How I feel when I see students try to get away with stuff. How I feel when I see my children sing, dance, or use their imagination. How I feel when I am watching the latest episode of my favorite TV shows, Doctor Who and Project Runway.
audrey
They were amused by my jokes. They did not realize that my jokes were threats. They never took me seriously and I don’t know why they should; I’m abnormal. I was born with a third arm, of which is dead center on my back, and I have four fingers on one hand, and seven on the other. Unfortunately for my third arm, it is just a stub with a single thumb. They laughed at this because I amused them, and I told them I would use my third arm to kill them. They laughed. They thought it was a joke, but it’s not.
Susan E. Rother
“Huh. I can’t believe it.”
I begin typing at the same screen that had popped up three times in a row. The same subject it kept telling me to write about. It was an odd phenomenon…nevertheless the words appeared before me.
Huh..I can’t believe it..
Michael JoeJr
Kyle grabbed my hand and began to drag me along the path. “Let go of me!” I screeched, working desperately to free myself from his grip. “No way,” he said simply as he continued to walk. I was NOT amused.
I have already done amused today I was trying to do a second day that’s aggravating can’t u fix it like now
Rodeo Queens
One thing is for certain: when she is amused, she will be sure to tell you. It might be in the devilish curl that forms on the corner of her lips, but more likely she will say so in some hideously phony, affected drawl: “I am amused.”
I was amused at first but the sensation dulled quickly. Eventually the cracks in the wall revealed to me a flawed mosaic like the paths converging rivers make.
I was amused by the way the mice at the circus scared the poor little elephants bus the main part that amused me the most was the clowns
Rodeo Queens
William was amused, I could tell. His shoulders were silently moving from the chuckle he kept quiet, and his eyes were tightly shut, his hand across his painted black lips.
“It’s not fucking funny.” I hissed to him as he took another look at me but this time, his amusement were loud, uneven clips of a hearty laugh. I glared at him darkly in return and rolled my eyes.
“Will, it’s not permanent, is it?” I asked as he finally stopped laughing and encircled me with interested, watchful, dissecting eyes. His fingers curled around the long tail protruding from my ass and ran them across the leathery skin.
“Did you touch one of my potions again?”
“It smelled like raspberries, what? You wanted me to keep quiet and still while you had something like that lying around?”
His response was just another chuckle and a shake of his head.
“This way, Eve.” He simply said, letting the long reptilian tail fall to my side.
There’s nothing more fun than being amused. Whether with friends laughing at a situational joke around the coffee table or watching an amusing TV show and chuckling to yourself. It’s always fun to be amused because in essence being amused means you’re having fun. What happens when we stop being amused though? When we don’t find anything funny, anything clever, anything interesting. Do we get to a stalemate in our life? Do we have nothing left to be amused by? Or do we need to go out and find more things that amuse us?
Amanda beck
Angel Olson, “Sweet Dreams.” Those lyrics amused me enough to look up the guitar tabs. Is this the one I learn to play start to finish without breaking it apart to rearrange?
so ne hta particular day, i was in a rather touchy mood. i felt annoyed with the random passers-by in the tram, i sighed audibly at the girl walking half a step too slowly in front of me, and finally my fucking roommate made me want to punch him, and yet. i couldn’t help but smile at that bad joke you told.
Reality set in as he pulled into the driveway. The living room light was still on, highlighting the silhouette of his father on the couch. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. The walk to the front door was the longer than he remembered. His keys shook a little as he unlocked the door and slipped from his hand when he stepped inside. His father wagged his eyebrows knowingly and smiled.
The darkness enveloped everything, and he stood there, looking out at the great expanse. he listened to the screams of the afraid, and watched the people run for their lives as the dark ghostly horse-demons chased after them, desperate for the human life force. He laughed, amusement spreading across his face at the sheer terror laid out before him. He had created pure fear, and it was who he was. The man resolves that fear will always rule under his firm hand, and no man nor creature will see the light of day again.
It didn’t amuse me; the stupid grin on his smug face. The way he looked at me from across the room. It was almost disgusting. I hated him for it. Hated him. And I rarely hated anyone ever. But I was most definitely not amused.
i really like the word amused. it’s like… muse. but AmuseD. i don’t really know what this exercise is about so i’m just writting whatever comes to my mind. amusement is etheral, you can feel it, but you can’t see it. that’s funny if you ask me.
spela
Later, history will peg her as joyless. ‘We are not amused’ is her most famous line – but in actual fact, the queen doesn’t say or write this. Her real most common quote is ‘We were very amused’, and she writes this in her diary with great frequency. If he knew about this future mistake, he would gather all the ink and paper in the world and paint a better picture of her; he would preserve the loving, smiling Victoria that he knew and loved in words and blazens from the ceiling to the floor, and hide adoring love poems in every drawer of every palace. Instead, he only knows to enjoy her as he sees her – and so popular conceptions of history remain settled and uncorrected in the dust.
He watched her through the glass. The nervous twitch of her hands. She wanted to drink the glass of water but didn’t want to give them her fingerprints. She shifted in the uncomfortable wooden chair for the umpteenth time. Her hand shook as her fingers combed through her hair now unkempt from doing this over and over in the three hours he let her stew in the interrogation room. Her nervous gestures telling her guilt in the sad crime amused him.
The balloons floated through the air,
Cascading through the background as if they were nothing but filler for a frame filled with fanfare and fun.
The music rang out through the grounds.
The doors finally opened.
The stampede raced through the threshold,
Noses to the ground,
Smelling their way to cotton candy.
She sat quietly and amused herself while the time slowly ticked by. Then, at just the right moment, she opened the door just as he opened his. He smiled “It’s so funny how we manage to do that at the same time every day.” She nodded in mock agreement “I know! We might as well walk together, then.”
i think
you are
a joke
this is all some sort of prank
right?
you’re pulling my leg, isn’t that right?
when i see you in my dreams i laugh
and in person you are still an apparition
you are flimsy and easily copied
and here i am writing this
instead of telling you all to your faces
just how much you waste my time
i would rather just keep the space very spacious
between you and i
probably, at the end of the day, when there’s nothing left and he’s sitting there with blistered feet on black linoleum he’s gonna say okay, well, to hell with it. to hell with you. that’s not fair to the boy, a voice in his head will say, it’s a good thing, probably. and then the boy will come and smile sadly and say sorry one last time and he’ll think no. to hell with you. to hell with you.
I have been amused few years ago,when I met my Ukrainian friend in Cambridge(England). It was strange to see her there.
Oleksii
The edge of her smile
Is like the edge of the world
It exists, and yet should not
An amusing paradox-
Brendan Stoneham
he is
serious
bored
cruel
resentful
angry
sad
amused, no.
Anu
I am amused as to how can i still not become serious about my studies this year
Param
I am not amused. If the bugs sting me one more time, I swear to God, I will /explode/. I do not deserve this treatment. Oh no, not at all. If the bugs thing this is amusing me — in which I assume they do — then they are terribly, terribly wrong and deserve to be swatted. Repeatedly.
me
he’s changed, you think.
he still laughs like he used to; smiles like he used to; reads like he used to
but sometimes he’ll crack one of his black-tipped fingers, and you don’t want to think about where he got that quirk from.
he still drinks coffee the same way; reads to hinami the same way; adores her the same way
but he can switch from kind and loving to cold and ruthless in an instant, and it scares you; scares everyone that knows him.
you don’t want to think about what caused his hair to turn completely white ((heavy mental and physical stress [what comes from being tortured for ten days]))
you don’t want to think about why his fingernails are permanently black ((being cut off numerous times [enough to fill a bucket], only to have them grow back again time after time))
you don’t want to think about why he intently scratches at his ear, as if there were something inside ((a centipede, scrambling his brains inside his head))
you don’t want to think about who he picked up his finger-cracking habit from ((a man with lizard eyes and a white suit, sadistic and manipulative [devising his amusement from screams and faces contorted with pain]))
nobody wants to think about those things, and you’re scared.
i am feeling really happy and all this stuff is making me smile, pleasantly. i like the colours of the room and it gives me a warm feeling inside my stomach, i love the people here, the phone is to the side of me and so is kizzy, i love them both a lot. they make me very happy and they both give me joy, so i guess i am amused. i love headphones, the music cheers up my soul
bibi
There is a girl who laughs at my jokes
Smiles and winks and me when she walks off in her denim coat
But just like the others she is simply amused by the fool
Laughter can be a lonely tool
jkjgflv
How I feel when I see students try to get away with stuff. How I feel when I see my children sing, dance, or use their imagination. How I feel when I am watching the latest episode of my favorite TV shows, Doctor Who and Project Runway.
They were amused by my jokes. They did not realize that my jokes were threats. They never took me seriously and I don’t know why they should; I’m abnormal. I was born with a third arm, of which is dead center on my back, and I have four fingers on one hand, and seven on the other. Unfortunately for my third arm, it is just a stub with a single thumb. They laughed at this because I amused them, and I told them I would use my third arm to kill them. They laughed. They thought it was a joke, but it’s not.
“Huh. I can’t believe it.”
I begin typing at the same screen that had popped up three times in a row. The same subject it kept telling me to write about. It was an odd phenomenon…nevertheless the words appeared before me.
Huh..I can’t believe it..
Kyle grabbed my hand and began to drag me along the path. “Let go of me!” I screeched, working desperately to free myself from his grip. “No way,” he said simply as he continued to walk. I was NOT amused.
I have already done amused today I was trying to do a second day that’s aggravating can’t u fix it like now
One thing is for certain: when she is amused, she will be sure to tell you. It might be in the devilish curl that forms on the corner of her lips, but more likely she will say so in some hideously phony, affected drawl: “I am amused.”
I was amused at first but the sensation dulled quickly. Eventually the cracks in the wall revealed to me a flawed mosaic like the paths converging rivers make.
I was amused by the way the mice at the circus scared the poor little elephants bus the main part that amused me the most was the clowns
William was amused, I could tell. His shoulders were silently moving from the chuckle he kept quiet, and his eyes were tightly shut, his hand across his painted black lips.
“It’s not fucking funny.” I hissed to him as he took another look at me but this time, his amusement were loud, uneven clips of a hearty laugh. I glared at him darkly in return and rolled my eyes.
“Will, it’s not permanent, is it?” I asked as he finally stopped laughing and encircled me with interested, watchful, dissecting eyes. His fingers curled around the long tail protruding from my ass and ran them across the leathery skin.
“Did you touch one of my potions again?”
“It smelled like raspberries, what? You wanted me to keep quiet and still while you had something like that lying around?”
His response was just another chuckle and a shake of his head.
“This way, Eve.” He simply said, letting the long reptilian tail fall to my side.
stardust in your veins,
lies on your tongue.
let’s hold the silence
for those who lost too young
There’s nothing more fun than being amused. Whether with friends laughing at a situational joke around the coffee table or watching an amusing TV show and chuckling to yourself. It’s always fun to be amused because in essence being amused means you’re having fun. What happens when we stop being amused though? When we don’t find anything funny, anything clever, anything interesting. Do we get to a stalemate in our life? Do we have nothing left to be amused by? Or do we need to go out and find more things that amuse us?
Angel Olson, “Sweet Dreams.” Those lyrics amused me enough to look up the guitar tabs. Is this the one I learn to play start to finish without breaking it apart to rearrange?
Geri laughed in a way that looked practiced and shook his head slowly. He stroked his patchy, pale beard. “Karen, Karen, Karen,” he said.
“What,” she said. She imagined slapping his pink baby face.
so ne hta particular day, i was in a rather touchy mood. i felt annoyed with the random passers-by in the tram, i sighed audibly at the girl walking half a step too slowly in front of me, and finally my fucking roommate made me want to punch him, and yet. i couldn’t help but smile at that bad joke you told.
Reality set in as he pulled into the driveway. The living room light was still on, highlighting the silhouette of his father on the couch. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. The walk to the front door was the longer than he remembered. His keys shook a little as he unlocked the door and slipped from his hand when he stepped inside. His father wagged his eyebrows knowingly and smiled.
The darkness enveloped everything, and he stood there, looking out at the great expanse. he listened to the screams of the afraid, and watched the people run for their lives as the dark ghostly horse-demons chased after them, desperate for the human life force. He laughed, amusement spreading across his face at the sheer terror laid out before him. He had created pure fear, and it was who he was. The man resolves that fear will always rule under his firm hand, and no man nor creature will see the light of day again.
It didn’t amuse me; the stupid grin on his smug face. The way he looked at me from across the room. It was almost disgusting. I hated him for it. Hated him. And I rarely hated anyone ever. But I was most definitely not amused.
i really like the word amused. it’s like… muse. but AmuseD. i don’t really know what this exercise is about so i’m just writting whatever comes to my mind. amusement is etheral, you can feel it, but you can’t see it. that’s funny if you ask me.
Later, history will peg her as joyless. ‘We are not amused’ is her most famous line – but in actual fact, the queen doesn’t say or write this. Her real most common quote is ‘We were very amused’, and she writes this in her diary with great frequency. If he knew about this future mistake, he would gather all the ink and paper in the world and paint a better picture of her; he would preserve the loving, smiling Victoria that he knew and loved in words and blazens from the ceiling to the floor, and hide adoring love poems in every drawer of every palace. Instead, he only knows to enjoy her as he sees her – and so popular conceptions of history remain settled and uncorrected in the dust.
He watched her through the glass. The nervous twitch of her hands. She wanted to drink the glass of water but didn’t want to give them her fingerprints. She shifted in the uncomfortable wooden chair for the umpteenth time. Her hand shook as her fingers combed through her hair now unkempt from doing this over and over in the three hours he let her stew in the interrogation room. Her nervous gestures telling her guilt in the sad crime amused him.
The balloons floated through the air,
Cascading through the background as if they were nothing but filler for a frame filled with fanfare and fun.
The music rang out through the grounds.
The doors finally opened.
The stampede raced through the threshold,
Noses to the ground,
Smelling their way to cotton candy.
She sat quietly and amused herself while the time slowly ticked by. Then, at just the right moment, she opened the door just as he opened his. He smiled “It’s so funny how we manage to do that at the same time every day.” She nodded in mock agreement “I know! We might as well walk together, then.”
oneminute
i think
you are
a joke
this is all some sort of prank
right?
you’re pulling my leg, isn’t that right?
when i see you in my dreams i laugh
and in person you are still an apparition
you are flimsy and easily copied
and here i am writing this
instead of telling you all to your faces
just how much you waste my time
i would rather just keep the space very spacious
between you and i
probably, at the end of the day, when there’s nothing left and he’s sitting there with blistered feet on black linoleum he’s gonna say okay, well, to hell with it. to hell with you. that’s not fair to the boy, a voice in his head will say, it’s a good thing, probably. and then the boy will come and smile sadly and say sorry one last time and he’ll think no. to hell with you. to hell with you.
I have been amused few years ago,when I met my Ukrainian friend in Cambridge(England). It was strange to see her there.
The edge of her smile
Is like the edge of the world
It exists, and yet should not
An amusing paradox-
he is
serious
bored
cruel
resentful
angry
sad
amused, no.
I am amused as to how can i still not become serious about my studies this year
I am not amused. If the bugs sting me one more time, I swear to God, I will /explode/. I do not deserve this treatment. Oh no, not at all. If the bugs thing this is amusing me — in which I assume they do — then they are terribly, terribly wrong and deserve to be swatted. Repeatedly.
he’s changed, you think.
he still laughs like he used to; smiles like he used to; reads like he used to
but sometimes he’ll crack one of his black-tipped fingers, and you don’t want to think about where he got that quirk from.
he still drinks coffee the same way; reads to hinami the same way; adores her the same way
but he can switch from kind and loving to cold and ruthless in an instant, and it scares you; scares everyone that knows him.
you don’t want to think about what caused his hair to turn completely white ((heavy mental and physical stress [what comes from being tortured for ten days]))
you don’t want to think about why his fingernails are permanently black ((being cut off numerous times [enough to fill a bucket], only to have them grow back again time after time))
you don’t want to think about why he intently scratches at his ear, as if there were something inside ((a centipede, scrambling his brains inside his head))
you don’t want to think about who he picked up his finger-cracking habit from ((a man with lizard eyes and a white suit, sadistic and manipulative [devising his amusement from screams and faces contorted with pain]))
nobody wants to think about those things, and you’re scared.
i am feeling really happy and all this stuff is making me smile, pleasantly. i like the colours of the room and it gives me a warm feeling inside my stomach, i love the people here, the phone is to the side of me and so is kizzy, i love them both a lot. they make me very happy and they both give me joy, so i guess i am amused. i love headphones, the music cheers up my soul
There is a girl who laughs at my jokes
Smiles and winks and me when she walks off in her denim coat
But just like the others she is simply amused by the fool
Laughter can be a lonely tool
There she sits. So full of fire and alive, but not too amused at my antics. She knows every inch of my intention and sees it in