alex thinks it tickles when his and his mom's dick touches.  im leaving the blog.

Clifton is a gay little faggot with no penis or balls.

Soory for the lack of updates. I'm working on my new story. Coming out soon!

My mind rushing as my

Fingers pressed desperately

Pressing against triangles and squares,

Thumbs going through

Unbearable pain and suffering.

But it's all worth it at the end.

I can't stop.

I won't stop.

I must find success

I just have to keep trying

To meet my goal

On the tips of my fingers,

Just waiting to be grasped

By the one who deserves it most:

Me.

Blankly staring

At the 50 inch screen,

My mind focused

Only on the

Death and destruction

Of my foes.

You gracefully walk down the hall I call your name, but you seem not to hear 

Hello, fans of me and Alex. We are holding a contest. Whichever three people can write the best poem or short story will win eternal glory: a spot on our blog.  Good luck to all, and please don’t kill eachother.

“In honor of our amazing math test results, I’ve decided to let you guys play a class game.” The teacher said. It was third grade, and everyone loved a good game; especially me. The game was usually “Telephone,” where a simple message was passed around a circle, and by the time message had come in full circle, it had become “Green cow” from the original message of “Hotdog.” It was fun, and I was always the last person in the circle; usually the last one to get the message.
Flipping through my J-vibe magazine I came upon an article titled: Rumors, La’shon Harah. I closed the magazine, and promised myself that I would read the magazine later.
I trotted to my locker. I placed my hand on the cold metal lock. 14-21-28 I thought to myself. Somebody walked by me, and giggled. Not very noticeable, like one of those “I-know-something-you-don’t-know” giggles and whispered to her friend. “The pass is triflanger!” I looked at them inquisitively, but they just walked on to their next class. My next class was computers, and I walked there happily, in a light skip.
          I sat down at my computer and pressed the power button. Mr. Kerstin handed out work sheets on “How many megabytes in a gigabyte?” I logged onto myspace. I looked over to the left, at the bulletin board. There was one new bulletin, crudely titled “did u here abt erin and jack?” I clicked on it. I was greeted by an unfriendly screen: You must have the password in order to view this bulletin. I thought for a moment, and typed in the word “triflanger,” the word the girls in the hallway had said was “the pass.” It took me to a page, again, crudely typed, which read as follows:
did u here bout erin and jack cuz I herd frum jasmine that jack waz at erins house for an hour, and they made out! Well, that’s at leest wut she sed.
Erin sat in her chair, her mouth wide and her eyes glossy.

The dog sat there, his tongue hanging out, his tail hitting the ground rapidly. I was seven, and like many a seven year old, I loved dogs, I breathed dogs, and I saw dogs as frequently as I could. And I, of course, much to my Mother’s dismay, I spoke dogs. Incessantly. Most of my speech resembled a mad lib. “Mom can I get a dog? I hear there is a new breed, the __________________ and it’s really good because __________ and ________! And I promise I’ll always walk him and feed him!” i would ask eagerly. And of course the frequent answer was no. But on the way home from school one day, I saw him, the perfect dog. Deep brown eyes, short brown hair, and admirable snout. I picked him up and ran home. “NO” my mom said firmly… 
I called out my son’s name and stared at my children, While my wife talked on and on about the newest sale over at Marshalls –The end of the year shoe sale. The thing was, it wasn’t even the end of the year yet, Only mid-November. I stared over at Sarah. She was running around the play structure, taking in the air full of fun and frolic. I got up and I waved my hand toward her, to beckon her back to the minivan. My wife walked into the car and started it up. My children ran toward the door of the car. They hopped in and put on their wireless headphones, to watch the potable DVD player nested in our car. As soon as the kids put on their headphones, smiling to the theme song of Spongebob Squarepants, my wife started talking to me softly, so that the kids wouldn’t hear. “You know, they’ve been asking for about a year now. They’ll show us a new breed that they like, and then walk up to me five minutes later asking ‘yes or no mommy?’ They really want a dog, Ted. ”
          “And for about a year now, my answer has always been the latter, and it’s not going to change magically!”
          “But they’ve been doing all their chores, and all their homework! I think that they are responsible!”
          “That’s what all the gullible parents say!” I yelled, the kids still deafened to the outside world. “But look what happens to them! They end up walking the dog everyday, and picking up its crap!”
          I furrowed my brow and gave my wife an annoyed look. “At least go to the adoption center and check some of the dogs out. Please?” she said, and made a sad face. “Fine.” I said, and she burst into a smile. I put the car into drive, and we were off.
          The adoption center worker was old, and had a huge grin on her face as we walked in, as if the wrinkles on her cheek were only there to support her ginourmous grin. “I see you come here looking for a little doggy for the children?” She paced down a hallway and beckoned at us with a bulbous, worn finger “This way. Watch your step.” I walked behind her, and followed her into a room with cages all over, and the sound of incessant barking all around me. She flicked her small eyes to the left. “This one’s a nice puppy, Housetrained, and quite good with kids.”  I inhaled deeply.  Keep your composure, James.
The witch-lady walked up to me. She stuck her face so close to mine that I could see her pores choke from the pain of having to inhale her rank breath. I winced. “We have some smaller puppies over here, Sir.” My nose locked itself up, and my eyes cried out in pain.
 
 

Fear crept through her malnourished body, as she heard the sound of dirt crunching under heavy boots. She hurriedly got up and dashed toward her bed, a wooden plank and a thin sheet. She screamed to her friend, but she could not hear Yitra’s urgent warnings. When her friend finally realized what was happening, it was too late. The guard walked in, and looked at her friend with a look of disgust. “Erklärte ich Ihnen nicht aufzustehen! Ich töte Sie jetzt!” he yelled loudly. He reached for his pistol and withdrew it. Yitra watched, he face frozen in a permanent state of horror, as the guard grabbed the corpses hair, and dragged her out. “Nichts zu sehen! Gehen Sie zurück zu Bett!” He yelled.
Yitra walked over to her suitcase, her hunger paining her with each step. She opened it, took out a picture of her mother, and held it close. It was one of the few things she had been able to sneak inside the walls of Auschwitz. It was frayed at the ends, worn from the trip on the train. She thought nothing more horrible than the train. She reached deeper into her few possessions. She picked out a handkerchief, embroidered with a monogram: KZ. She wondered where her mother was now, no doubt being crammed into some small space. She would’ve cried, but could not show weakness in a time like this. She knew that she would be reunited with her mother, someday.
She walked over to Elsa’s bed, hoping that she would be there. When Yitra discovered she was not, she inquired about her absence. “Lucky dog, got pulled away to take a shower. I always knew the guards liked her better.” Yali said unhappily. Unable to think of something to do, she walked back to her bed and lay down. The wood slats felt like bruises on her back. A German guard stepped in and looked her in the eye. He threw a potato at her. She grabbed it and ate it greedily. “Dusche-Zeit!” the guard called out, and beckoned for Yitra to follow him. She sniffed the air, and picked up on a stench so great; her brain could not fathom what It could be emanating from. She looked to her right. A pile of bodies, about a story tall, sat there, covered in maggots, and being picked away at by flies and birds, as a man in front shoveled them into a large furnace. She screamed and the guard pushed her into the shower chamber.Just for all you stupid people, the shower chambers, with shower heads where they sprayed poison gas to kill the victims. which was about 6 million.

Alright adoring fans! Today we are going to have our second photo post. I’ll post a photo and you post a poem about the picture, and, if you’re lucky enough to win, your poem will be posted on our blog for all eternity. Eternal glory belongs to the person that wins this conest!

-Alex & Clifton