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Quaking the Periwinkle Moon

I apologize for not posting anything last week. And I apologize in advance, because this may be the only post for this week. Explanation (excuses): I’m currently taking two condensed college courses, making last week and this one MIDTERMS. (Yay! Essays! Exams! Studying! Probably not in that order!) Besides, I warned you all early on I may not be consistent. I’m simply living up to my promises.

Secondary warning: This post will be very random. Please suspend all expectations for coherence from this point onward.


Last post, I celebrated having reached four followers. Well, I am proud to announce, I now have SEVEN. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. The Potatoes are on their way to fame and fortune.

Seriously, though, thank you! It blows my mind. So, as a reward, I’ll treat you to one of my fantastically brilliant humble drawings:

Unexpectedly, hippopotami can't fly.

Unexpectedly, hippopotami can’t fly.


In case you hadn’t guessed from me blogging, me blogging about writing, me blogging short stories, me blogging poetry… I kind of like to write. Like, it’s chronic. I spew out words onto paper constantly because if I didn’t, they would probably come out of my mouth.

(I’ll let you interpret that last sentence however you will.)

So, because of this whole word-spewing thing, I carry a little notebook around in my back pocket. For emergencies, you know. And every now and then I go through and read some of the awesome things I’ve written. Since I’ve already committed to being random in this post, I’ll share some of my highlights from the past week.

Overheard from booth behind me: “Which doesn’t even make any sense, because it doesn’t even look anything like a skull, except it looks exactly like a skull.”

Taking things out of context is fun. Mother: “I’d rather be boring and have socks than be fun and have no socks.”

“Did you hear me walk like a ninja?” “…Sure did.” “Liar. You can’t hear ninjas walk.”

Last year Santa gave me a book bag that clearly had “Made in China” printed on the tag. Suddenly, things make a lot more sense. There are just too many children in the world for Santa Claus to really give gifts to all of them. There is only one logical conclusion: Santa is outsourcing. He’s gone industrial. There’s probably even an elf union.

There should be a television show called Teen Spinach. There is a serious negligence in that department.

Read on the internet: “Do you think you’re pretty?” “No.” “But you are!” “Ever heard of, ‘tell a girl she’s pretty, she’ll believe it for a second, tell a girl she’s ugly and she’ll believe it for a lifetime’? Yeah, that’s me.” “Oh? What if I tell you you’re beautiful for every second of the rest of your life?” “Then I’d marry you!” My conclusion: I think it would be rather difficult to hold a coherent conversation that way.

What kind of soda did a ghost drink anyway? He poked through the fridge. Root beer, maybe? Everyone likes root beer.

I have come to an important conclusion. The less you think about it, the more the world makes sense.

Girls: “I failed my History test! I had worked so hard on it, I studied all day, and I think the professor hates me. And Jerry hasn’t talked to me all week, and I just don’t know what to do anymore. I took like a forty minute shower and cried.” “Aw, honey! I’m so sorry! Here, give me a hug. That professor is just stupid! He doesn’t know you. And screw Jerry! You’re too good for him anyway. Here, let’s have some ice cream, kay?”
Guys: “yeah dude, i was totally bawling in the shower, cuz I like, failed a test. plus i was feeling kinda lonely. lol.” “lol. that’s like. so lame, man. grow some balls.” “k.”

She shoved her crossbow up in my face, razor-sharp tip of the arrow brushing my nose. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to sneeze, but I figured that, under the circumstances, it would probably be better if I didn’t.

Overheard from the television: “What Mr. Nezzer said was, ‘Keep an eye on Big Jim,’ but what Steve heard was, ‘Run in to town and grab me a strawberry smoothie.'”

It’s snowing outside. When Mary* was little, she used to scream OMIGOSH IT’S CHRISTMAS every time it snowed. So I start singing that philosophy myself: “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!” With a sarcastic look and a raised eyebrow, my sister Anne* says, “Ham, Christmas passed.” Taking advantage of her negligent (or perhaps merely inconclusive) grammar, I reply, “Or Christmas present.” “Or Christmas future!” she says with a grin. I shake my head, feigning woeful disappointment. “No,” I say, “I just want the Christmas present.”

*Fake name. Privacy, you know.


Since I’m in a bit of a goofy mood, I’ll end with this poem I wrote a while back:

Body Language

“I’m hungry!” Mouth shouts.
“You’re far too loud,” Ear pouts.
“Check out my abs,” Stomach growls.
“Oh, shut up,” Lip scowls.
“What abs? I see none,” mocks Eye.
“I can’t see at all,” Tongue sighs.
“Sucks to be you!” Knees score.
“Hey,” Bellybutton squeaks, “that’s uncalled for.”
“What’s going on up there?” yells Foot.
Hands snap, “You just stay put!”
“I feel neglected,” sniffs Nose.
“I hate you all!” Big Toe bellows.
Then an angry silence falls,
And a small, hidden voice calls,
“I need to pee.”



About Hammlington

Hammlington, the Ham of the blog, is the public face of the creature that is Me. Though Ham claims the title of All Powerful Blog Administrator and Supreme Ruler of Awesomeness (c), Hammlington's main responsibility lies as Potato Wrangler. The Blog:

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