Watch the show Finding Bigfoot on Animal Planet. Write down information the hosts give about Big foot. Buy a plaster casting set for around 20 dollars from here. Make 2 large feet molds using this photo from a Big foot website for scale. So it doesn’t look too perfect, add in a deformity on one of the toes, maybe add some wrinkles in the plaster to make it look like bent skin. Using industrial strength adhesive you can buy from Sears glue the mold to an old pair of shoes and step heavy in loose or muddy ground for 2-3 steps. Make cell phone quality youtube video “finding” the foot prints. Submit it to the researchers for Finding Bigfoot. If asked questions about evidence, repeat information from earlier episodes that hosts said was factual. They will just assume you had no reason to fake it and believe you no matter what you say, that’s usually how it’s done anyway.
Congrats!, you are now on TV. Of course you could always just get pregnant.
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As someone who aspires to one day make money off of words similar to these, arranged in a way no where near the way these words are being arranged now, I have realized that for all intensive purposes I hate literature. How can you hate literature, you might ask? Well reader, let me take you on a magical journey full of arrogance and criticism, the likes of which my non existent resume gives absolutely no credit to.
First off I would like to specify what I mean by literature and give you what is more formally known as my “Working definition”. The dictionary program on my macbook pro defines literature as “written works, esp. those considered of superior or lasting artistic merit : a great work of literature”. When I say I hate literature, I mean to focus on the last part of this definition, the “…considered of superior or lasting artistic merit” part.
In school, like most of you, I read many books. I was shown book after book, cover after cover and told that each one was special and influential, and because of those reasons I should like them also. In a way, it seems certain books are treated by readers the same way movies like Monty Python and the Godfather are treated by cinema lovers. They should be liked because everybody who likes movies likes them and you don’t want to be left out or think differently because then you won’t be accepted by the in-crowd. It’s a lot like the beetles really. I think people only have the beetles on their ipods because either the albums got accidentally uploaded with a mass of other music from their friend’s itunes account, or they think having the beetles will make other people think they have good taste in music.
As a writer As an asshole who knows how to work a keyboard, I HATE the idea that someone should just like a book because they have been told it’s a classic or that it was on a list of burned books. Forget that. Take Catcher in The Rye, Hamlet, and The Crucible and get rid of them. I’m not going to like a book or author because my peers consider it worth while. I’ll read what I choose, appreciate what I choose and find books more eye opening, Jaw dropping and revolutionary in the 2 dollar section of a half priced book store. Literature is a pompous term invented to classify the books that sell, regardless of if their messages are still relevant. I’ll take inspiration where I see fit and to hell with your judgements.
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There was something weird about how the air tasted that morning. It was Burnt and smokey, almost like popcorn that had been kept in the microwave ten seconds too long. Since the night before had been so clear and cold, I thought nothing of it. I blamed the taste on old chimney smoke, still floating around, waiting to be blown away by the next gust of wind to come ashore.
As the day wore own however, the taste didn’t go away. In-fact it did the exact opposite. As the hours passed the taste grew stronger, leading me at one point to feel like I was sitting at a campfire. I began to look at the people around me, hoping to see if anyone was having as hard a time as I was. But no one seemed to be tasting the same air. They walked happily along, not showing any signs of disgust. That’s when I got scared.
I began to ask myself why I was the only one tasting the smoke. Was it something wrong with me, was I developing a brain tumor? That night I fell asleep uncertain of my future, hoping that in the morning I would wake up and this would all be gone.
Not long after I fell asleep, it seems, I was woken up by a bang and light pounding against my eyelids. As I opened my weary eyes, a dark outline standing in my door frame began to take shape. Shadowed by the light from the hallway pouring in behind it, the outline just stood there.
Thinking about it now, the bang must have been the door flying open and breaking the lock I had secured moments before going to bed.
For what seemed like hours we just watched each other. When I finally gathered enough courage to speak to it, the figure shot across the room, grabbed me by the throat and slammed me down in the bed. It began to examin me. It’s face was within inches of mine and I could see It had no eyes, nose or mouth. Just a solid black face, tilting from side to side like a dog.
The smokey smell was also present, but stronger than ever before. This thing was responsible the smoke, this creature had been stalking me all day, waiting for a chance to confront me. As I realized this, the figure let go. It pulled away and began a slow but steady walk to the closet, it’s head still facing my direction. As it’s black complexion began to disappear in the equally dark closet, the smell followed suit. Disappearing the same time it did.
I never smelt that smell, or saw that figure again.
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From your Fucking heart, not your fucking wallet.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
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I just received this in my inbox. “this is embarrassing.. but i get a free bottle every time someone buys one at mangoaff725(dõt)com and these things work better than crack. i friggin lost 15lbs in 2 weeks.. try them. they seriously work like crazy.”
Welcome to spam Tumblr…….it’s a bitch
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The world can be a horribly disgusting place to live. It’s not because humans are naturally greedy, flawed or born with sin, no. It’s because people tell themselves they are, and use it as an excuse.
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I will begin this post how it seems I begin many others.
Those of you who take the time to read what I write, know that I haven’t written anything worth while in months. (It seems to be a trend.)
The reason I am here today, is to express my growing discontent for what this website has become. The first of my college friends to sign on and tune in, I saw tumblr as a place for personal expression. I saw it as a place to learn the experiences of others thru many different artistic viewpoints and talents. I thought I could learn something here.
At first, tumblr was a beautiful place. I considered it a personal internet renaissance, if you’ll allow me to use that term loosely. It was so refreshing to see paintings and pictures, to read poems and stories that I thought I had stumbled upon the one website that properly used the internet.
I was soon proven wrong.
What started out as simple re-posts turned into massive viral chains. Original content not only became scarce, but the lists of people reposting it became so long that the authors and artists responsible for those pieces slowly lost credit and recognition. Tumblr turned into the recently deceased myspace bulletin board.
I understand that content posted on the internet slowly becomes apart of it, and in many ways I think that’s a good thing. But on tumblr, I believe it has gotten out of control, and only originality can save it.
I have chosen to post this, not to prove a point, but to explain my frustration. And hopefully I have added something to your dashboard that you find interesting. Hopefully this spark of passion and originality has broken up the endless stream of tattoo photos and poorly written Harry Potter memes that never seem to end.
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That the time spent searching for the moments you felt at home, Become the moments of home you want to remember.
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