Anathema Prep Random [cryptic, lyrics, etc]

This is the lamest school yet.

Anyone got a cigarette?

HOW TO BECOME AN HERO
[The good way.]
[With commentary by Dylan Haynes.]

MATERIALS NEEDED:
*20 ft. or more of piano wire [Guitar wire can work... in a pinch.]
*1 stool or step ladder [The taller the better.]
*Industrial Superglue [Or the like. Might I suggest Gorilla Glue?]

STEP 1:
Find a location where you will be found soon but not stopped. An open apartment or rooftop is ideal. [A tree in the middle of a park at the break of dawn might also work.]

STEP 2:
Tie the wire to a study ceiling fixture [a ceiling fan just won't work, in this case] or the side of the building and make sure it's secure, then tie it around your neck.

STEP 3:
Superglue your hands to the sides of your head. [Along your jawline or over your ears is a recommended spot.]

STEP 4:
Wait for glue to dry. [Don't be hasty, good things take time.]

STEP 5:
Jump. [Don't even try to back out now you fucking pansy. Think of the glory!]

CONGRADULATIONS!
If done correctly if will appear as if you have successfully pulled off your own head. Your name will forever be remembered in the archives of heroes and do-gooders. [They'll keep a small file about you inbetween the guy who invented the rubber jar opener thing and Chris Crocker.]

Ever have a day when you really just need someone to say something nice to you?

I know we've all had them, and I have something that could be good for all of us. I'm going to leave a comment with the name of everyone here in the school and all the recent graduates well, almost everyone, teachers as well, and everyone can try to post something nice about one other person. All comments should be anonymous.

I think it would be a healthy exercise for everyone. My sister's roommate at Johns Hopkins told me about it, and I think its a great idea.

Gracias.

I give you the PERFECT woman :



Guh.

( ... )

SEX?!?!?!

( Package Delivered to Imogene )

I THINK SOMEONE STOLE MY SHOES!

Please know that I offer this birthday greeting under the risk of someone hitting me. That someone being the birthday girl. But, whatever. Ha! (: I'll hide.

<3!!!!!!!!!

WOULD ONE OF MY ROOMMATES COME BACK TO OUR ROOM?

Please?

Attention Lily LovesBillyIdol!

After talking with you about skinny men, I had a point to make and I wasn't anywhere near you. So I present to you this.

( because we can can can~! )

Muscular guys? are just a few bench-presses away from that. I don't see the problem with a skinny boy at all. Or, for that matter, a boy who wears eyeliner. Well, unless he happens to look like this.

( and i am a material girl~! )

That isn't fair.

Love, Cyrille ... whocan'tthinkofafakelastnameforherself.

WHY IS THE WORLD FREAKING OUT ON ME?

Yeah. This is what I do at 4 in the morning when I can't sleep.

(http://www.helicoptergame.net/)

My high score is 1,292. Imagine how much I'd school this game if I were playing it at a reasonable hour.

You know I must be dying of boredom if I'm completing one of these lame, viral surveys.

( These things piss me off, so I've decided to fill one out. You know, out of spite. )

Where is everyone tonight? /:

I fucking hate people! 

All of you knock this ridiculousness of shit-talking and fighting and everything off. Hypnotoad and I mean it.

It is approximately 90 degrees in my dorm room.

Seriously. How did she get my number?

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:


But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.


O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.


My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

This place is like a ghost town tonight, and I'm wicked bored. Anyone wanna order in? Pizza and french fries, maybe? Watch some sort of cheesy flick? (; I'm up for anything you might want to do. All I ask for is some company.

How 'bout it?