H3: The Ben Files Episode 1

The Ben Files

Episode 1: The End of the World

 

Well, it’s Christmas Break, and here I am, writing a blog.  Once I get this done, I will be free of homework, so that’s good.

I learned a very handy trick a couple of weeks ago; I can type blogs on my iPod while simultaneously doing… well, anything.  In fact, as I speak, I am gazing out the window of my house into the gray sky.

There’s been a lot of hubbub lately about the end of the world happening today, but that doesn’t look like the case, because I’m still living.  In fact, I’ve just walked into the kitchen and am eating a bowl of Rice Crispies.  Man, I love Rice Crispies.  I wish the Atlantic Ocean was Rice Crispies, not water.  And the Pacific Ocean could be milk.

It stinks the weather is like this.  It’s kind of depressing, actually.  That sky is just—woah.  What was that?  HOLY CRAP!  Was that a meteor!?

I’m running outside now, into the woods across the street from my house.  I have just witnessed a meteor crashing onto the Earth.  I know it wasn’t a shooting star; it’s way too cloudy out for those to be visible.  Plus, shooting stars are supposed to grant wishes, and the Atlantic Ocean is not Rice Crispies, nor is the Pacific Ocean milk.  Do you want to know how I know that? 

Because I’d probably be able to hear the Snap Crackle Pop from here.

By the way, I’m still running through the woods.   Except now I’m really tired, and the trees around me are burnt to a crisp.  Man, maybe the world really is ending.  Oh hey, look!  It’s a shooting star!  I wish the world was not ending!  Oh, wait, that’s just another meteor.

Yeah, we’re screwed.

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

H4: Time Travel

Traveling in time would be a very hard thing to achieve, because one of the only machines capable of doing that is the TARDIS, which belongs to Doctor Who.

WoooooooWEEEEEEE-OOOOOOOOOO

(dundun, dududundun, dududundun, dududundun)

But if I ended up getting ahold of the TARDIS, where would I go?  Probably nowhere, because I have no idea how to operate the TARDIS.  Unless, of course, I stole the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver, in which case I could use it to start the TARDIS.  But the Doctor would never give me his sonic screwdriver.  I mean come on, that is one hundred percent pure Time Lord Technology.  Since Doctor Who is the last of the time lords, he’s probably not going to give it to anyone, especially me, because I’m American.

The only other option for time travel would be if I went to Cardiff, England, in which the Rift is very weak.  Then I could summon the Gelth.  I would make a deal with them that if they helped me open the Rift, I would let them have my body to inhabit after I die.  Once I opened the Rift, everybody from all different times and universe would be transported to Earth and other places.  I would only have seconds to select a time and place before the Doctor came around and sealed up the portal, which would mean I would be stuck in the place I chose.  The only chance I would have would be if I encountered Doctor Who in my new time period and convinced him to bring me back to Alden, or if I found another place where the Rift was weak.  I could open it again, but only if I convinced some other being trapped inside the rift to help me open it again, and if I ended up back inside the Rift, I’d go back in time before I messed with time traveling in the first place, and tell my past self not to mess with British TV series.

 

H1: Rhinoceros vs. Gorilla

Here I am again, sitting at my computer, writing another blog.  Another three hundred words of just pure, awesome blog.  Woohoo.  Alright.  Here we go.  Blog initiated.

Girl scouts are in no way scouts.  A scout is someone who runs ahead and checks things out.  They don’t do that.  No sir they do not.  So why are they called girl scouts?  Well, you may be surprised.

I bet you thought this next paragraph would be about girl scouts.  Well it’s not.  Surprise achieved.  Mind= blown.

Right now my mind is in turmoil?  Do you want to know why?  You do?  Cool.  It’s because I was just presented with the following conundrum:

A rhinoceros and a gorilla are in a closed arena.  Both hate each other with a passion.  They proceed to fight each other.  WHO WINS?  Let’s see, shall we?

Yes.  We shall.

So we know the rhino (who by the way has a solid thirty six inch horn) has strength.  The rhino also has better armor, because his skin is like three inches thick.  Also, it’s hard for me to imagine anything taking down a freaking rhinoceros. 

But let’s give our gorilla some credit.  Gorillas are way smarter, and have more maneuverability.  Opposable thumbs would also help a lot.

Here’s what would happen.  The rhino would charge, and the gorilla would dodge out of the way.  It would keep going on like this until the gorilla would jump on the rhino, and grab onto its horn.  Something like a rodeo would ensue.  The gorilla could end up ripping the rhino’s horn right off, but in that case the gorilla would fall off and probably get stomped to death.  If the gorilla was smart enough, it would go for the rhino’s eyes, or maybe punch it in the face.  Remember, gorillas are seven times stronger than humans. 

But the fact of the matter is that if the gorilla falls, it’s getting trampled, stomped, or gutted with a thirty six inch horn.  So I’m going with the rhinoceros on this one.

H2: My Interview with Abby Krysczak

This blog is special because it is an interview.  I was selected to interview Abby Krysczak.  The first thing I noticed when I went to interview her was that she neglected to shake my hand.  This is a crucial part to every interview, and after I told her this, she forgot to do it the second time we met.  After that notable mistake, she started firing questions at me that were very cliché.  When I answered them, she kept letting everyone know that she was “not able to take me seriously”.  As a general interviewing tip, one thing not to do when interviewing someone is laugh at them. 

As the interview dragged on, it became my turn to ask the questions.  I couldn’t help but notice her responses were pessimistic and gloomy.

Q: What are your thoughts on the future?

A:  It doesn’t even matter.  We’re all going to die anyway.

Q: What were the questions that I asked you in the last interview?

A: I don’t know, you asked them.

Well you answered them.

Q: Who is this Joushe character whose name is written on your hoodie?

A: I have a boyfriend named Joushe.  It’s like a combination between Josh and another word that I can’t figure out.  Isn’t that cool?

Yep.  Well I now I have to write an interview blog with barely any material.  See you around.

[Pause for handshake]

[No handshake]

In conclusion, Abby Krysczak still has much to learn if she hopes to have any lasting impact on this world.  Here in America, you have to go through interviews if you want to make money, and I’m sorry to say that Abby Krysczak just is not ready.  If Abby hopes to make money in the future, she has to get it together.   Of course, that wouldn’t really matter, because we’re all going to die anyway…

G4: Dialogue Story

“Come on, we have to go!  Did you wash your hands?”

“No, but I sprayed Febreeze all over them, so I’m good!”

“Hurry up!”

[footsteps running from upstairs, then tripping and falling down stairs]

“Oh, God!  I think I punctured my knee!”

[sound of air leaking out of balloon]

“Holy crap, dude!  Why is there air coming out of it?”

“I don’t know!  I’m not a doctor, I’m an urban style crayon artist!”

[sound of door opening]

“I’m a doctor!”

“Whoah!  How did you get inside our house?!”

“Well I’m also a part time locksmith.”

“Seriously?  You’re a locksmith doctor?”

“Yep, and I’m also a kindergarten teacher.”

“Dude, really?”

“Nope.  That was a joke; I’m also a comedian.”

[sound of laughter]

“Haha, anyway, let’s take a look at this punctured knee, shall we?”

[sound latex gloves snapping onto hands]

[sound of air leaking out of a balloon]

“GAAAAGH! Don’t touch it!”

“Well, it looks like you have a punctured knee.”

“Yeah, I already knew that.”

“Well as a doctor, that’s what I’m paid to do.”

“True that.”

[awkward silence]

“Well, how do I treat it?”

“How do you treat what?”

“The punctured knee, remember?!”

“Of course I do.  That was another joke.  I’m a comedian, remember?”

[sound of laughter]

“I don’t know, try spraying Febreeze all over it.  Do you have any Febreeze?”

“Yep, but I locked it in a safe after I finished washing my hands with it.”

“Well, go get it…”

“I can’t, I have a punctured knee, remember?”

[sound of air leaking from a balloon]

[sound of air leaking from a balloon]

“Yep.  Yeah, I remember now.”

“So how are we going to get this Febreeze?”

“I’ll go pick the lock.  I’m a part time locksmith, remember?”

“Well are you a part time hidden safe finder?”

“No.”

“Aw dude, that would have been funny if you said yes.”

“Aw, you’re right!  I’ll write that down and use it at my next comedian show.”

“Anyway, my safe is hidden.”

“Dude, why would you hide a safe with Febreeze in it?”

[sound of air leaking out of a balloon]

“Not important. Here, I’ll draw you an urban style crayon map showing where the safe is.”

[sound of crayons scribbling]

“Awesome.  I’ll go get the Febreeze.”

[sound of feet going up stairs, finding safe, lock getting picked, feet descending stairs]

“Got it.”

[sound of Febreeze spraying ]

“It’s not getting better.”

“Oh, well then I guess you’ll die.”

G3: The Whip, Where I Come From, and the Thing About Christmas that Makes Me Mad

Where do I come from?  I’m from the West.  Out there, past the Sun, beyond the horizon.  The FAR West. The place I come from, we kill a man every morning just to work up an appetite!  Then we salt him, pepper him, braise him in clarified butter… And then we eat him.  THAT’S WHAT I SAID!  Hell, I’ve seen things that’ll make a grown man lose control of his glandular functions!  You spend three days inside a horse carcass living off of your own juices… that’ll change a man.  Oh yeah.  So no, my hairsome little rodent friend, I am NOT from around these parts.  You might say I’m from wherever there’s trouble brewing and hell waiting to be raised.  You could say I’m what hell’s already raised up.  The name’s…

Ben Hoy.

[Whiplash noise]

                
 And that is what I say whenever someone asks where I’m from. 

                I find the song “Last Christmas I Gave You my Heart” very annoying.  Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away?  That’s not a Christmas song; it’s a regular song with the word Christmas thrown into it!  Think about it.  That song could have easily been “Last Tuesday I gave you my heart”, but the fact that it has the word Christmas in it makes it a Christmas song, and that is just not acceptable to me.

One year I got a whip for Christmas.  It was an interesting gift, and I wasn’t allowed to use it on anyone accept robbers.  I would stay awake each night with my whip and wait for robbers.  But none came.  As I grew up, I realized that my whip had many uses, one of them being that I could crack it after I said my name.  Another one being that I can whip the radio off when “Last Christmas I gave you my heart” comes on.  Yeah, I’m that good with it.

[Whiplash noise]

G2: Bank Robbing Plan

Something I often think about when I’m sitting in this class is how I would rob the Alden State Bank.  The most likely to be successful way of doing this would involve having an accomplice of some sort. 

The layout of the Alden State Bank is quite simple.  When you walk in the front door, you have the lobby area.  Behind the teller’s desk, there is a hallway with various offices, including the one for the drive-thru money.  Only employees are allowed down this hall, but it’s not like you’ll get arrested if you go down there.  If you go to the end of the hallway and turn left, however, you will have a problem.  That is where the door to the safe is located.  It’s a classic round, thick metal door with a combination lock.  There are cameras located in the lobby and just outside the door to the safe. 

But I won’t have to worry about those, because I have a plan, remember?

We cut to my accomplice, carrying a heavy bag at his side.  We zoom in on his face: ski masked.  He is breathing heavily and glances nervously from side to side.  Why is he so nervous?  We’ll find out.  Oh yes we will.  He crosses Broadway to the Alden Sate Bank, and enters. 

He walks up to the teller, hefts the bag onto the counter, and speaks.

“I’d like to deposit my money that is inside this bag.”

“Why are you wearing a ski mask?” the teller asks.

“My ears are cold,” replies my accomplice.  The teller shrugs, takes the bag of money, and my accomplice leaves.  Phase One of my plan: complete.

Night falls, and the money collected from the day, including my accomplice’s bag, is put into the safe.  The bank closes, and all is quiet.  Until, PLOT TWIST!  My accomplice’s bag unzips, and who should come out of it but BEN HOY! Me!  I stuff the bag with hundred dollar bills, but leave enough space for me to fit.  Phase Two: complete.  As I sit in the safe and wait until morning, I get hungry, so I take out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from my locker and eat it.  Phase Three of my master plan: complete. 

The next day, my accomplice comes back to the bank.  He says to the teller:

“I’d like to withdraw all the money I deposited yesterday.”  The teller responds:

“OKAY.”

The bag is retrieved from the safe, and given to my accomplice.  And guess what’s inside it?  Me.

G1: Whiteness

Whiteness.  Pure, white whiteness.  That is all Joe saw as he walked around.  Whiteness.  Blank, stark, empty, blinding white.  Just white.  Nothing else.  That’s it.  White.  Whiteness.  Nothing.  But.  White.  Ness. 

“How long have I been here?” asked Joe.  But there was nobody to answer him.  All there was, was white.  The white did not answer.  The white could never answer.  It was merely white.  Unfeeling, hard, bald, naked white. 

“Answer me, white!” screamed Joe.  But the white did not respond.  It surrounded him, enclosed him, and suspended him in its pure white-itude.  A blank map.  White. 

White, white, white, white, white.  That is all Joe saw.

“Answer me, white,” said Joe.

Joe waited for an answer.  None came.  The white did not answer Joe.  It did not give Joe a reply.  It did not acknowledge Joe by returning words to him.  It did not respond.  It did not react.  It simply stared back at Joe, from all sides.  An elastic, endless, straining white.  Joe searched the white for any sign of anything not white.  He did not find it.  All he could see was a white, whiteable whiteness.  It was all that existed.  All that was there.  Only white.  That was all there was at that time.

But the white was time.  The white was everything.  The white was the whitest white ever, and it was the only white ever.  White was simply white, and there was nothing to change that.  Joe could not change that.  Joe could do nothing amongst the eternal blank void that was the white. 

“WHIIIIIIIIIIIIITE!” Joe was angry now.  “You stark, empty, blinding, white, unfeeling, hard, naked, bald white white!  YOU are not a color.  YOU are nothing.  YOU are just a white empty void of white-icity!  YOU are not in the rainbow!”

Neither are you, responded the white.  That is when Joe looked down, and realized he was black.