Hi Professor Richardson,
I just wanted to let you know that unfortunately I won’t be in class today because I’m sick… sick of your BULLSHIT.
I woke up feeling okay, but as the day went on and it got closer and closer to class time, I remembered that I would have to listen to you talk for fifty minutes, and illness overcame me.
Clark Kent is my best friend. He’s a really good guy and a talented reporter, but recently a lot of bad things have been happening all over Metropolis, and every time something scary happens, Clark bolts. I don’t see him again until the city is safe and the threat is gone.
I’m tired of stereotypes influencing how people live their lives. You know the deal: the high school quarterback ends up with the cheerleading captain. I just want to see something different. Just once, I wish the quarterback would end up with the rival high school’s National Honor Society’s public relations officer.
This is just a normal column about which ice cream flavor is the best. But I want it to stand out and get noticed. So it would be great if, when this article gets printed, the words form the shape of an ice cream cone. You know, like one of those concrete poems.
Another day, another load of climate change lies. From scientists to the fake-news liberal media, the for-profit climate change machine keeps ringing the global warming alarm bells. But riddle me this, climate sheep: If climate change isn’t a big fat hoax, then why can I put my hands over my ears and yell “LA-LA-LA-LA!” when people try to talk about it?
I hear the arguments all the time.
You have to listen to me, kid, because I don’t have much time. When Julia Louis-Dreyfus comes in here, do not make direct eye contact. Understand? Quick, I hear her coming.
I know you think you’ve just been invited to the set of VEEP to get an autograph but this is all part of something much bigger than that.
Partly Cloudy, 64°
