Crystalella
::Story read out of a great big book, from a person in a great big armchair, by a fireplace::
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was really really nice. She was from up north, where people talk normal, have manners, know how to drive and are all around better people. She had great clothes, was super interesting, always fun and was very cultured. She had recently moved down south and was out having a crazily grand weekend with her friends. They went to a club and she
::dum dum dum dum::
saw this boy. He was the first boy she saw there. He was the devil, but she didn't know, because, as we all know, the devil is very beautiful outwardly. He was, in the words of the girl's friend, "a babe."
Well, this girl was normally a very conservative person, but at the urging of her bad influence, but totally fun friend, she went to talk to him at the end of the night.
::End of the niiiiiight:: That's Jim Morrison singing right there.
This boy was not from the coveted north, lived on the "east side" ::insert east side hand-motion here::, had been in jail and used to work as a landscaper, oh excuse me a horticultureist, until he got bit by a snake and quit and then went to work as a semi-bouncer at the oh-so-posh ::cough:: bar and grill called Rippy's.
So this leads them to hanging out a couple times and several phone calls. The girl could be very stupid sometimes - as all girls can be - and liked this borderline ghetto, I-wear-diamond earrings, I'm-on-probation, my-dad-was-in-the-mafia, I-know-everyone-in-town badboy.
::flashes slow-mo pictures of them laughing and smiling, close up on their faces::
But he was a jerk and stopped calling her outta the blue for no apparant reason, just when she though he liked her.
::fast forward one month::
This undeserving-of-such-a-jerk girl ran into this bad boy downtown. She bought his lame excuse of having lost her number and they start to hang out again. He calls everyday. They hang out about every other day. He is nice. He pays for dinner. He really is smart, even tho it doesn't come out when it's not just the two of them. He's funny. He wears plaid pants. He is a total nightowl, which the girl loves because she is too, and a true night owl is quite hard to find. She thinks they're having fun.
::Black screen::
::White letters::
October 16, 2005
4:45 a.m.
Phone rings. "Hey Gorgeous, what are you doin'?" "I was sleeping till the phone rang." " Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want me to call you tomarrow then?" "Yeah, do you work tomarrow?" "No." "Ok. Talk to you tomarrow." "Bye."
The End.
Since the production of this story, the following has happened: Nothing. His phone has been turned off. He has not called her and she can't call him.
And they all lived ____ ever after.
Moral of the story, for all you chillin's out there: Boys will never ever call you and for some unknown and completely unjustified reason, think they are better than everyone else in the world and can treat them like crap.
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was really really nice. She was from up north, where people talk normal, have manners, know how to drive and are all around better people. She had great clothes, was super interesting, always fun and was very cultured. She had recently moved down south and was out having a crazily grand weekend with her friends. They went to a club and she
::dum dum dum dum::
saw this boy. He was the first boy she saw there. He was the devil, but she didn't know, because, as we all know, the devil is very beautiful outwardly. He was, in the words of the girl's friend, "a babe."
Well, this girl was normally a very conservative person, but at the urging of her bad influence, but totally fun friend, she went to talk to him at the end of the night.
::End of the niiiiiight:: That's Jim Morrison singing right there.
This boy was not from the coveted north, lived on the "east side" ::insert east side hand-motion here::, had been in jail and used to work as a landscaper, oh excuse me a horticultureist, until he got bit by a snake and quit and then went to work as a semi-bouncer at the oh-so-posh ::cough:: bar and grill called Rippy's.
So this leads them to hanging out a couple times and several phone calls. The girl could be very stupid sometimes - as all girls can be - and liked this borderline ghetto, I-wear-diamond earrings, I'm-on-probation, my-dad-was-in-the-mafia, I-know-everyone-in-town badboy.
::flashes slow-mo pictures of them laughing and smiling, close up on their faces::
But he was a jerk and stopped calling her outta the blue for no apparant reason, just when she though he liked her.
::fast forward one month::
This undeserving-of-such-a-jerk girl ran into this bad boy downtown. She bought his lame excuse of having lost her number and they start to hang out again. He calls everyday. They hang out about every other day. He is nice. He pays for dinner. He really is smart, even tho it doesn't come out when it's not just the two of them. He's funny. He wears plaid pants. He is a total nightowl, which the girl loves because she is too, and a true night owl is quite hard to find. She thinks they're having fun.
::Black screen::
::White letters::
October 16, 2005
4:45 a.m.
Phone rings. "Hey Gorgeous, what are you doin'?" "I was sleeping till the phone rang." " Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want me to call you tomarrow then?" "Yeah, do you work tomarrow?" "No." "Ok. Talk to you tomarrow." "Bye."
The End.
Since the production of this story, the following has happened: Nothing. His phone has been turned off. He has not called her and she can't call him.
And they all lived ____ ever after.
Moral of the story, for all you chillin's out there: Boys will never ever call you and for some unknown and completely unjustified reason, think they are better than everyone else in the world and can treat them like crap.
You never told me he wears diamond earrings!!!!
Thumbs down!
Posted by
Angela |
9:46 PM
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