ASL Mad Libs American Sign Language Mad LibRules: A person fluent in sign language signs random signs to people who know nothing about them at all. The ignorant people guess what they think the signs mean but have to coordinate it into a story, each player taking a turn at providing either a word or part of a sentence based on what it looks like the person is signing.Me and my brother's played this, one of their g-friends providing the signs, this is what resulted:BIG PROBLEM IN TRENCHTONThere once was a land with many suicides in a trench because there was no water.People began to throw up and worms started crawling into their mouths and out. T
Flegan and Moscar The recent storm had cleansed the air and the sun shone bright causing steam to rise off the damp world. Pedals gleamed and droplets shown like diamonds creating a blinding glare. Flegan and Moscar were brothers; since they were maggots they had stayed together and looked out for each other. Like drunken fighter pilots they spiraled through the air zigzagging back and forth uninhibited by gravity. "Hey man, did you see the look on that guys face when I flew in his ear?" "That was hilarious man; the dude looked like he was having a seizure!" "You wanna get lunch at the dog house or the manure pile?" "Naw, lets see if the old lady is ma
Pirate's Favorite Things song A Pirate's Favorite Things, Song(To the tune from "The Sound of Music": My Favortie things)Muskets and Cannons we slaughter for Pleasure,Pillage and plunder we burry our treasure.While scrubbing the decks the crew hollers and sings,These are a few of our favorite things.Screams filed with terror, makes the blood curdle,Stranded on islands, then sail way on turtles.Maybe some day, from gallows we'll swing,These are a few of our favorite things.Gents in brown breeches backs scarred up with lashes,Let got the anchor it falls and it splashes.Silver with gold and rum that it brings,These are a few of our favorite things.
Why I Do Art Why I Do ArtI sat at my desk late Sunday night,Writing in my journal of internal plight.I wrote of my weakness and my glaring fault,Then in turn, my art I did assault.It was lacking all over the place,It was no more than a glaring disgrace.I try and I try and I never get better,All that I do I’m just a regretterI sat back and viewed the gruesome scene,My life’s work put through a grinding machine.What is it that pushes me on?That thing that makes my art prolong?I pondered this question and racked my brain,Until the truth again made me sane.It had started back in high school,I was unpopular and really
Sta.sh
