Oxymoron:

Traffic flow

Belt Line Vs. Age of Woman

Car Crashes

I know I am a teenager because of my mixed reaction to seeing a car accident. The grown up part of me thinks, "I hope everyone is okay," but the little boy part of me thinks, "COOOOOL, A CAR CRASH!!!!!"

Crocodile

So, funny thing I learned.
Crocodiles have these things called gastroliths. Maybe it sounds like a messy digestive problem (I don't want to imagine a crocodile with a messy digestive problem!) but it's actually just a rock an animal swallows to help digest their food.
HOLD UP!? Why do crocodiles need ROCKS to digest their food?! Have you seen their teeth? Here:

Now you've seen their teeth.

Those are not small friendly teeth. Those kill things.

BUT wait. They don't use their teeth to chew their food? They let rocks do it for them? What a waste of teeth!



animals are weird.


Gastrolith.

Haha, Mrs. Clinton. That was a good try.

I got this in the mail. And I tore it to shreds.

Metaphorically.

I kept it in tact so I could share with all of you.

Click on them to make them bigger, perhaps you can read my handwriting, then.


Seriously, though. Universal health care is not a brilliant idea. It's not that I'm against people being taken care of, but I'm against making everyone pay for the people who don't get their own elsewhere... that's like... silly. So, I get mine from Company X, and you might get yours from Firm Y, but he can't afford either one of those (and yes, it's expensive) so we (who are already paying for our OWN health care are taxed to pay for HIS! Yay Socialism!
Oh, and have you heard of the waiting lists in Canada?

Wormholes

Sometimes I drop something, but then when I look for it, it's just gone. It just isn't anywhere. I have no idea where it went. It was here, and now it's not. The only explanation for this is that wormholes are opening up on earth, catching falling objects, and sending them back to their universe.

Bike Hand Signals

I never really understood the hand signals for bikes. I can never remember which one is which. People use them so infrequently that when we see someone actually using them we think "Whoa! He just used a hand signal!" Why aren't the hand signals like this:

Oxymoron:

Good morning!

Oxymoron:

Social Networking

The Toilet Seat Inequality

I think the rule of the position of the toilet seat should be based on population of the gender within the house. Let me explain. Today, the rule is the boy has to put the seat down regardless of how many females are in the house. Even if there are fourteen boys and one girl, all fourteen boys have to be inconvenienced by putting the toilet seat down for the one girl. I, however, think that it should be based on population. Whichever gender has the majority are the ones who get the toilet seat privileges. If there are fourteen girls and one guy, then the one guy has to put the seat down, but if there are fourteen boys and one girl, then it is okay for boys to leave the seat up. If there is an equal number of each gender I believe the tie should be given to the females to honor the tradition. Women always want equality, and it's time we gave them it....in the bathroom at least.

Unnoticed

Does anyone else wonder if what they did ever happened... rather, do you wonder if it matters? If no one noticed it, it's as though nothing happened.
For example: I take out the trash sometimes when no one's around. Ok, sure, I'm nice, whatever. BUT
if no one notices that it's gone, it's as though it never happened. It's as though the garbage was just that low in the can before hand. No one knows Cameron's not the lazy idiot everyone thinks he is. Siblings think they help out more than I because they let parents know they do the few things they do do. It appears that just because I am not obnoxiously outspoken about my helping out I don't do anything. And therefore it's as though I never did them because everyone believes I didn't. Mom will often just assign me more tasks because she didn't know I had already done several things. It's as though my chores didn't happen. I couldn't have done the dishes! No one else saw me! Right?
Chores aren't the only things done without recognition. How about creating things? What if you write a song, or a book, or make something, or draw a beautiful picture, and you don't show anyone? Does it have an effect on anything else in life? Does it do any good?
If anyone does anything, but no one else notices...Did it really happen?

On the other hand, does anyone need to notice it? You can know for yourself you're not a lazy good-for-nothing expensive resident of the household. (Those words were never used in describing me, so don't think my parents are actually that mean) You can know that you're a good person. You know you've got worth and that you did take out the garbage, did turn off the oven inadvertently left on, did the dishes, didwrite a song, did draw a picture. You know you're not a waste of time and space. And it's good.

Perhaps only we need to know for ourselves that we did anything good. Or, perhaps, being human, we need someone to recognize us. I don't know.

Do you?

Macbeth Act V... yes it's the end. I'm done.

V.

“I've been watching with you for two nights,” the doctor complained, “and have yet to see what you report. When did she last walk?”

Lady Macbeth's concerned aide explained, again, to the doctor that the Lady had several times in the past weeks risen from her bed, typed a letter, saved it, encrypted it, and then returned to bed. All while still asleep. She also re-explained to the doctor that the Lady occasionally would walk through the corridors of the uppermost ring of Olympus holding an ignited flashlight. Somewhat humorously, she frequently held the light backwards, shining the light on her stomach.

The Lady walked past the two whispering nightwatchers. Immediately, they stopped their chattering. Juliee Macbeth walked awkwardly through the corridor in her nightgown carrying the obligatory flashlight backwards. Her eyes were open, but apparently not processing any stimuli. The doctor and aide watched her as she dropped the flashlight in order to relentlessly rubbed her hands, as though to wash them of some indissoluble substance. According to the aide, this was a common practice, both while awake and asleep.

The doctor recorded as Lady Macbeth ranted, all the while washing her hands of nothing, with nothing.

“Out cursed spot! Out, I say! One: two: why, then it is time to do it. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and afraid? What need we fear who knows it, when none can produce evidence. Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?”

“Do you hear that?” The doctor asked, adrenaline starting to take its course.

She did. The lady continued:

Mr. Macduff had a wife. Where is she now, I wonder? What? will these hands never be clean? No more of that, my lord, no more of that! You mar all with this starting.”

The Lady continued incoherently murmuring, whilst rubbing her hands more and more vigorously. She admitted to having had a part in the murder of president Duncan, and expressed her self-consuming grief and guilt. The doctor knew not how to help her obviously disturbed woman, as psychology was out of his area of expertise. Fortunately—well, perhaps “unfortunately” would be more appropriate, then again, perhaps not—her case mattered not for long. That same night, she, instead of returning to her bed as she had always done, brought herself to the closest garbage station, and disposed of herself.

Macduff and and Malcolm prepared an army of lower-ring, poverty-stricken warriors, armed with antique swords and axes. Not one had modern weapon: the president had confiscated them all, and launched them into the abyss of space, in an attempt to prevent an uprising such as this.

Macbeth quickly received news of the impending attack, but had no fear. He continuously repeated the prophecies concerning his safety, to himself. “None of woman born shall harm Macbeth. Not until the moons bleed!”

A distressed aide came to the fearless Macbeth, standing in the third ring, with his army prepared with the confiscated modern weapons he had supposedly tossed into space.

“There are ten thousand rebels, sir!” cried the fearful servant.

“Get the hence! Coward, flee!” the president retorted, unwaveringly confident-looking. None of woman born shall harm Macbeth. Not until the moons bleed!

Macbeth organized his defenses, blocking all the corridors connected to the elevator shafts, so as to have a force prepared for the attackers as they arrived, and to prevent a mass from congregating—only so many soldiers could ascend the elevator at a time. Macbeth set himself in the large third-ring commons area, where Banquo and his son would sit and watch the stars and the double moons orbiting the nearby planet.

The attack began. More reports about the goings on of the battle flowed from various messengers to the ever more-insane president. Shortly came the notice that his men were intentionally missing shots, and relinquishing their weapons. Some sectors' platoons refused to fight: they simply waited for the enemies, and pointed the armies toward Macbeth's lair.

In the midst of the battle came the report of Lady Macbeth's suicide. People had searched for her, but then thought to scrounge through the recent security videos and discovered the recording of her, in her sleep, placing her self in a large garbage chamber, smiling, and hitting the button labeled “open” on the wall. The doors opened and the vacuum of space promptly claimed her life.

Macbeth was unaffected. He had been so hardened by his cold-hearted murders and iron-fisted rule that nothing, not even the death of his wife, phased him.

Macbeth's other rings were easily taken. But, despite Macduff's army's increasing numbers and their knowledge of Macbeth's location, only one man entered the commons on the third ring: Jamien Macduff. Macbeth's soldiers sat, on their benches and allowed Macduff to pass. Macbeth, confident as ever, knew he could not die.

Macduff walked slowly toward the tyrant, holding his still-unbloodied sword at an angle to his side. “I have no words: My voice is in my sword, thou bloody villain.”

He charged.

Macbeth, realizing it would be dishonorable to simply blast the foe, unsheathed his sword and deflected the wild swing, with his own. Their blades clashed and Macbeth's army became quiet as they watched, hoping for Macduff's victory.

“None of woman born shall harm Macbeth. Not until the moons bleed!” Macbeth repeated, trying to bring himself strength in his time of need. He paused, and glanced outside the gargantuan window at the two moons surrounding the nearby planet. The closest star, planet, and moons were aligned such that an eclipse began. The refraction of the light curving through the planet's atmosphere created a red border around the planet's shadow on the moons behind it. The red shadows struck fear into the marrow of his bone. The moons bled. While Macbeth stared at the moons' pores pouring blood, Macduff whispered into his enemy's ear, “I was torn from my mother's womb and she died while giving birth. I was never truly born.”

A single slash decapitated the tyrant.

Music

Our repertoire is expanding--it now includes a little music! Click here to hear a sonata I wrote for music theory! There's also a short piece I wrote a while ago on that site, here. It's catchy and sounds like something from an old videogame, but it's only like a minute long. You'll have to download something to hear the music, but trust me, it will not harm/slow down your computer at all. And if you are worried about it, just uninstall it afterwards. I'm a little obsessive about my computer's security, so if I would install it, so can you.

-Cam

I do.