Fair Trade

My Fictional Autobiography: Chapter II

The Streaker

I liked to go to the park when I was young. Every now and then, a man would bring a model airplane he had made in his garage. He would wow the crowd as his small, yellow plane did loops and turns and dives. Sure the park was fun, but it was extremely irritating to watch people be so amused by something so unamusing.

Finally, I had had enough. I left the park and marched straight to my garage where I built a model airplane. I painted it silver with blue flames streaking across the side. It had two small jet engines mounted in the back and had a top speed of 60 miles per hour. I installed a camera in the cock pit, so I could see what the pilot would be able to see. I installed two heat seeking and two laser guided missiles. I also installed two anti-aircraft cannons in the nose of the plane. And with that, the Streaker took off, destination Valplayso.

Sure enough, when I got there, the man was wowing the crowd. But then they saw a second plane. And unknown plane flying higher. Doing cooler tricks. Barrel rolls, nose dives, hairpin turns. The man became extremely jealous of my superior plane. Suddenly, the Streaker started taking enemy fire. The camera in the cockpit turned around to see the yellow plane, hot on my tail. Four machine guns, two on each wing, shot at my plane. I banked hard to the right. I accelerated hard out of the turn, putting some much needed distance between my plane and his. But still, bullets still bounced off my plane. The yellow plane had taken the inside track on my turn, and was gaining on me, tracking me, aiming. He was cutting me off. I turned the throttle hard to the left. The g-forces were great, but my plane could handle them. My plane could turn faster than his. The dog fight had shifted. I saw the yellow plane directly in front of me for a brief second before it banked to the left and dove beneath my plane. I dove right, directly on its tail. I opened up with my anti-air cannons all the while waiting for a missile lock. Black smoke billowed from the engine. And still it flew. I fired a laser guided missile. At the very last second the yellow plane barrel rolled out of the way and the missile sailed past it. But the barrel roll confused the man. He had never attempted such a daring maneuver. For a moment, the couldn't get a baring. Which way was up and which way was down? He hesitated for a second before figuring it out. But by then it was too late. I fired my heat seeking missiles. One hit his right wing and blew it clean off and the second found its mark on the left side, just below the cockpit. There was a big fireball and debris rained down into the field.

The crowd applauded the Streaker for its air superiority. The skies were once again safe. The Streaker flew over the crowd and rocked its wings back and forth as a salute, and then returned home in victory. Though it has never been called into battle since, there may come a time when the skies need protecting. And when that day comes, the Streaker will take off, once again to fly for freedom.

Donald Duck

All Purpose Thank You Note

Being after the Holidays, it may become necessary for you to write thank you notes to all the people who gave you a gift. This is always a time consuming process, so I have written an all purpose thank you note. All you have to do is print out enough copies, underline the appropriate options, sign it, and send it! It's so easy!

Dear _______________,

Thank you so much for your (gift, gifts)! (It, They) are great. I have already (wore, used, played with, regifted) (it, them) many times, and (it, they) was exactly what I wanted. I see that you (stuck, did not stick) to the (Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Festivus) list I sent you. That decision really paid off. I really love (it, them). It was great to hear from you again! I hope you had as great a (Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Festivus) as I did. Thanks again!

(Love, Sincerely, Yours),
________________________

Christmas List

Dear Grandma,

Thank you so much for the sweater you gave me for Christmas. It is really warm. That being said, I noticed that you have neglected, once again, to utilize the Christmas list I sent you. I made sure to send it to you early this year, so you would have it in time for Christmas. I make these lists for a reason, to give you gift ideas that I actually want, so when I spend time making it, I would appreciate you using it. Now, I know it's the thought that counts, but it is very important when picking out gifts, that you put some thought into them. One other thing, I noticed you did not include a gift receipt for the afore mentioned sweater. I'm sure this was just a simple oversight on your part in the haste of wrapping and sending. If you could just send that along, that would be great. I just want to make sure that you actually bought this, and didn't pirate it from somewhere. I don't want to be in possession of any illegal sweaters. Thanks!

Love,
Scott Doebler

Sneezing on a Window Is Gross

My Sports Paradox

I don't really play sports. I don't really like sports. I mean, competition is great and all, but I just don't see the point of it. You see, I suffer from a sports paradox: I don't like to lose, but I don't get a big thrill out of winning. I mean, no one likes to lose. It just makes you feel bad. But for me, when I win, it's like...."Great, I won. Okay. What's next?" And that's about it. Winning for me is just a goal. When I win, it's not a glorious triumph like it is for some people. It's just me reaching that goal, and that's it. I just don't really see the point.

How to Feel Really Manly #3

Funny Chinese Translation

Night Thoughts

Book Review: Hard Times

I just finished reading Hard Times by Charles Dickens. This is undoubtedly one of the most boring books I've ever read. SPOILER ALERT!!! (skip this paragraph if you don't want to know) It's a story set in nineteenth century England and is about Mr. Gradgrind. He has a school that only teaches facts. Nothing else, just facts. Thinking for yourself is ridiculed. Then his daughter realizes she hates her life because there is no emotion in it and has a breakdown. Meanwhile, her brother robs a bank and frames a poor guy for it. The poor guy falls down a mine shaft and dies. Mr. Gradgrind realizes the errors of his ways and decides to try and fix his school system.

Most of the excitement of this book is located on the front cover in the form of several sexual innuendos, and it's pretty much all downhill from there. There's no action, drama, or plot twists. There are no symbols, themes, or motifs. There's nothing funny, happy, or exciting. There's just no reason to read this book. But how can this be, Scott? Everyone knows bank robberies are always exciting. At least it must be cool. NO! Dickens manages to script the worst bank robbery ever. He just tells you there was a bank robbery. And that's it.

It's full of sarcasm that gets annoying after about the first page and a half. Dickens describes mundane objects for two pages, and then he kindly tells you what he is actually describing since he somehow manages to forgets to tell you at the beginning of the two pages. But during this novel, I did find myself reevaluating my own life. I was doing some intense interpersonal evaluations. Not because of any epiphany this book led me to, but just because I was so damn bored. My eyes would skim the words on the page, but I wouldn't actually remember anything I read. Instead I would find myself thinking about the theory of evolution or the theory of girls. And then I'd have to go back and read it all over again.

If you've never read this book, that was an excellent use of your time. Kudos to you!

If you have to read this book, I would encourage you to skip on over to sparknotes and read it there. It only takes about twenty minutes and you get the same thing out of it from sparknotes as from the book itself. But I must say, it is well named because you're certainly going to have a hard time reading this book. Good luck!

Mistletoe?

Hating Snow

People say they hate snow, but they don't. "I don't like driving in it," they whine, "I don't like shoveling it." But you don't really hate snow when you say those things. When you say you hate snow, you mean you hate white, cold, peaceful, quiet beauty. Do you really hate peaceful beauty? I doubt it. You hate the other things. You hate driving in the snow, or you hate shoveling the snow. But you don't hate the snow. How can you hate this:

Macbeth Part 2 of several.

Here is the second half to the first act of Macbeth. There are 4 more acts, but they are not as long. Here is where the story picks up its pace. More direct Shakespearian quotes abound.
-Cam

Lady Macbeth sent a digital message to her husband’s handheld containing only one word: “Come.”

He came.

Immediately following his shutting the door, his wife burst out with, “Your letter has transported me beyond this ignorant present, and I feel now the future in the instant. Your rise to power is at hand”

A short pause followed. “We will speak further.”

“Fear not. To ignore fate' favor is to fear: Leave all the rest to me.”

He left, and left all the rest to her.

The evening following the Veldan attack was to be the Macbeth's department’s turn for the obligatory Presidential inspection. Juliee knew such an opportunity would not always present itself so plainly. As part of the formalities of the inspection, the President is required by tradition to spend an entire day with the department, sleep in their quarters, and work as a common employee.

Juliee reminded Macbeth of the President’s imminent visit and explained her murderous intentions. She coerced him into helping the murder the president by using his gifts with computer to deactivate the security cameras throughout the station during the night and disguise the malfunction as another Lednar attack. At first he refused, but, following insults questioning his masculinity, Macbeth agreed to aid in the wicked deed.

President Duncan came—he was a charismatic and powerful leader who never minded spending time with the commoners and was loved by all. During the visit and tour, Juliee played the part of an extraordinary hostess who showed him all around the offices, offered food and drink at every cafeteria (though, as a gentleman, he declined) and answered over-thoroughly every question he asked.

Meanwhile, Jason Macbeth stayed in his office writing, as he often did when troubled.

If only after it was done it would truly be done. I wish that the assassination could be over without consequence. Let it end immediately and nothing come of it. I fear not the murder, but the consequences. Oh the consequences! May the death of President Duncan be the be-all and the end-all. I know that he who teaches bloody instructions will have the blood return to plague the inventor: this even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice to our own lips. Duncan is here, giving me dual trust as a loyal subject and as his host. As his host I should keep murderers out, not be one! I have no reason to murder my master and kind sovereign, as he has been a humble leader, always willing to help the poor on the station. I’m sure that his virtues will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against the deep condemnation of his death. Heaven’s angels will cry for him and he will not be punished in the least in the life after this. But behold, I have no intentions to stop what has begun, but only vaulting ambition, which over-leaps itself and falls on the other.

“He has almost finished eating! What are you doing here?” Juliee startled her fretting husband.

“We cannot continue.” Jason was serious.

“What?” the Lady exclaimed. “Were you drunk when you wrote your letter to me? I knew from your letter that you knew that we must kill Duncan—for your own sake and peace of mind! Are you a coward? Will you be able to live with yourself as a coward who backs away from any challenge that presents itself?” She paused to wait for a reaction from her husband. Nothing. “Who was it, then, who wrote me the letter insinuating that you intended to take the seat as president for yourself? It could not have been the coward I speak to now. You swore you would go forward with this. As much as I would love a child, I would, while it was smiling in my face, have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums, and dashed the brains out, had I so sworn, as you have done to this. You can't betray your word.”

“What happens if we fail? If the cameras turn on and you are caught? If in the moment of our murdering, a friend of the president enters and discovers us? What then?”

“Then we fail!” She inconspicuously read the last sentence on his screen. I have no intentions to stop what has begun, but only vaulting ambition, which over-leaps itself and falls on the other. She knew it would not be long before she could reassure him of their invulnerability. “But we can’t fail with your masterful control over the computers in the station and my unshakable ambition. Nothing can go wrong. We are invincible. What could we not do to the unguarded Duncan? The possibility of our being the murderers will not cross anyone’s mind if we make our grief over his death loud enough.”

Consenting, he ended the disagreement. “I’ll go forward with this. Continue your mocking piety for Duncan, and prepare for becoming the president’s wife.”

High School Relationships

A high school relationship is like Double Bubble gum. It loses its flavor fast and wasn't really that good to begin with.

Whiteness of Shirt Vs. Attraction of Tomato Sauce

Macbeth Retold

I am thinking about starting to publish my Science fiction version of "Macbeth" here as a semi-regular series. I originally wrote this for my English Literature class during Junior year, but as I prepare it for online publication, I am performing lots and lots of edits and alterations. It is essentially the story of Shakespeare's "Macbeth" retold in a science-fiction space-station setting and with many variations and fun twists. It also includes several direct quotes from the original play. Here is just the first section of this almost 20-page story. If response is good, I will continue posting the remnants of this in little chunks at a time. Perhaps it will draw more traffic.

Macbeth

I.

Jason Macbeth, head of the computer and machinery maintenance crew on the space station Olympus groggily rolled out of bed. It had been a long night of investigating the station's seemingly random server crashes, and he’d only barely had an opportunity for a short nap. The night before, the Lednars had performed a large scale attack on Olympus's network with delayed-action viruses that started causing the computers to cannibalize their data at random intervals. Macbeth's incredible skills at finding roots of problems, however, saved the station from loss of healthy oxygen levels and loss of electricity, which could, in turn, skew the station's orbit and send the colony slingshot-style into deep space. Macbeth was head of maintenance for a reason: he knew his stuff. No malicious program could avoid his omniscient eye, no matter how well-written and hidden. As a testament to his skill, instead of merely eliminating the cannibal virus from Olympus's network, Macbeth—having found traces of from whence it had come—sent it back, hoping that the Lednars, unprepared for return fire, would suffer by it. He was sure the Lednars were still in the process of writing a vaccine (as it was proper to always have a vaccine for your own virus), expecting more time to develop it. Macbeth rose from the ground below his multi-mattress bed, sore from the fall and lack of sleep, and headed for the shower. After checking the time, he realized there was to be no shower that day. Macbeth thumbed the lock-pad, and the door opened.
“Good morning,” Steeva Banquo, Macbeth's best friend, greeted him.

“I know it's morning, but I don't think I would be inclined to call it good,” Macbeth retorted, still groggy.

“And I am inclined to believe the entire station would have to disagree with you! Look,” Banquo pointed to his hand-held screen. “Your face is going to be everywhere, once this is released to the public! You saved the station last night. And, you probably didn't know it, but you also found a traitor.”
“A what?” Macbeth asked. He would have continued the inquiry, had the three Velda not interrupted. The Velda are a peace-loving race, and kind. But, they are absurdly zealous in their religious convictions, and commoners believe them to be capable of prophesying forthcoming events for others, but never themselves. Velda are simple creatures, but a bizarre sight. The small species sport groups of eyes arranged neatly on their heads, and a trail of some viscous fluid which follows their path. The slug-like fluid contrasts with their small, soft, furry bodies of various shades of brown.

“Hail!” “Hail!” “Hail!” they each called in turn. “Hail the man who finds the snake sends him where he belongs,” the first continued.

“All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, bane of Cawdor!”

“All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!”

“What absurd prophecies do you have for me, little guys?” Banquo interrupted sarcastically.

“Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.”

“Not so happy, yet much happier.”

“Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!”

“Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!” The first Velda finished the group’s proclamations.

Chuckling at the silliness and intriguing language of the Velda, the two programmers meandered past the three Velda, and Banquo reminded Macbeth of their conversation with, “Keep reading the article.”

He read.

Macbeth had apparently discovered Thayne Cawdor—codenamed “Anaconda”—who had been leaking information to the Lednars. It was he to whom Macbeth had relayed the cannibalistic virus, expecting a Lednar victim. In sending the virus back to from whence it had come, Macbeth sent it to Anaconda, who soon filed a complaint to Maintenance about a malfunctioning computer. When they discovered what was wrong, the crew realized Cawdor's computer had contracted the same virus, though modified to act immediately, as the station's servers had contracted. Cawdor was the source of all Olympus's computers' grief. Policies on the Olympus are very strict, and treason is punishable by death. The Anaconda begged for forgiveness, and received none. There soon was no longer an Anaconda, and Macbeth became a hero.

How could the Velda have known that I had found “the snake?”

Macbeth asked his friend Banquo if the news he had on his screen was public knowledge. No, it was an article sent to Banquo before the formal unveiling to show Macbeth. Well, the Velda had predicted this accomplishment; could they have been right about his imminent kingship? Wait… King? They must mean president. Of course, the Velda have always been associated with the bizarre and prophetic, but could the rumors be true? Macbeth couldn't kill the president... could he?

Murderous thoughts rushed through his mind, but he dismissed them, knowing that he should just wait; if there is any truth to their prophecies, then the fates will play things out in their own due time.

But the thoughts would not leave him.

Shortly after arriving at the center of operations, Macbeth wrote an actual, tangible, letter (to prevent those he didn't want to read it from doing so) to his wife Juliee and had it taken to her in her sector of the maintenance department by his most trusted employee. In this letter—who writes letters anymore?—Juliee found perplexing writings of her confused husband. He explained how he was still exhausted from last night’s victory, and then explained the Veldan predictions and how they had miraculously known about the discovery of Anaconda (which was not yet public knowledge). Finally, he mentioned that the Velda had also told him he would be “king.” The possibility was inconceivable. Juliee thought to herself about the prophecies and knew Jason was too full of the milk of human kindness to perform the necessary tasks to fulfill the prophecies. She decided he must do everything in his power—nay, she will do all in her power to bring him to the top of the hierarchy. She was well aware that her husband was not man enough to perform the horrid deed, and that she was the only Macbeth with the will to kill.

Holiday Haikus

Christmas time is here,
I don't have to go to school
It's pretty awesome.

I love Hanukkah.
I made my draddle of clay?
I am not Jewish.

This is what I know:
Kwanza is from Africa.
That is all I know.

It is Christmas Day!
Can I open my presents?
No, I'm atheist.

Presents under trees,
They are for my family.
It's pretty awesome.

Happy Holidays
camdoe.blogspot.com
wishes to wish you!

Music in the air,
The tunes are stuck in my head.
It's pretty awesome.

Outside, there is snow.
It is cozy warm in here.
It's pretty awesome.

Today during class,
I wrote holiday haikus.
'Twas very awesome!

New Energy Source

Who Decides What Words Are Swear Words and What Words Aren't?

Click to enlarge

Due to request by a comment, here are some more writings.

Breaking up with someone is a lot like setting your self on fire while standing in a campground close to a lake. Before you dismiss this as an unsubstantiated claim, hear me out. Dating someone is good, it lets you get to know someone more and get to know what you would like in your future spouse, but it's not all happy and perfect. Sometimes, things just aren't right. Not for any really specific reasons, just because it was not meant to be. But anyway, back to the metaphor. You're just sitting there, and getting covered in gasoline (preparing to break up with your significant other.) And it's all peachy, but your getting more nervous. Sure, you might have done this before, but it's not something that is easy to remember, it's such a fleeting things. So your heart starts pounding with anticipation of the inevitable.

And then you say it. Boom, the match is ignited and you're on fire. The heart panics, you don't know what the reaction might be. Who knows? It might just blow you up and you die instantly (she hates you) or maybe it'll just burn for a while and suck. Sure, she'll be upset, but she can't hate you forever. Probably. So here you are, on fire, because she's ticked and it hurts to have someone you care about hurt. But sometimes, things are necessary. (I don't think I can supoprt self-ignition as a necessity, however.)

Alas! There is respite after the hurt. The lake is near! You can run to the lake as soon as your friends who helped set you on fire (significant other) let you. So it kind of depends on whether she is quick to forgive or if you don't like her enough to care. If she is quick, it is as though your friends let you set yourself on fire on the shore to let you get to water quickly. But if she does not, then you are on fire in the middle of the woods and have to find solace after lots of painful running, which only fuels the fire. Or if you just don't care, then you are close the shore, too...with no friends.

Either way, there is a while of pain in both breakups and self-inflicted human combustion, but there is an inevitable end to both. And boy does jumping in the water feel good.

Ok, maybe they aren't that similar.

I just don't like running around the woods on-fire unsure of where the lake is. It's hard to find the lake when your vision is obscured by fire and your oxygen is being burned all around you as you run in circles, feeding the flame with new oxygen as you cover more ground.

Abstinence

Ugg Boots

A Fictional Autobiography: Chapter I

Birth, the Worst Day of My Life

It all started when I came out of my mom. I'm kind of glad I don't remember that day. I think it would have been pretty bad and definitely the worst day of my life. First, I slid headfirst out of my mom's vagina. Now, that's disgusting enough. Not to mention, I'm pretty clausterphobic, so that was probably really scary. Then a doctor slapped...no no...ruthlessly beat me until I cried. On top of that, the mean doctor chopped off my feeding tube! Plus, I couldn't see anything. I mean, I'd just been in the dark for nine months. I had NO idea what was going on. It probably took my eyes a while to adjust to the blinding brilliance of the outside. And then, WITHOUT asking me, the doctor cut off the skin on my penis! He cut it off...with a knife!!! That really hurt! At least, I assume it hurt. And then, to top it all off, a lady took me and put me in a room full of lots of other annoying, crying babies. Yup, all and all, I'm glad I don't remember that day. I think it would have been pretty terrible.

How to Feel Really Manly #2

One of the General Populace's most common mistakes:

"I could care less"

Wait. The way that's used all the time--it doesn't make sense.
Think about it.
Don't you mean you couldn't care less?
Basically people are always saying, "Yeah, I care about that more than I should." Instead of "I don't care about that at all." Weird, huh.

"What's wrong? ... Nevermind, I could care less."
"Don't you mean you couldn't care less?"
"I could care less about your stupid grammar rules."
"I doubt it."

Head Over Heels in Love

AIM

This is the average teen's instant message conversation in its entirety

Abercrombie

Time Alotted Vs. Time Spent

My greatest attribute:

Sweet and Sour Pork

Cam is posting now.

I hope you can read the text. Here are some more graphs, based in fact, for your enjoyment:




































Sure, Mondays suck, but I can do a little bit of work. But Thursday is the day before Friday, so I start losing it... then Friday. Well. There just shouldn't be work or school on Friday. No one does anything anyway.

Midgets

When I come around a corner and I see a dwarf, I can't help but laugh. Not because I'm a jerk...well, partly because of that...I mean...I don't want to offend the little guy or anything. I just think it's kind of funny. When you approach a corner, there could be anything around that corner. Anything! The girl of your dreams, treasure, a parade, a steed, a tabloid stand, a parole officer...infinite possibilities. But nay! The first thing you see is a very little person. It's just so perfectly random!

The Forgotten

This is a tribute to that which is no longer with us,
The things that might have changed the world,
The words that might have comforted or soothed,
The tunes that might have stuck in heads for days,
The verses that might have been repeated for ages.
This is a tribute to the laughs that might have been had,
The pranks that could have been pulled, the questions that
Could have been answered, and the rewards that might
Have been received. But alas. We forgot to remember them,
And now they're gone.

How to Feel Really Manly #1

Bible Verses

Hair Vs. Photos

chips