The Very Long Post I Promised To Post
I just got my English Literature results back from my teacher, and I got the second highest results in the class! (First spot in my own school; there are only two students from my school taking this subject, and I beat her by three whole percent.) This is kind of surprising to me, considering that I only started the tuition class in June—four months after the rest of the class. Maybe I just have this weird affinity for bombastic writing. Seriously, I mean it. After all, I’ve read tonnes of books, including Lewis Carroll (the guy was the original nutty professor), C. S. Lewis (the Narnia series etc.,), Victor Hugo (Les Miserables and The Hunchback of Notre Dame), Eoin Colfer (the Artemis Fowl series), Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray), Charlotte Bronte (Jane Eyre), Jane Austen (Pride and Prejudice and Emma), Chang Jung (Wild Swans), J. K. Rowling (duh), David Eddings (the Silmarrillion series), Agatha Christie (the Poirot cases and the Miss Marple series etc.), and Arthur Conan Doyle (the Holmes stories) among others. Not to mention the fact that I could more easily summarize The Hunchback of Notre Dame than my English exam. Or that I could tell you ten different ways to murder undetected, but couldn’t tell you the difference between a diode and a transistor (apart from the spelling). I guess some people are born to be weirdoes. (And yes, that is the correct spelling. Just ask MS Word.)
The weather recently took a turn for the worse. Just when I was exulting in the daily downpours, they stopped. (Incidentally, I have noticed that just when I start getting used to a good thing, it stops. It’s an interesting phenomenon. Also, when I bet, I’m almost certain to lose—even if it appears to be a sure bet. I once bet that I’d get the highest English score in the class and lo and behold, I didn’t. I think I may just be able to halt Real Madrid’s success rate. Want to bet they’ll win just once more?) This sudden sunny weather, while moderately enjoyable, has led to an increase in insect activity. Normally, I like insects. They don’t bug me the way they do other people; I don’t know why. I squash roaches like nothing else, I hold grasshoppers and crickets in my bare hands, no problem. In fact, I gave the Pig a freeze-dried grasshopper for his birthday this year, which just reveals my true sick nature. Unfortunately, the insects in question are ticks. Not exactly insects in the strictest sense of the word, but they are there, and they are all over my dog. In fact, she’s got so many ticks on her that I can’t see a square inch of fur on her anymore; it’s all covered by ticks. My brother’s bathed her in anti-tick solution, injected poison into her, picked the ticks off her one by one…you name it, we’ve probably done it, but the ticks are still going forth and multiplying into the millions. I believe that my dog is the proud home to a whole new strain of mutant ticks bent on colonising the canine world.
The PMR (Pots of Murky Rot) is going on now, so I and the rest of my class are officially on holiday. Well, not all. A select few are still attending classes on the pretext that they are weak in certain subjects—as if I didn’t know that they get straight A’s already! The list of Overly Hardworking People or Teacher Pleasers includes: Roger, Herr Robson, Age Ho, and The Computer Expert. It’s no surprise that the first two are there, of course. There’s a certain female in the next class—Meow—whose pheromones have got them and have caused them to now sit on either side of her at every opportunity. There is, of course, no need to say which she prefers. Unfortunately, Herr Robson has certain undesirable traits regarding objects he desires (see Second List of Herr Robson below). All I can say is that Cupid’s arrows went wide of the mark again, as usual. As for myself…Jack asked me the other day if I liked the charitable classmate in more than the usual way, and I replied in the negative. As if I did…or even if I did, as if I was going to admit it! In any case, if I should ever have the bad luck to become enamoured of another, I’ll post a sickeningly sweet poem somewhere. Poems seem to have become the favoured method of announcing feelings these days. I always thought prose was OK, but I wonder why and whence free verse came. No rhyme, no rhythm…I’m not even sure it deserves the name verse. Otherwise I could just split this post up into little chunks and stanzas, publish it, and call it a poem, and let unfortunate students dissect it for meanings and values. Not that I can write any good poetry myself. Just ask the Pig: I can easily parody or butcher songs (I’ve rewritten the chorus of Where Is the Love to tease Roger’s affair) but I’m no good at making things up. It’s probably for people like me that free verse was created: so that any old fool could make something unintelligible up and call him or her self a poet!
Oh, by the way, the SPM (Sickening Pots of Mire) is coming up. In about 26 days more, to be inexact. It’s a pity freedom is so short-lived. And now that I’ve submitted my (hideously deformed, mutilated, and somewhat crumpled as well as incomplete) entry form for the A-Levels course coming up in January next year, I might as well say good-bye to any hope for a nice relaxation. However, I have decided to get myself a source of regular income. Being famous for my English, I have resolved to give English tuition to my brother’s classmates and/or his form-mates. Why not? I did, after all, get straight A’s for my Form 3 English classes. And maybe I’ll give Math or Science as well. Maybe I will. It’s worth a shot. And the money won’t hurt either. It’s just that the parents might not trust me. Come to think of it, I don’t trust the guy I see in the mirror much either. Pros and cons. If only there weren’t so many of the latter, and so few of the former!
The weather recently took a turn for the worse. Just when I was exulting in the daily downpours, they stopped. (Incidentally, I have noticed that just when I start getting used to a good thing, it stops. It’s an interesting phenomenon. Also, when I bet, I’m almost certain to lose—even if it appears to be a sure bet. I once bet that I’d get the highest English score in the class and lo and behold, I didn’t. I think I may just be able to halt Real Madrid’s success rate. Want to bet they’ll win just once more?) This sudden sunny weather, while moderately enjoyable, has led to an increase in insect activity. Normally, I like insects. They don’t bug me the way they do other people; I don’t know why. I squash roaches like nothing else, I hold grasshoppers and crickets in my bare hands, no problem. In fact, I gave the Pig a freeze-dried grasshopper for his birthday this year, which just reveals my true sick nature. Unfortunately, the insects in question are ticks. Not exactly insects in the strictest sense of the word, but they are there, and they are all over my dog. In fact, she’s got so many ticks on her that I can’t see a square inch of fur on her anymore; it’s all covered by ticks. My brother’s bathed her in anti-tick solution, injected poison into her, picked the ticks off her one by one…you name it, we’ve probably done it, but the ticks are still going forth and multiplying into the millions. I believe that my dog is the proud home to a whole new strain of mutant ticks bent on colonising the canine world.
The PMR (Pots of Murky Rot) is going on now, so I and the rest of my class are officially on holiday. Well, not all. A select few are still attending classes on the pretext that they are weak in certain subjects—as if I didn’t know that they get straight A’s already! The list of Overly Hardworking People or Teacher Pleasers includes: Roger, Herr Robson, Age Ho, and The Computer Expert. It’s no surprise that the first two are there, of course. There’s a certain female in the next class—Meow—whose pheromones have got them and have caused them to now sit on either side of her at every opportunity. There is, of course, no need to say which she prefers. Unfortunately, Herr Robson has certain undesirable traits regarding objects he desires (see Second List of Herr Robson below). All I can say is that Cupid’s arrows went wide of the mark again, as usual. As for myself…Jack asked me the other day if I liked the charitable classmate in more than the usual way, and I replied in the negative. As if I did…or even if I did, as if I was going to admit it! In any case, if I should ever have the bad luck to become enamoured of another, I’ll post a sickeningly sweet poem somewhere. Poems seem to have become the favoured method of announcing feelings these days. I always thought prose was OK, but I wonder why and whence free verse came. No rhyme, no rhythm…I’m not even sure it deserves the name verse. Otherwise I could just split this post up into little chunks and stanzas, publish it, and call it a poem, and let unfortunate students dissect it for meanings and values. Not that I can write any good poetry myself. Just ask the Pig: I can easily parody or butcher songs (I’ve rewritten the chorus of Where Is the Love to tease Roger’s affair) but I’m no good at making things up. It’s probably for people like me that free verse was created: so that any old fool could make something unintelligible up and call him or her self a poet!
Oh, by the way, the SPM (Sickening Pots of Mire) is coming up. In about 26 days more, to be inexact. It’s a pity freedom is so short-lived. And now that I’ve submitted my (hideously deformed, mutilated, and somewhat crumpled as well as incomplete) entry form for the A-Levels course coming up in January next year, I might as well say good-bye to any hope for a nice relaxation. However, I have decided to get myself a source of regular income. Being famous for my English, I have resolved to give English tuition to my brother’s classmates and/or his form-mates. Why not? I did, after all, get straight A’s for my Form 3 English classes. And maybe I’ll give Math or Science as well. Maybe I will. It’s worth a shot. And the money won’t hurt either. It’s just that the parents might not trust me. Come to think of it, I don’t trust the guy I see in the mirror much either. Pros and cons. If only there weren’t so many of the latter, and so few of the former!
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