Capital Punishment

It baffles me how much money we Massachusetts citizens pay in state taxes for prison maintenance. It costs approximately $80,000 a year to maintain the life of one prisoner in the hope that he may reform himself and return to a productive member of society. Yet a prison, by its definition of its purpose, is of no use to those who are sentenced to a life term. If they are going to be in jail for life then there is no point in their hope of reform and no need for me to pay for them. So wouldn't that $80,000 be better used towards helping the elderly or funding the school systems? Also, since this country was founded on the beliefs of justice and fair treatment it is only right that the wickedness of the crime should be matched with a punishment of equal caliber. Those who intentionally take the life of another deserve to have the same done to them. And what are we trying to do? Are we trying to show that killers can get away with murder and not reap the full consequences? People are more likely to follow through with immoral ideas if they believe the actions outweigh the risk. So by keeping killers in jail we're ultimately urging on those intending to murder since we're allowing the victim to be killed while the culprit stays alive. So again I find myself asking the same question: why is Capital Punishment illegal?

F.L.I.F.F.E.R.H.U.Z.Z.A

"Oh no! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! This CAN'T be happening. Why today? Why today of all days must  this be happening?" Jane cried as she stared anxiously into her bathroom mirror. Just below her right cheekbone laid the bane of her existence, a zit. Determined not to let this imperfection RUIN her last chance at taking a GOOD school picture, Jane quickly smeared on some coverup over the zit. She let out a sigh of relief as she saw the zit seamlessly camouflage with her naturally bronze skin.

Jane then proceeded with her usual morning routine, although a bit groggier and slower than usual. She got dressed, checked Twitter, made her bed, checked Instagram, ate breakfast, and checked Vine. All was great until she opened up Snapchat. Her spoon hit the floor with a clang when she flipped the screen to her front view camera. From where she had hidden the small zit from earlier this morning a larger one had appeared, and he seemed to have made a friend right next to it. Jane let out a shriek and ran to reapply more coverup. But the camouflage only lasted a couple seconds before the zits would reappear, always bigger and always accompanied by more. Several rounds of camouflaging later,
Jane's face was a hideous sight. In desperation she ran into her mom's room yelling for help.

"Oh honey", her mom chuckled "I'm sorry... but...you have the Flifferhuzza."
"The Fliffer-what-ah?"
"The Flifferhuzza. You know... the

FLUE LIKE ILLNESS FOR FEMALES ENHANCING RANDOM HUGE UGLY     Zany Zit Attacks. 

It's caused by the over obsession of outward appearances and is usually found in those who frequently rely on social media sites like the Facetube or whatever you kids call it. But don't worry sweetie, it only lasts for an hour or so."
"oh thank Go-"
"...that IS if you left it untreated."
"Come again?"
"If you do anything to try and prevent the natural course of this virus, it comes back even worse within the next couple of minutes and can last for a couple of days."
Accepting defeat, Jane crawled in next to her mom. "Mom", Jane whimpered "I'm not feeling good. Do you think I can stay home today?"
"Nope."
"But mom?!" shrieked Jane.
"Nope. You brought this upon yourself so you're going to school. But hey, there'll always be retakes."

A Spoiled Teenager's Petty Complaint

**This is a made up story and is not based on any specific person**

Are you kidding me? Did I not specifically say I wanted a baloney sandwich last night? I can't believe she gave me peanutbutter and jelly! I mean she's only been making my lunch for the past 11 years of school, you'd think my mom would learn to get it right by now. God and if she's going to give me the wrong lunch at least make it decent. Chunky peanutbutter? Seriously ma, when have I ever told you I liked chunky peanutbutter? She can't just assume these things when she's making my lunch in the mornings. She's just careless is what she is. This is like the time she tried to give me the Shaw's brand granola bars instead of the Quaker Oats bars which are my favorite. Brand matters. SO NO MOM! THEY DON'T TASTE THE SAME!

Why Desks?

Why do we sit in desks during class? Is there a rule in the handbook that says we have to? And if there is a rule what’s its purpose? What’s wrong with sitting on the floor or standing or sitting in a beanbag chair?

Some instructors might argue that desks are beneficial for students, but they’re wrong.  I swear these desks must have been used as a form of torture in medieval times because they’re as uncomfortable as anything. In the winter the seats are cold as ice and in the summer they’re sticky as hell making them almost impossible to get off of. And for five classes of 67 minutes students of MHS are forced to surrender their tailbones to these rock-hard contraptions and hunch over the adjoining tabletop that’s all of 2 ½ ft tall as they try to hurriedly take a quiz or jot down notes. And clearly this furniture was not made for all walks of life because anyone over the height of 5’6’’ can’t cross their legs under the desk without whacking a knee on the constraining bars that adjoin the front and side supports.

In addition, the MHS’s school desks are just a plain nuisance for students: They squeak, have graffiti written on them, tilt from side to side when one leg is shorter than the other, and always have at least one piece of gum underneath them. But one of the most annoying things about the desks are that they make students look like fools when they have to stretch across the floor, fingertips extended to maximum length, as they try to grab that eraser that rolled itself down the slanted desk and onto the floor.

So again I ask, what is the point of having us sit in these pieces of furniture that drive us students crazy? Is it just that you teachers enjoy watching us suffer in these instruments of torture?...because if you do then your succeeding. But seriously, why desks? Why the need? Why does a child’s education have to come at the cost of a bad back and a sore bottom?

Your Fired...Kinda Sort Of.

George (the employee): Knock. Knock. You wanted to see me boss?
Boss: Yes, George. Why don't you shut the door behind you and take a seat.
George: Is something wrong? You look down... oh no... you found out what the guys have been calling you around the office. It's just a joke man don't take it so seriously. But to be honest, it wouldn't kill you to wear a little extra deodorant if you know what I mean.
Boss: What? No, that's not why I called you in here. And what about the guys in the office?
George: Oh nothing, nothing. Anyways...the reason you called me into your office...?
Boss: Oh umm yes. Well you see George, the other executives and I feel that we need to make some changes around here
George: Don't tell me your getting rid of Thai Food Tuesdays?!
Boss: No George, we're not changing that. We were thinking of making changes more so to personnel.
George: Aha... gotchya...your looking to fire some people.
Boss: Yes, George.
George: Who is it? Is it Ashley down in Human Resources. You know I had a feeling she was gonna be let go soon.
Boss: Ummm, no. We were actually thinking of someone in the marketing department.
George: But there's only three of us down there. And you can't fire Steve. I mean, sure he disregards the dress code of Casual Friday's by still wearing a suit and tie, but come on, not everyone can be as cool as me and make every day Casual Friday. Plus, he's a good guy.
Boss: I know he's a good guy, but we're not firing him.
George: Then you're firing Bert? Oh God not Bert! How could you do this to him? The guy's been with the company for over forty years and this is how you repay him? I know he's old and all, but gosh man, have a heart!
Boss: George, I would never think of firing Bert, he's a great employee.
George: Well then why did you tell me you were firing someone in marketing? Grimaces. Ohhhhhh...I see what you're doing.
Boss: You do? Because I di....
George: Sure I do. You're getting me back for starting your nickname around the office. See, I told the guys you could take a joke. And you had me all worried that you were going to fire Steve and Bert. HAHA! Good one you old jokester!
Boss: ...
George: Well, it's been real fun man, but I have to go before all the good cupcakes in the conference room are gone. I'll catch up with you tomorrow morning. Actually I'll drop by in the afternoon, I'm thinking of sleeping in tomorrow. Anyways, see ya sweat-stains.

Courage

The "Leap of Faith"was the most frightening thing I had ever laid eyes on in my fourteen years of life. It was a terrifying sight even from the ground level and could not be more appropriately named. Leap of Faith is a water slide in Atlantis Resort, Bahamas that drops a near vertical sixty feet into a tube that's surrounded by a tank of sharks as if the drop itself wasn't scary enough. Yet I needed to ride it. I wanted to ride it. It was, after all, all I'd fantasized about ever since I discovered my family was going to Atlantis for vacation. But of course, I put it off till the last minute, as I always do with things that frighten me, until it was our last day at the resort. Up until this moment I had spent my vacation preparing myself. I started with intermediate slides, working my way up on the fear scale to Leap of Faith's sister slide, Abyss, a nearly identical drop without the shark tank or any form of vision as you descend into complete darkness. Now some might say that the Abyss would be scarier because you have no idea how large the drop actually is, but that's what I liked about it. You see, most of my fears can be deceived by convincing myself otherwise, such as convincing myself that my descent into darkness would take me one of the more mild slides I had been on earlier. So the Abyss was actually quite easy for me to conquer. However, there is no deceiving your mind about the sixty foot drop you are staring down to your death. And so, just as the ride says, I took a leap of faith. Or, I rather took an inch of faith as I hesitantly inched my my way down towards the slope of the slide until I let gravity take course and experienced the six most thrilling seconds of my life. Yes, I was terrified the entire time, but an act of courage can not be called courageous if there is not at least some element of fear. What makes an action courageous is the fact that you did not let that fear affect your decisions.

A Shoe Story

It's a hard knot life for us shoes.

But there is no warning for what is entailed for the life of a shoe. They don't tell you this when you're being manufactured. The beginning stages are what we shoes like to call "the glory days". You're assembled in China, given a "perfect match"(which actually isn't all that it's cracked up to be, but I'll tell you about that later) , and then you're packaged in a box, shipped off and wait on the shelves of local stores, such as Payless, to be purchased. Not so bad, that is until you actually ARE purchased, and then you're eternal misery begins.

The first day on the job I realized being a shoe stinks. I mean literally, I wreaked of musty and sweat. You'd think they'd learn to wear socks with closed toed shoes on a hot day. But then again I'm expecting too much from them, after all they don't even know how to put me on properly. Every day I'm shoved on impatiently, not even bothered to be untied as my heel is being stretched and pulled in various directions as the giant mass of foot stuffs inside me. You think this is bad? Just wait until that oaf stands up and you're forced to endure the entire weight of that person.With every step they take I can feel myself physically molding into the shape of their foot, losing that memory foam freshness I once had as I succumb to their overbearing pressure and lose myself. How quickly those new shoe praises from other humans go away as you become worn out and colors become faded from being shuffled and dragged from here to there.

And every time a human sees a spider, why is it I'm the first thing they reach for to kill it? And you just know they'll be thrashing me around for a good five minutes until they finally kill the dang thing. And as a bonus for this excruciatingly painful experience, I get to keep the squashed remains on the bottom of me. Oh joy. Then, when your wearer decides you are no longer special to them, that is when they just stop caring altogether and life just gets plain nasty. They no longer bother to avoid that mud puddle on the street or fail to notice that piece of gum directly ahead of them that I am silently screaming/praying for them to miss. They leave you in plain sight of their devil dog, so it gnaws you to bits. And I won't even tell you what I think I stepped in when I entered the public bathrooms at the beach. 

Hearing my sad tale you would think misery loves company, and that we are twin soles, but that is not the case with me and my "perfect match". Everywhere I go, he goes, always a step behind or in front, but never more than that. Do you know how annoying that is? To never have a moment to yourself without the other one always being there. It's like I don't have my own identity. And it's just humiliating when I'm put on the wrong foot. Hello? Do I look like I belong on that foot? It's enough to drive a shoe crazy! And I can't even count the number of times that son of a cobbler tripped me by stepping on my laces. My only hope of escaping this life of misery is losing my "perfect match" and going to that magical bag labeled DONATIONS where all the shoes go after they've served their time and can finally live a retired life without ever being worn again.