Wonderwall by Oasis
(Story 3)
I guess it was my fault. It was supposed to be tonight, but I blew it. It was as simple as having dinner, taking a walk on the beach, and proposing to her on the edge of the cool, soft sand. I had it all planned out too- I ran the entire scene through my head at least a hundred times the night before, accounting for every little detail just so I could make sure it would go perfectly.
Next week would be three years, seven months. 184 weeks. It seems like only yesterday that I met her though, at the end of a supermarket in the poultry isle. The first time I saw her, I knew it was meant to be. Love at first sight doesn’t just happen in movies you know. She was struggling with the muscular, weighty chicken leg when I first approached her, offering my hand in assistance. I carried that thing all the way across isle 3 to her car- I never expected an errand like that to be so tiring. But then again, love is a crazy thing. It’ll make you do nearly anything.
When she ended it though, she ended me. She ended everything I had to live for everything I had ever been able to cherish in my entire life. I imagined myself as an old man, living alone in a tired old flat with thirteen black cats and an excessive supply of Gouda cheese, and knew I simply couldn’t go on. My soul felt lost amidst my thoughts, my heart pounding harder, ready to rip through my chest when she uttered those last words: “I’m sorry Jamaal; you’re too chunky for me. This relationship is geometrically impossible.”
I told her I could change. I told her I could lessen the obtuse angle of my stomach and redeem myself. But no, she wouldn’t listen. She refused to believe that the SAS postulate could prove the new dimensions of my beater-belly, and left me for an isosceles-built Latino who worked on the beach as an umbrella renter.
From that day, I became the poultry in isle 3 that I had once courageously carried the distance of an entire supermarket. I became that weighty piece of chicken on the rack that people always struggled with, that nuisance in the freezer section that always gave you the chills and made you shiver when you came near it. Except this time, I had no one to carry me. I was the poor old little chicken egg who ever so delightfully managed to roll myself off of a cliff before having the chance to hatch, smashing myself into millions of tiny, sharp emo-tastic pieces upon hitting the concrete floor, throwing myself way beyond repair just like poor old little humpty dumpty. To think I used to laugh at that good back in the day when we had naptime in class. And from that day on, my life turned to crime.
Since then, I’ve thought about my decision many, many times. Surely more times than the number of sheep I can count before I go to bed, but definitely less than the distance from Earth to Pluto in inches. I think about the atrocious crimes I’ve committed since then too, shoplifting all of those cherry flavored cough drops and all of that cotton candy from the general store down the block. Through all my thinking though, I’ve never found a way out- a way to save myself from the terrible fate I foolishly bounded upon myself because I was irrationally in love. I’ve figured out why though- it’s because I still am. It’s because she’s still always the last thing I think about every night before I go to bed, and she’s still the first thing that comes to my mind when I wake up in the morning.
“I said maybe
You’re gonna be the one that saves
And after all
You’re my wonderwall.”
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Imondi's Late to Class
Imondi's Late to Class
(Story 2)
Some say he was looking for his girlfriend at the local pet store, listening to the harmonious chirping of the magnificently colored parrots in order to try to locate her, somehow trapped and encaged within the body of a bird. Other say he was down at the Bakery, using his deft fingers to carefully roll and shape the heavy dough to make his own exquisite creation of the infamous Pineapple Pizza a la mode. But I know the real reason. I know why Imondi was late to his undeniably remarkable 6th period Creative Writing class, and why my peers and I were deprived of his presence for a never-ending time span of 15 whole minutes.
You see, it started that morning when he was having breakfast.
“Ma, where’s the cheerios?! I need my cheerios Ma!”
“Michael, I told you for the billionth time, that damn Englishman stole it!”
Evidently, Mr. Imondi is quite passionate about his cheerios. So passionate that if he was to be deprived of a bowl of these honey-nut creations from G-d , he'd go ballistic and lose his marbles. It was basically his miracle drug.
Nevertheless, with an empty tank bereft of cheerios and a sad puppy face cuter than any other dog on the planet, Mr. Imondi started his routinely morning walk to school. On any other day he'd merely run to the Wal-Mart down the block, leaving the cereal isle cheerios-less in a matter of minutes. Not this time though- just recently, Wal-Mart had been bought out by Paris Hilton and had been turned to a store that exclusively only serves 'hot' walls. Many argue that this is an idiotic attempt by her to cover up the fact that she thought Wal-Mart was a place where they sell nothing but walls for constructing houses and office buildings, while others say that it is an attempt by her to make society more functional and a lot less complicated. Nevertheless, Mr. Imondi set out on his daily morning down Jericho Turnpike to Herricks High School with an empty stomach craving some scrumptious cereal on the side of a refreshing glass of cold, fresh milk.
The day started out normally like any other day would, with students racing down the high school's infamous 100 meter hallways against the grumpy morning bell and Mr. Cooper divinely splitting the vast sea of freshman blocking the doorway to his the math office. Sad and depressed, Mr. Imondi swaggered past the front office into the English wing, gingerly making a swift right turn into the dark classroom he had claimed as his during his first years at the high school. He sat down and slouched into the dark blue beanie bag his girlfriend bought him for Christmas last year, closing his eyes and quietly mourning for the sacred breakfast he was so dearly deprived of today.
Suddenly his old-fashioned crank phone, secured safely in an airtight Ziploc bag in the right pocket of his satchel, began to ring.
“Cause its all in my head; I keep thinking about her over and over again. I just can’t stand to lose her again.”
Groaning at the irony of the situation, he slid his phone out of the satchel and began to crank it, revealing a text consisting of brilliant colors and exceedingly appealing ethos.
“I have your cheerios. Meet me at the lake with a cup of tea with precisely three cubes shaped like a triangle in the middle of the cup and two tee spoons of Aunt Jemima syrup at precisely 11:30am if you want them back.”
With a rekindled look of hope in his eyes and the flight-or-fight response pumping hulk-like adrenaline throughout his body, Mr. Imondi hurdled over myriad students and teachers down the 200 wing to the English office. Using his legendary culinary skills, he skillfully heated the Golden Monkey herbs someone had bought from Teavana and left in the fridge with a note on it saying, “Property of Moose. For Emergency Use Only.” Seconds later, he artfully mixed the heated herbs with 57.2 mL of distilled water, 2 exact teaspoons of sugar, a touch of Aunt Jemima’s pancake syrup, as well as a touch of his own genius, half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Dulce de Leche flavored ice cream. With the tea in tact, Mr. Imondi raced down the building past the front office and out the main entrance, defiantly punching Willy in the face upon his egression from the building and avoiding all of the booby traps he had set up earlier that day in an attempt to stop all upperclassman students without proper identification from leaving the building during their free or their lunch period. Amen.
Taking a slight left a few hundred meters down the hill, Mr. Imondi jumped over the ragged gate. Landing upon a mountainous heap of grimy, moist dirt, he started to kick and open his stride down the last 100 meters, just passing Aakaash and Tyson Gay at the last possible second before taking the second left curve on the high schools scenic, new red track. He swiftly cut across the imaginary line dividing lane 1 from lane 2, stopping short at the far end of curve. Catching his breath while feeling the cool wind blow through his hair, Mr. Imondi loosened his grip on the warm cup of tea he had been smothering under his intractable grip and stared over the vast lake that stood before him. In the middle of the track where there once stood a vast football field (in which the Herricks High School football team had humiliated itself countless times before) now stood a canoe with a small, petite figure rowing to shore, buoyantly floating over a lovely lake that no one ever expected the high school to be able to financially acquire.
“I have brought you your tea! Now give me my sacred honey nut O’s Mr. Englishman!” yelled Mr. Imondi.
“Did you put the lime in the coconut and shake it all up!?”
With a look of impatience and growing irritation, Mr. Imondi rolled up his jeans and yelled “Open Sesame!” Upon the touch of the pencil he had been carrying over his ear, the sea before him split to reveal a dry, narrow pathway. He marched straight down the pathway to the petite Englishman who was struggling to row away from him, but was failing due to the fact that there was no water left below him at the current moment. Lifting the mug he had been clutching, Imondi poured the scorching hot tea all over the besieged lad and grabbed his most treasured possession that was so humbly modestly sitting in the boat beside the Englishman: his delicious honey-nut cheerios.
After a quick embracement with his breakfast and a small sigh of relief, Imondi slowly swaggered across the lake and up the hill, tapping the edge of the lake on his way up to allow the walls of muddy water that had previously been cleared for him to collapse upon poor old Willy, who had unfortunately decided to continue his chase after Mr. Imondi but arrived at the scene a tad too late. He gallantly trotted past the front office and down to the computer lab, grabbing a cigarette from the awareness table in front and concealing it along with his precious breakfast in his brown briefcase mere moments before he walked into his 6th period creative writing class, nodding to Mr. Frisone and giving him consolation in the fact that everything would be ok now that order was restored in the Imondi family.
“Eric, get off DJ-AJ Run. Kara, please hand me those joints, they’re meant for awareness, not for actual usage. Now guys, I want you to write a little short story about why I’m late to class. Make it good, or else my beard will be on your case.”
(Story 2)
Some say he was looking for his girlfriend at the local pet store, listening to the harmonious chirping of the magnificently colored parrots in order to try to locate her, somehow trapped and encaged within the body of a bird. Other say he was down at the Bakery, using his deft fingers to carefully roll and shape the heavy dough to make his own exquisite creation of the infamous Pineapple Pizza a la mode. But I know the real reason. I know why Imondi was late to his undeniably remarkable 6th period Creative Writing class, and why my peers and I were deprived of his presence for a never-ending time span of 15 whole minutes.
You see, it started that morning when he was having breakfast.
“Ma, where’s the cheerios?! I need my cheerios Ma!”
“Michael, I told you for the billionth time, that damn Englishman stole it!”
Evidently, Mr. Imondi is quite passionate about his cheerios. So passionate that if he was to be deprived of a bowl of these honey-nut creations from G-d , he'd go ballistic and lose his marbles. It was basically his miracle drug.
Nevertheless, with an empty tank bereft of cheerios and a sad puppy face cuter than any other dog on the planet, Mr. Imondi started his routinely morning walk to school. On any other day he'd merely run to the Wal-Mart down the block, leaving the cereal isle cheerios-less in a matter of minutes. Not this time though- just recently, Wal-Mart had been bought out by Paris Hilton and had been turned to a store that exclusively only serves 'hot' walls. Many argue that this is an idiotic attempt by her to cover up the fact that she thought Wal-Mart was a place where they sell nothing but walls for constructing houses and office buildings, while others say that it is an attempt by her to make society more functional and a lot less complicated. Nevertheless, Mr. Imondi set out on his daily morning down Jericho Turnpike to Herricks High School with an empty stomach craving some scrumptious cereal on the side of a refreshing glass of cold, fresh milk.
The day started out normally like any other day would, with students racing down the high school's infamous 100 meter hallways against the grumpy morning bell and Mr. Cooper divinely splitting the vast sea of freshman blocking the doorway to his the math office. Sad and depressed, Mr. Imondi swaggered past the front office into the English wing, gingerly making a swift right turn into the dark classroom he had claimed as his during his first years at the high school. He sat down and slouched into the dark blue beanie bag his girlfriend bought him for Christmas last year, closing his eyes and quietly mourning for the sacred breakfast he was so dearly deprived of today.
Suddenly his old-fashioned crank phone, secured safely in an airtight Ziploc bag in the right pocket of his satchel, began to ring.
“Cause its all in my head; I keep thinking about her over and over again. I just can’t stand to lose her again.”
Groaning at the irony of the situation, he slid his phone out of the satchel and began to crank it, revealing a text consisting of brilliant colors and exceedingly appealing ethos.
“I have your cheerios. Meet me at the lake with a cup of tea with precisely three cubes shaped like a triangle in the middle of the cup and two tee spoons of Aunt Jemima syrup at precisely 11:30am if you want them back.”
With a rekindled look of hope in his eyes and the flight-or-fight response pumping hulk-like adrenaline throughout his body, Mr. Imondi hurdled over myriad students and teachers down the 200 wing to the English office. Using his legendary culinary skills, he skillfully heated the Golden Monkey herbs someone had bought from Teavana and left in the fridge with a note on it saying, “Property of Moose. For Emergency Use Only.” Seconds later, he artfully mixed the heated herbs with 57.2 mL of distilled water, 2 exact teaspoons of sugar, a touch of Aunt Jemima’s pancake syrup, as well as a touch of his own genius, half a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Dulce de Leche flavored ice cream. With the tea in tact, Mr. Imondi raced down the building past the front office and out the main entrance, defiantly punching Willy in the face upon his egression from the building and avoiding all of the booby traps he had set up earlier that day in an attempt to stop all upperclassman students without proper identification from leaving the building during their free or their lunch period. Amen.
Taking a slight left a few hundred meters down the hill, Mr. Imondi jumped over the ragged gate. Landing upon a mountainous heap of grimy, moist dirt, he started to kick and open his stride down the last 100 meters, just passing Aakaash and Tyson Gay at the last possible second before taking the second left curve on the high schools scenic, new red track. He swiftly cut across the imaginary line dividing lane 1 from lane 2, stopping short at the far end of curve. Catching his breath while feeling the cool wind blow through his hair, Mr. Imondi loosened his grip on the warm cup of tea he had been smothering under his intractable grip and stared over the vast lake that stood before him. In the middle of the track where there once stood a vast football field (in which the Herricks High School football team had humiliated itself countless times before) now stood a canoe with a small, petite figure rowing to shore, buoyantly floating over a lovely lake that no one ever expected the high school to be able to financially acquire.
“I have brought you your tea! Now give me my sacred honey nut O’s Mr. Englishman!” yelled Mr. Imondi.
“Did you put the lime in the coconut and shake it all up!?”
With a look of impatience and growing irritation, Mr. Imondi rolled up his jeans and yelled “Open Sesame!” Upon the touch of the pencil he had been carrying over his ear, the sea before him split to reveal a dry, narrow pathway. He marched straight down the pathway to the petite Englishman who was struggling to row away from him, but was failing due to the fact that there was no water left below him at the current moment. Lifting the mug he had been clutching, Imondi poured the scorching hot tea all over the besieged lad and grabbed his most treasured possession that was so humbly modestly sitting in the boat beside the Englishman: his delicious honey-nut cheerios.
After a quick embracement with his breakfast and a small sigh of relief, Imondi slowly swaggered across the lake and up the hill, tapping the edge of the lake on his way up to allow the walls of muddy water that had previously been cleared for him to collapse upon poor old Willy, who had unfortunately decided to continue his chase after Mr. Imondi but arrived at the scene a tad too late. He gallantly trotted past the front office and down to the computer lab, grabbing a cigarette from the awareness table in front and concealing it along with his precious breakfast in his brown briefcase mere moments before he walked into his 6th period creative writing class, nodding to Mr. Frisone and giving him consolation in the fact that everything would be ok now that order was restored in the Imondi family.
“Eric, get off DJ-AJ Run. Kara, please hand me those joints, they’re meant for awareness, not for actual usage. Now guys, I want you to write a little short story about why I’m late to class. Make it good, or else my beard will be on your case.”
Green Eggs & Ham
Green Eggs and Ham
(Story 1)
I could start with a rhyme and throw you a dime, or slap you in the face and cause some disgrace, but I won’t. I won’t do any of that because Vermont isn’t a state, but a ski resort. I won’t do any of that because Blueberry muffins aren’t truly blue in color. Most importantly though, I won’t do any of that because Green Eggs and Ham have nothing to do with Sam I Am.
It all started in Zimbabwe, while Eric was visiting his long lost cousin Jama’al. The year was fourteen hundred ninety two, approximately two days after Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Eric was on a quest to retrieve Arjun’s mulch, which he was to inherit after finally passing Mr. Imondi’s period 6 creative writing class. There was one problem though- the Leprechauns had at last succeeded in revolting against their gruesome Australian oppressors, and were now carrying out their ultimate plan, nicknamed Operation Pot o’ Gold.
Their plan was simple, but efficient. They planned to place a rainbow to connect every household and family to the Dead Sea, in which they placed a large, exotic, man-eating fish know as ‘The Kurtin.’ With some Irish propaganda and a touch of Gold to fuel the human greed, the Leprechauns planned to have every human selfishly walk into this efficiently and ingenuously devised trap.
This little plan was to take place on the 17th of March, the exact day Eric had planned to begin his voyage to claim his rightful mulch. His Leprechaun senses tingled the night before though, giving Eric a warning of the ominous events that were to occur the next day. Unprofessional in the field of Leprechauns, Eric decided to consult the almighty search engine for what he should do next. He googled various terms related to the infamous Leprechauns in an attempt to find any weaknesses they might have, in an attempt to find some sort of way to cunningly put down their pursuit for world domination. It took him many hours to courageously combat the pub pop-ups and scrumptious spam the Leprechauns had released on the web like a hungry pack of dogs in a global attempt to fry human motherboards. At the end though, he prevailed. He found the secret to their constant failure, the kryptonite that would weaken their Superman.
Jolting out of his cabin in Copake, he jumped into the ongoing 5K that was currently proceeding and ran alongside Marco Polo, the leader of the Port Washington pack. It was a close race and Eric regretted having to jump out a few hundred meters before the finish line on the Polo Field of Bethpage State Park, but he had to take Mr. Imondi’s beard to descend down the treacherous mountains of Copake if he wanted to get to the town in time to pick up his order from the Deli. The Copake Deli’s infamous Green Eggs and Ham were that kryptonite he needed to suppress the revolting Leprechauns and put an end to their illogical tyranny and madness. Upon reaching the Deli, he quickly and swiftly blitzed past enemy lines, charging several Leprechauns himself and releasing the legendary Willy from his pokeball to hold off any increasing resistance by the Leprechauns. He slid through the backdoor and swiped the delectable dish off the counter, leaving a wad of change on the counter and storming out before the cashier even had a chance to offer if he’d like a drink with it. You see, the Deli has this exquisite policy that if they forget to offer you a drink, you eat free for the rest of your life there between the hours of 2 in the morning to 5 in the morning. Consequently, Eric became nocturnal after this incident and changed his lifestyle completely, but that’s an entirely different story in itself.
(Story 1)
I could start with a rhyme and throw you a dime, or slap you in the face and cause some disgrace, but I won’t. I won’t do any of that because Vermont isn’t a state, but a ski resort. I won’t do any of that because Blueberry muffins aren’t truly blue in color. Most importantly though, I won’t do any of that because Green Eggs and Ham have nothing to do with Sam I Am.
It all started in Zimbabwe, while Eric was visiting his long lost cousin Jama’al. The year was fourteen hundred ninety two, approximately two days after Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Eric was on a quest to retrieve Arjun’s mulch, which he was to inherit after finally passing Mr. Imondi’s period 6 creative writing class. There was one problem though- the Leprechauns had at last succeeded in revolting against their gruesome Australian oppressors, and were now carrying out their ultimate plan, nicknamed Operation Pot o’ Gold.
Their plan was simple, but efficient. They planned to place a rainbow to connect every household and family to the Dead Sea, in which they placed a large, exotic, man-eating fish know as ‘The Kurtin.’ With some Irish propaganda and a touch of Gold to fuel the human greed, the Leprechauns planned to have every human selfishly walk into this efficiently and ingenuously devised trap.
This little plan was to take place on the 17th of March, the exact day Eric had planned to begin his voyage to claim his rightful mulch. His Leprechaun senses tingled the night before though, giving Eric a warning of the ominous events that were to occur the next day. Unprofessional in the field of Leprechauns, Eric decided to consult the almighty search engine for what he should do next. He googled various terms related to the infamous Leprechauns in an attempt to find any weaknesses they might have, in an attempt to find some sort of way to cunningly put down their pursuit for world domination. It took him many hours to courageously combat the pub pop-ups and scrumptious spam the Leprechauns had released on the web like a hungry pack of dogs in a global attempt to fry human motherboards. At the end though, he prevailed. He found the secret to their constant failure, the kryptonite that would weaken their Superman.
Jolting out of his cabin in Copake, he jumped into the ongoing 5K that was currently proceeding and ran alongside Marco Polo, the leader of the Port Washington pack. It was a close race and Eric regretted having to jump out a few hundred meters before the finish line on the Polo Field of Bethpage State Park, but he had to take Mr. Imondi’s beard to descend down the treacherous mountains of Copake if he wanted to get to the town in time to pick up his order from the Deli. The Copake Deli’s infamous Green Eggs and Ham were that kryptonite he needed to suppress the revolting Leprechauns and put an end to their illogical tyranny and madness. Upon reaching the Deli, he quickly and swiftly blitzed past enemy lines, charging several Leprechauns himself and releasing the legendary Willy from his pokeball to hold off any increasing resistance by the Leprechauns. He slid through the backdoor and swiped the delectable dish off the counter, leaving a wad of change on the counter and storming out before the cashier even had a chance to offer if he’d like a drink with it. You see, the Deli has this exquisite policy that if they forget to offer you a drink, you eat free for the rest of your life there between the hours of 2 in the morning to 5 in the morning. Consequently, Eric became nocturnal after this incident and changed his lifestyle completely, but that’s an entirely different story in itself.
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