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Topics - yoshi

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 7
Crap! / hey guys
« on: October 29, 2010, 05:03:31 pm »
hows it goin

Crap! / The Text is starting to change colors
« on: May 13, 2010, 02:55:19 am »
I should finish my homework soon

General Discussion! / The Monkeysphere
« on: May 05, 2010, 10:39:43 pm »
An interesting concept on the nature of society. What are your thoughts on it?
Also, if this was discussed here an not where I think it was, well shit >_>

Crap! / Beatboxing
« on: April 28, 2010, 08:35:42 pm »

Crap! / A "short", supoosedly Ironic story
« on: April 20, 2010, 10:18:30 pm »
As my other stories, this was from yet another english assignment. This time, we were supposed to write something ironic, and, like always, I thought of an ending before the beginning. If you take note of places where a possibly school-inappropriate simile would better take place, then I did too, and decided to edit it out due to not wanting to fail even more than I already was.

   It was a lazy spring afternoon in the suburbs of off São Paulo. Ricardo was sitting upon the grasses of the local soccer fields, observing one of the pick-up games the children had.
   Did they know I was here? A world famous soccer star rarely goes unnoticed, and I haven’t gotten the slightest bit of attention all day. With my wife well into pregnancy and the World Cup coming up soon, I really don’t have any time to spare. Maybe this could be the day I finally relax…?
   An obnoxious alarm at the foot of his bed swiftly cut off his thoughts. “…I guess not,” he grumbled, getting up to silence the annoyance that plagued his dreams.
   The scene was bleak. In his room, little light and no decoration. Only a bed occupied the space, and itself was no more exciting than a race between snails. Rubbing his eyes, he manages to pull himself out of his bed. What day is it?
   His mind pulls up blank for answers, but full for hope, and longing for his dream to continue enveloped him. But it was too late for that; Ricardo was a light sleeper and he knew it, and he couldn’t return to rest after such a disturbance. He shrugs off his hopes and heads into the bathroom.
   He looks into the mirror. Muscular, raggedly dressed, and with a shave as present as fish in the desert, he could’ve looked like he had been living off the jungle for the past year.
   But he didn’t. Anyone following virtually all news sources would have seen his face; he was known everywhere. And with remarkably distinct facial features, which seemed to mystify you in his presence, he was instantly recognizable as the Ricardo expected to bring Brazil to victory in the soccer competition.
   Sharply shifting his glance, he washes his face and sighs, later to head into the kitchen. Hanging upon the kitchen walls was a calendar, and, taking note of the date, he remembers what felt significant in his subconscious earlier-it was July 6. Only a couple of days away from the final game, he shakes his head in discomfort as he continues through the house.
   Cracking open another door, he peers inside. A mountain of blanket covers a slowly moving body. Another calendar is hung up on the wall, this time with a red circle around the eleventh, and the word “Enrique” written in the center.
   Something else to worry about. “I need to get my mind off things,” Ricardo sighs, and heads back to his room, stopping by in the kitchen to grab a rather large bottle of whiskey.

   Lying on the bed, he takes a sip. And then two. And then three, and he thinks to himself- How much whiskey does it take to kill someone?
   “I’ll guess I’ll find out if this is enough tomorrow,” Ricardo replies, only talking to himself, and downs the rest of the bottle. In a few minutes, his body is limp, and through the grogginess of his throat, you can hear his breathing.
   The face of a baby appeared in the darkness. Asleep, with a rhythmic breath- his face tender and innocent. Its body wrapped with a just a towel, keeping it safe from the outside world.
   Suddenly, a tanned liquid flows from the space, and encompasses his body. His slow breathing slows even more, and soon it stops, his body drifting away motionless into the void, kept still by the garment meant to protect him. 
   Ricardo violently comes to; awaken by the furious shaking and shouting of a distressed wife. Disoriented, Ricardo attempts to depart from his position and in the process, manages to fall down onto the ground. After painting the room a lively color of green, he makes it into the kitchen, guided by a disgusted wife. His eyes are quickly drawn to a blinking red light, located on the receiver of his household telephone. Uniform green text flashes repeatedly, carrying a message ever so frightening to Ricardo.
   Two missed calls- Coach.
   An internal siren goes off as he goes to check the calendar-June Ninth. He spins around deftly and checks the clock. It reads six thirty in the evening. Panic races through Ricardo as he asks turns to his wife, still frustrated. “Maria! Where’s my stuff? I need to go!”
   “Out on the table,” replies Maria, realizing the situation. “Don’t be late!”
   Ricardo races to the table, grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and rushes out of the door. Maria takes a desperate step towards the door and shouts, “Wait!” Only the sound of a slamming door and the roar of a motorcycle’s engine respond to her cry. She nervously looks down at her stomach, and holds it up.
   After utilizing several questionably legal driving maneuvers on his newly green motorcycle,
This is where my rough draft ends, and my classical revisions-as-I-type ends, so don't expect the rest of the story to be as descriptive.
Ricardo arrives at the stadium. A thousand bright lights shine him down, seeming as if to isolate him down in the crowd. He jumps off his cycle, and runs towards the stadium. Granted instant security clearance, he makes it to the lockers with minutes to spare. His coach, angrily approaching him about his tardiness, takes note of his pale and sickly tone.       

   The game starts, and Ricardo is set onto midfield. Moving swiftly, he often intercepted the plays and started his own, passing the ball upwards towards the goal. Almost twenty minutes into the game, Ricardo collapses on the field with sharp pains in his liver. Immediately taken out, he is confronted by his coach.
   “What happened out there?! I can’t let you play like that, and now we not might even make it to the end!”
   “I…I don’t know Coach, there was just this sudden pain and I couldn’t move,” replied Ricardo, afraid of the limitless rage of his coach about to be brought upon him. “I guess it was the whiskey I drank yesterday, I did have a lot.”
   “You DRANK?! Before a game?! What were you thinking? You know what that stuff does to you!”
   “I just don’t know Coach, I had to get stuff off my mind, and it seemed like an easy way out. I didn’t think it’d be this bad.” And with these words, he sat down on the ground, head in hands as he shamefully thought of what he did. Tracing back his actions, he suddenly recalls Maria shouting out to him, but he can’t remember what she said.    
   “Coach, quick! I need to borrow your phone!”
   “Go ahead. It’s not like I’m gonna need to call anyone about our victory…” replied his coach, with a hint of sarcastic rage in his voice. Ricardo grabs the device and dials a number. He is met by the voice of his wife,
   “Ricardo, if that’s you, hurry to the hospital, I’m going into labor.” A long beep follows her voice, and Ricardo rushes out of the stadium.
   “Hey! Where are you going with my phone?!”
   It takes him several hours to reach the hospital, as the traffic was largely backed up because of the game going on. By the time he reaches the medical ward, he aggressively interrogates the nurses, and quickly finds out the location of his wife.  Upon reaching the room, his adrenaline rush reached a peak and failed to continue keeping back the alcohol poisoning.
   He enters the room, staggering slowly, to find a tense Maria attempting birth.  A small head could be seen poking out of her, obviously straining the woman. A doctor approaches Ricardo.
   “Part of the child is stuck in her, and her muscles can’t completely push him out. A C-section could be used, but due to complications involving the child’s position, it could threaten her life.”

   “A caesarian section?” Ricardo stumbles more and nears Maria. “Whatever you do, keep her alive.” As the echo of alive finished ringing, abdominal pains overtake Ricardo and he collapses on top of her. The force of his fall pushed the rest of the baby out, and the doctors quickly performed to keep injuries at a minimal.

   Maria opens her eyes to the bright sunlight, and memories of the day before come back to her. “Are they okay?” she innocently asks the by standing nurse. With a bit of hesitation, she eventually ended up replying, “Well, Ricardo’s fall saved you from the life threatening c-section, and your child from dying prematurely, by he did suffer injuries. Your son currently has a broken leg, and will probably be crippled for a good couple of years until he can have surgery.” She bites her lip, and continues, “Ricardo, on the other hand…well, he suffered major liver injuries from alcohol poisoning. Too much of his liver was gone by the time we could get him to the ER, and his other systems began to fail. I’m sorry to say, but, Ricardo is, well…Ricardo is not with us anymore.”
   Maria broke out in tears, and the nurse solemnly left the room. A sole bottle of beer was shattered in the corner of the room, almost hidden by the shade of a child’s blanket.


Crap! / I just ate loads of cake.
« on: April 20, 2010, 10:10:47 pm »

Crap! / So I just finished Ender's Game
« on: March 27, 2010, 10:16:34 pm »
First off, it was an amazing book.
When I was nearing the ending, however, when he finds the corpse, I thought of a possibility about the ending.
Him waking up from a coma, and the entire book trolling me.
Quite possibly cause i've done it in my writing before >_>

Crap! / So my friend gave me a riddle.
« on: March 25, 2010, 05:13:08 pm »
Or rather, a mathematical scenario.

3 men are in a circle, each having an index card.
On their index cards, they have a number. The product of two mens' numbers equals the value of the third. This applies for any two men.
What are the values?
In mathematical terms,
What are possible values for x,y, and z?
Rules are they are all different, and you can come up with an equation for the variables if you'd like. However, inside those equations, unknown variables cannot be used.

I have another riddle, much simpler one at that, if you guys would like.

Edit:personally, I don't believe there is a legitamate answer

Crap! / I just shaved for the first time.
« on: March 21, 2010, 12:56:44 pm »

Crap! / Origin of Wind
« on: March 21, 2010, 11:20:08 am »
So we're supposed to write our own myths explaining natural phenomenon for english.
Since I spent 95% of my time on the picture, the story was half assed.
As by the title, it's about the origin of wind.

        Ever since the day Hermes had made a fool of him at the meeting of the Gods by pranking him with a scheme involving several large herds of oxen (he was always scared of the beasts), Poseidon was itching to repay the favor.
   One day, while he was tending to his steed, Poseidon pondered the possible ways he could punish Hermes for his joke. He easily thought of many ways to ensure Hermes would regret his actions. But how was he to trick him to carry them out?
   Poseidon remembered back to the days of his mighty youth, when he was nigh a millennium old. Back then, they were childish. They used to always play games of chance, and often bet their powers over the outcomes.
   That was it! Poseidon was to challenge Hermes to a game he surely could not win. Therefore after he could humiliate Hermes the same he was humiliated, and he would have his revenge.
   The next day, while delivering the invite to Zeus’ “Big Storm Party”, Hermes was approached by Poseidon on the shore line of Ionian Sea.
   “Say Hermes, my good man, I’ve been tending to my steed lately and I’ve been wondering. You see, these Pegasi have been getting quite muscular lately, I’m not sure if it’s been something they’ve been eating in the past few weeks, but they’ve sure gotten faster. I’ve been wanting to race them against you, but haven’t gotten a chance. Up for it?”
   “Ehh, I’m not too sure, Poseidon, I’ve got places to be, messages to send, y’know?” says Hermes, frantically pacing back and forth with a slight expression of nervousness upon his face.
   “Oh come on, it won’t take a while. We’re both pretty fast here. To make it more worth your while, how about we wager something on it? I say loser has to run for a week’s time with Olympus on his back...as a mortal.”
   “Well, I guess I do have a little time to spare. You’re on, you fearless matador!”
   With those words, Hermes drops his bags while Poseidon saddles up his horse. They meet together on a given spot, and at the meet of their eyes, they take off.
   “First one around the world and back!” yelled Hermes as he ran off into the distance.
   Poseidon sluggishly takes off into the air. With a smirk on his face, he hangs there above, waiting for his first glimpse of Hermes. Upon his sighting of the foolish runner, he makes a large loop in the air, to make it seem as if he was flying the whole time, and dives to the finish in front of Hermes.
   “Hey Hermes, Olympus is,” Poseidon, triumphantly cocking his hand to the side, “that way.” Hermes grumbles angrily as he walks towards the mighty home of the Gods. Poseidon, having successfully outsmarted the messenger, follows in his wake to reap the humors of his victory.
   For the next seven days and seven nights, Hermes took a journey of a champion, were he the winner of the bet. He toiled endlessly as it seemed to him for the weight on his back during his mortal form was monstrous, and only his status of a God was keeping him going.
   On the last day, Hermes came across a giant during his final stretch of his run. It seemed as if though he were guarding something.
   He was. “WHO GOES THERE?!” shouts the gigantic creature. “IS IT YOU, MERE MORTAL? NOONE PASSES MY FOREST.” Hermes, out of breath, could not respond and could only stand there as the strain on his back was becoming fiercer and fiercer.  It soon became too much for Hermes.
   At last, just about the time the giant was moving to strike him down, Hermes reverts to his godly stature and drops the mountain upon the beast, quite literally knocking the wind out of him.

Crap! / What I think of food
« on: March 21, 2010, 10:36:30 am »
Meat is pretty good.
Dairy is all right.
Wheats are good.
Problem comes with fruit and vegetables. I like the taste of them, but you get the most weird feeling when you chew them so I tend to dislike them.

Crap! / Elmo3000
« on: March 13, 2010, 11:25:37 pm »

Crap! / Quick!
« on: March 12, 2010, 11:06:36 pm »

What is the first thing that came to mind?
It can't be the word eggplant.

Crap! / It's snowing here again!
« on: February 23, 2010, 07:39:03 pm »
Twice during this winter.
New record!

Crap! / just got my sat scores back
« on: February 22, 2010, 06:57:49 pm »
Critical Reading: 580, 75th national percentile
Mathematics: 530, 55th national percentile
Writing: 480, 46th national percentile
Multiple Choice: 49
Essay: 7

One of my friends got 1650 and another got 1890.
We're all in 7th grade.

What'd you guys get?

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