Typing is a really fun thing to do,
especially when it’s at 11:22 at night on a Friday. If I get this blog done, I will officially
get half credit on it. YEEEEESSSSS.
Thirty three words. Six hundred and ninety seven to go. You can do this, Ben. You can do this.
I’m pretty sure writing a blog is
like taking a road trip; if you find something to do, like sleep, it’ll go by
faster. Unfortunately, I cannot
sleep. I can only type. It is my destiny. It has been ever since I was a baby. So what do I type about? I can honestly say I’m completely out of three
hundred word stories to tell. AHA! I’ll just tell a bunch of mini stories!
Um… okay, let’s
see. Yesterday I went to the play, so
that was cool. Except I sat in the front row and the confetti cannon was right
in front of me. This wouldn’t have been
a problem, except they fired it off at the wrong time right into my face. It was the scariest thing that ever happened
to me, and I screamed really loud, followed by a minor profane word. The end.
Now I will write a new short story.
Did I
ever tell you about the time I entered the box race and won twenty dollars at
the Alden winter fest? Well, I was at
the Alden winter fest, and I won a box race and was given twenty dollars.
Vietnam. 1962.
Danger, hanging like a leaf in November.
I was with the fifth platoon on the flank dog tag of the snake
maneuver. Serpentine motions, and that’s
just it. Otherwise you’re just a Nazi sandwich
with a little extra RPG. And by that, I
mean radical pig growth. Those Nazis
like a lot of ham on their sandwiches.
What?
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