Second Shot at Yearbook Pic--Tuesday room 105

Yearbook Picture Take Three!!

Tomorrow we will try again to take the yearbook picture for Undefined. Please be there. I don't think I can ask them to come yet one other time. . . .Room 105. After school.

SEX POEM

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Now that I have your attention... you perverts...

On Thursday, March 12, Undefined is having its group picture taken for the yearbook after school in Mrs.Gaboury's room. If you aren't there, you will not be in the picture, and that hurts deep down. Also, all no-shows you will be given the oppurtunity to learn first-hand the meaning of the words "eviscerate" and "extirpate," either through the trusty skills of the unofficial-Undefined-rip-your-face-off-guy (Bo Cardish) or through Mrs. Gaboury's pitbull. If, for some reason, you can't make it, shoot me or Mrs. Gaboury an email and we will see if we can reschedule. The alternative would likely be Tuesday, March 10. If it is rescheduled, you will be notified via blog, email, or carrier pigeon.

Lastly, I did indeed promise a "SEX POEM," so here goes:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I can spell "sex"

And so can you

See you at there! =)

~Tyler

Sheldon has thoughts, too!!!

Hey I have decided I do not want to argue about artistic license with anyone so maybe I'll post a few things. (Actually the more likely reason is I am avoiding my homework. As an expert in procrastination, I should not be allowed to use the internet.)
Since no one is posting on Gaboury's class blog anymore, I don't think anyone has read this. It's just something I wrote about Evie Sweet's clay gargoyle in one of the display cases. I liked writing it, but I don't know if it's any good. A comment or two might be encouraging.


Gargoyles

In winter when the snowflakes whip through the bitingly cold air, the gargoyles remain where they are. The flakes descend from the skies where their souls continue to live and settle on the spines as a chilly blanket (exhales of fog seep from their lungs). The stone wings are sharp to the touch with cold.
In spring the bitterness ebbs away, leaving a progressively crumbling foundation underneath the uneasy statues (eyes flicker downwards). A warmth spreads over them in new sun. The pleasant rains wash away memories of the desolate winter.
In summer the waves of heat roll into the stone, causing endless wistfulness as their shapes warp ever so slightly (mouths turn down with a sigh). The birds land on the upturned faces, chirping cheerfully at the abundance of life in the whispering trees below.
In fall when air pushes leaves into the sky, the gargoyles sense the sweetness of autumn on the wind's breath. A briskness settles over the humid air, resigning itself to the months ahead. The trees grow barren and the birds go to foreign lands (hearts throb with loneliness and dread). No warmth emanates from the pedestals on which they are resting.