Subject: My Sister Writes Stuff

Date: 28 Jan 1999 00:00:00 GMT


Organization: Spiked Fists of Hatred III: The Vengeance

Newsgroups: alt.slack.devo, alt.foot.fat-free



Matie emailed me this story, and gave me permission to pass it on.


Last I heard, she was starting different meds, had an infected tear duct

(or possibly gland) and was reading "My Life, My Tapes: The

Autobiography of Special Agent Dale Cooper." It seems a good



Matie can be contacted by mailing truwe (at), and in theory

mailing pope_matie (at), but she claims to have some trouble

logging on, and Pop hogs the computer anyway.




| <atruwe (at)> | Annna Truwe |alt.slack.devo|

| "Pizza is always a miracle." -- König Preuße, GmbH |





Date:Tue, 26 Jan 1999 16:40:47 -0800

From: "*.truwe" <truwe AT>

Organization: Turtles all the Way Down

To: atruwe AT



I had to deliver a speech in American Studies today. It was assigned

as part of another project three weeks ago, and I finally got around to

writing it last night.

Of course, when I say writing I mean making my poster (also required)

and putting together a costume. My fingers didn't actually come in

contact with the keyboard 'till around 4:30 this morning. I wrote the

three minute long speech in a little over an hour, which is a pretty

good time, considering it was very early.

A few hours later I went back to revise my work, only to find that it

was composed completely of adjectives. Oh sure, there was the

occasional verb and the nouns "Herbert" and "Hoover" (the assigned

subject of my speech), but what I was left with was a list of words

vaguely pertaining to Hoover, the 1920s, chicken, and Catholics. So I

ended up spending another hour adding verbs until my work could be

mistaken for English.

I had just enough time left to get dressed, and headed off to school

with pop's boater and my poster. My poster is red, white, and blue with

a big, menacing photo of Herbie the Love President, and the legend

"Let's Keep What We've Got." Although pathetic, this was Hoover's

actual slogan.

I arrived at school and headed towards my math class, where I would

spend the majority of the period studying my strange list of words. One

hundred minutes later I trudged towards American Studies.

I entered the classroom, walked towards my desk, and began to put on

my '20s costume. The teacher was sitting at one of her many desks,

toying with the computer.

I often wonder why Miss Wagner became a teacher at all. She has a

really bad attitude towards teaching, is completely insane, and likes me

a lot. She coaches girls' basketball and has hair that never moves.

She's around thirty, and doesn't seem to happy with her life. I bet she

has a dog.

Miss Wagner saw me put on my costume and asked if I wanted to go

first. I declined, but volunteered to be second. It's usually best to

be second, after the first person screws up horribly you look much

better by comparison.

Adam DeCoste, a friend of mine, was the lucky student to go first.

His speech was about eight minutes long (2-3 minutes was the assignment)

but actually somewhat interesting. His only problems, typical for him,

were organization that must have been the result of some psychosis, and

an inability to pronounce the word "bourgeoisie." But not as easy an

act to follow as I had anticipated.

When Adam was finished I crept towards the podium and affixed my

poster to the front. I introduced myself as was customary, and launched

into my "speech" without explaining the premise that it was for a

political campaign in 1928. This would prove to be for the better.

I waded through my speech, stumbling over every other word, and

failing to make eye-contact with the audience apart from a glance at the

end of each sentence. I reached the last line of my speech, which I had

thought of just a few minutes before, and delivered it straight into the

camera (did I mention the speeches were being filmed?) not for effect

but because I hadn't written it down. It went something like this:

Yadda yadda Hoover yadda, four more years of prosperity unless, (with

affected sarcasm) the stock market crashes, or something.

For some strange reason (possibly the chemicals in the carpet) this

brought the house down. More frightened than relieved, I peeled my

poster off the podium and slunk back to my seat.

I knew I'd get a passing grade, (these speeches are graded on a curve,

and my classmates are morons) but I hadn't done a job I could be proud


After everyone who had remembered to write their speech had finished,

Miss Wagner passed back the scorecards. They were graded, as anything

subjective is today, using the CIM system, which goes something like


1- My God you suck

2- Crap-crap crappy

3- You must be an American

4- Pass

5- Wow, you actually have a brain cell or two

6- Will you kiss my baby?

I was amazed to find that out of four categories I had received two

fives, and two sixes. I am left with only four possible explanations

for this miraculous event.

1- Miss Wagner is an incredibly easy grader. This seems unlikely

considering how many people she failed.

2- I am taking too much/too little of the medication

3- I am a God.

4- Some sort of space-time fluctuation caused everyone to forget my

speech, and they were all too ashamed to admit it.

I think it's probably number four, because when we discussed the

speeches no one had any criticism for me, and Miss Wagner said I had the

best eye-contact of anyone. They claimed I was successful because I had

had emotion and enthusiasm, when all I was was scared. I just hope the

same thing happens tomorrow when I have to do my monologue for Drama.


Oh well,