First, I was in this auditorium
and I had this folder of my writings, from all diffrerent times of my adolescent life, which my ex-boyfriend
had sent to me. And I saw him for a brief instant and, rather than James, he was actually Vladimir Lenin
, and he was only 5'4".
Then there was this thing about doing a project for school. And my journalism teacher and the art teacher were working together to make a project. I had this really weird thing going on with Mr. Scholl, the journalism teacher, where I kept losing pillowcases in his classroom (or something to that degree that makes no sense).
My friend, Samantha, was doing a project out of a coat hanger. She aked if she could borrow something to do it, but I don't remember what. Anyway, when I saw it, I was trying to read it, with the way she had contorted the coat hanger so that it spelled something out in a diamond shape.. I thought it said "Hulo," but it spelled, "love" and she got mad that I couldn't see this, because everyone else obviously could.
Then I was in Mr. Scholl's class, only his class was outside of the broadcasting studio. and I was sitting in a desk by one of the windows while his desk was all the way over by the door to the studio. As he was calling attendence, I had made a conjecture that Mr. Scholl was actually Joseph Stalin, and was working with my ex-boyfriend to make matters of my grades worse ; to get his attention (as a joke) I was talking to a girl and I was going to raise my hand, when his head shot up and he said, "Aimee?" I responded, "I didn't raise my hand."
For one reason or another, this was hilarious, and a well-respected joke among the students. Pasing time, I was sitting there, looking out the window, and I saw the vice principal in a military helicopter flying down right by the window, with something attached to the bottom by rope; I think it was a bulk of pillowcases. Mr. Scholl made a gesture to send me off outside to collect my pillowcases, and I was then isolated from the rest of the class until I could collect these pillowcases.
The pilot of the helicopter told me he had little time for chit-chat, as he was off to settle matters in the The Punic Wars with Gestapo and Clive Anderson. I patted the box of pillowcases, and as he flew away, I began to tear open the box. Inside, I saw several personalized pillowcases with various E2 user names embedded on them. On top of the stack was a note from the pilot of the helicopter addressed to Dem Bones. It read, "Dearest Dem Bones, I apologize profusely for my sudden decision to go with Delphi, but binary was impossible, and Perl wasn't cutting it. I hope you'll understand why I can't love you anymore. We cool? - Roger"
I woke up in a cold sweat. I suddenly had an urge to node like I've never noded before.
That doesn't mean I did though.