on Sixty Percent Chance of Rain, and I'm putting it up here as well.

Alright... Listen. I don't know if there's anyone actually reading Sixty Percent Chance of Rain.

I'm aware that I've actually bothered to update Sixty Percent Chance of Rain very infrequently. It's been very sporadic. In three months, there are nine chapters.

Well, I'm considering temporarily abandoning Sixty Percent Chance of Rain. Of course, you know, if there is anyone out there reading this, who is absolutely heartbroken about this (a scenario I very severely doubt, but nonetheless), comment. Tell me so. On the other hand, if you think Sixty Percent Chance of Rain absolutely sucks, and you'd like to see it completely disappear, because it is a waste of time, energy, and bandwidth, well, leave a comment.

The comment section is open.

That's why it's there.

If you don't read, or haven't read Sixty Percent Chance of Rain... it's only nine chapters, for crying out loud.