Lala Land

All the following goods are original stories, works of art, etc, done by me. Some of it was homework, some of it out of boredom. Just enjoy and be plunged into a world of... like... stuff (Lala Land). Yeah, just don't plagiarize or rip any stuff off and claim it as your own. Not like you would do that, since anyone visiting my site is an awesome, honest person. Yeah...

Group Dialogue Assignment
This was assigned in my sophomore year (10th grade) for English. I don't think it had to have a moral or anything, but there seems to be one anyway. The names have been changed.

[Sirrone rings doorbell, Francisco opens door]
Sirrone: Sup, Francisco.
Francisco: Hey, Sirrone.
Kwon: Hey, Sirrone! Thanks for coming over. Great party, huh?
Carrie, Josephine, and Katy: Hi, Sirrone!
Sirrone: Hell, yeah!
Kwon: Chips are over there, music is there, and beer's over there.
Sirrone: Beeeeer! [runs over and begins chugging]
Francisco: Um... Sirrone, you might not want to drink that much.
Kwon: Yeah, Sirrone. Save some for the girls.
Sirrone: Oh, yeah! A heh heh heh. [acts drunk] Hey hey! Want some beer? It's yummy beer. Heh heh.
Katy: No, thanks, Sirrone. I have to drive home today.
Josephine: Yeah, you heard the woman. Back off.
Francisco: Aw, c'mon! Just a sip! See? Sirrone had some beer and now he's having fun!
Sirrone: Bud... weis... er... HAHAHAHAHA- [hiccup]
Josephine: [nods head in shame] That is so sad. Don't do it Katy. I'm mooching a ride off of you today so I don't want to end up smeared across the road, like that drunk Sirrone's gonna be if he drives.
Francisco: Whaddya talking about? Sirrone's not drunk.
Sirrone: Whaaa?... "smeared." Funny word. A heheheheh...
Katy: Oh, geez. Get a hold of yourself. You guys actually expect me to end up like Sirrone here?
Kwon and Francisco: ... well... um...
Josephine: I don't think so! Katy's our designated driver and if she ends up like Sirrone here, then we're all dead.
Katy: Yeah. Like, damn right!
Kwon: C'mon... just have a sip. It's not gonna affect you that much.
Carrie: ... yeah. Whatever. Let's go, Josephine and Katy. How about another party with sober, less obnoxious guys?
Josephine and Katy: Yeah, we're outta here. [leave]
[Francisco whacks Sirrone on the back of the head]

Walter Mitty
Another freshman English assignment, this one in English 9, our group was supposed to recite a section of the fictional story of a guy named Walter Mitty. Well, our group misunderstood the assignment and sort-of redid our section and acted it out. The original is the short story "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" by James Thurber. The remake of the portion of the story was a group effort by Ceron, Ed, Jeff, and me.

SFX Guy: plane sound FX
Plane: fly around
SFX Guy: shooting sound FX
Plane: get shot down
[Doctor comes and loads Raleigh into "ambulance" and drives away
[Sergeant enters and solutes to Mitty]
Sergeant: The cannonading has got the wind up in young Raleigh, sir.
Mitty: Toss him in the big heap o' dead guys with the others. I'll fly alone.
[Sergeant signals to Doctor, who drags away Raleigh]
Sergeant: But you can't, sir. It takes two men to handle that bomber and the Archies are pounding hell out of the air. Von Richtman's circus is between here and Soulier, sir.
Mitty: Circus? No, there's no time for clowns and elephants, Seargeant. Somebody's got to get that ammunition dump. I'm going over. Spot of brandy?
[Mitty pours a drink for Sergeant and one for himself as there's an explosion]
Mitty: A bit of a near thing.
Sergeant: The box barrage is closing in, sir.
Mitty: We only live once, Sergeant... or do we?
Seargeant: I dunno. It's your dream.
[Mitty pours another brandy]
Sergeant: I never see a man could hold his brandy like you, sir.
[Mitty stands up and straps on gun]
Sergeant: It's forty kilometers through hell, sir.
Mitty: After all, what isn't?
[More explosions and stuff outside. Mitty hums as he leaves, then turns around]
Mitty: Cheerio!
Sergeant: Cocoa Crispies!

Here's yet another English 9 assignment. Yes, it was a great class (no, really, I liked it). Our last unit was poetry.


There was a duck, Dan, from Japan.
He drove in a big, roomy van.
Crashed into an ape,
he tried to escape,
but ended up rotisserie Dan.


Pillows from the rainbow sky,
In the palm, light powdery chalk.
Aroma of dreams, soft and sweet,
Scrapes of pebble and dirt to ears.
A breeze is felt, cool and frosty.



Storm raging in sky.
Wrath of dark clouds closing in.
I watch TV now.


This is a Honk-Gronk.
Honk-Gronks hang in humid, horrible, heated huts.
Honk-Gronks hunger for hairy hogs and humongous, hopeless hippos.
Honk-Gronks have a liking for happily heaving hiccups on holidays.
Honk-Gronks are hulking, hardly huggable, hatter-mad, and huskey.
Honk Gronks hack hairballs, hit and hurt homeowners, and hunt hippies who help hamsters.


Lazy, boring.
Relaxing, eating, sleeping.
Shelter, family, classmates, lectures.
working, studying, socializing.
Stressed, tedious.


I used to be a lowly bush
But now I'm a towering redwood.

I used to be a butter knife
But now I'm shiny dagger.

I used to be a ratty ice cream truck
But now I'm a grand Oscar Meyer Weinermobile.

I used to be bumpy wooden floorboards
But now I'm smooth and shiny slabs of marble.

I used to be a crumbling sand castle
But now I'm an indestructible fortress.

I used to be a buzzing kazoo
But now I'm a blaring tuba.

The packet is given, six pages of work,
crammed with assignments, which none I dare shirk.
The due date is set, plenty three weeks from now.
That's some leisurely time; I won't have a cow.
The days come and go, but no need to worry,
a couple weeks left, so what's the big hurry?
The sun rises and sets, along with the moon,
yet no sign of the packet, it's still a week soon.
The Friday before, my friend phones me at night.
"The packet due Monday has four essays, not three, right?"
Instead of responding, to my diligent friend,
I frantically question, "The packet's due when?"
I whip out the packet-- it's all blank and bare.
I swore I wrote something, but there ain't nothin' there!
I thumb through the pages, to fill what I might know,
but I don't remember this stuff! It's from three weeks ago!
The night before Monday, I stare at the pages,
If raccoons and ducks worked, would they get the same wages?
I wake myself up; the daydreaming must end.
So I turn to my keyboard, and chat with a friend.
The hours slip by, the crickets stop chirping,
The sounds of the night, are replaced by my burping.
My last soda is gone, my strength is depleting.
But the packet is done!.. though with BS secreting.
My weekend has passed, but it was no vacation,
Because of my choice-- my procrastination.
I ponder the future, the packets arriving.
Will I delay? Well, I'm still surviving.