Freakin’ Puppets
By Michael Finley
Journal 1

I’ll start this story off with a question. Have YOU ever been curious to what happens when you are not around? This story explains what happens when the students, who created The Puppets, were not around. This is THE story of The Puppets.
Cough*(Freakin’ Puppets!)*Cough
For those of you who are too young to remember, in the past our class has made some paper bag puppets, and did a skit to go with them. Well, none of ever thought to wonder what happens at night when we’re all snug at home. I stayed here at school one night, purely out of curiosity (I swear), to solve this mystery. I’m amazed to this day by what I saw that night. It was horror in its purest form…

I hid in one of the storage closets on the second floor until at least six o’clock (it’s amazing what you can do with an Mp3 player, a flashlight found in the closet, and a book). At about ten after six, I started to explore the school, it really is quite large at night when no one else is here, and eventually made it back to the Digital Arts room(after gorging myself down in Culinary) just to find it locked. Sorry Mrs. Doshier I was forced to break into the room with a carefully placed homemade device. I stood back as the door was forcefully shoved open with enough force to put a group of hardcore wrestlers on the ground. Needless to say, the door go t my point. I wanted in and it wasn’t stopping me.
I looked around and went in. At this point I realized just how lazy some students can be. It was a mess in here and all the computers were still on. I sat down and logged on to my computer. This also gave me a chance to work on that darn website project. I’m doing my project when I take a moment to rest my eyes and look around. Then I realized I wasn’t alone but I was. If that makes sense I’ll be even more terrified. The puppets were no longer on the walls.
I continued to search for them but still didn’t see them. I saved what I had, got up, and walked around the room. There was a light on in the storage room. I opened the door slowly to find that the puppets were being held hostage by the puppet of Samuel L. Jackson (he’s the only one with a gun.). As I walked in I guess he had an itchy trigger finger and I scared him cuz he shot the gay Mexican in the head. I kid you not, he shot him!
I backed out of the room and shut the door. I panicked and ran out the door. I got to the front entrance and stopped. “What am I doing,” I asked myself,” they might just be puppets but then again apparently they have lives.” I started to head back when I had an epiphany. “They’re just freakin’ puppets, what do I care? I mean it doesn’t make me a bad person that I don’t give a rat’s bottom what happens to them.”
This sudden thought caused me to stop moving, turn around 180 degrees, and head back out the door. Screw it, you got a problem with it, YOU go get shot trying. It’s YOUR problem now. I’m stayin’ out of it. Have Fun.

Psychotic Tinfoil
By. Michael Finley




The story I’m about to tell you is completely and utterly true, I SWEAR IT’S TRUE THE ALIENS TOLD ME SO, I’m not insane. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Outburst? I didn’t just have an outburst. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! I DIDN’T HAVE AN OUTBURST. You’re the one who is insane. Get away from me you crazy fool! Geez people these days are completely whacko *Twitch*. Well, hurry up and start the story. What are you waiting for? Me? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! I am NOT insane. Go away. Oh yeah I was saying something before I was so rudely interrupted. Yeah, you interrupted me. NOW SHUT THE HELL UP SO I CAN START! That’s better *Twitch*.
Well now then, as I was saying this story is true, so, it’d be best for you to listen, you know? Well one day I realized something,*twitch*, I have no body, see, I’m just a brain and a pair of eyes. How am I speaking to you, you ask? Telepathically my deranged young friend, telepathically. I wear a tinfoil hat to protect me from the government mind probes, and now I’m rolling around in a straight jacket because they took away my robotic platform. The aliens gave me that platform and it responded to my telepathic abilities. I say go left, it goes left. I say go right, it goes right. I say go up, it goes down. DAMN INVERTED CONTROLS! *twitch*. The C.I.A. keeps trying to get in my head, but my hat protects me. JOYOUS HAT OF TIN!

The Eternal Warrior
By. Michael Finley


I am…
Swathed in fur hides and uncured leather, flesh mottled with red clay and war paint. I beat back the onslaught of the others- those who walk on two legs, who use clubs and spears, but are not men.
The rude stone ax heavy in my hairy hands, I smash skulls like eggs and, ravenous after the battle, I feast on my enemies hearts and wash in their blood.
Called the Hand of God, I wield a sword made of bronze. My shield is leather and beaten lead. I fought and I died in the desert sands of Jerusalem, struck down by the demon Ba’al in a holy war long forgotten by mankind, though it echoes through eternity.
Here I die with my king, arrow pierced Leonidas, as the Persian chariots burst through the Spartan defenses at the mountain pass called Thermopylae.
At Carrhae, I retreat with Cassius’s legions, cut to pieces by the Parthians who tricked the Legionnaires into breaking formation, then massacred the roman troops with cavalry.
In burnished steel armor, astride a stirrup less saddle, I beat back the Huns who seek to destroy the Roman civilization and thrust the world into the ignorance and superstition of the Dark Ages.
I ride a Mongol pony into Samarkand with Genghis Khan. We leave mounds of sun-bleached skulls and utter desolation in our wake. Harvesters of death.
My chain mail encrusted with rust and sweat-salt, I hack my way over prostrate Jerusalem’s walls with the Knights Templar’s. I put the Infidel to the sword and liberate the Holy Lands in the name of my most holy Pontiff, Urban the Second.
At Bosworth, I wear a white rose and die in the marsh during Lord Stanley’s bloody advance.
I am captain of the mercenaries, I besiege the Magdeburg with the Roman Catholic armies of Gustavus Adolphus. No one could stop us. Overwhelm the Hessian defenders and butcher thirty thousand Protestant men, woman, and children.
Both sides fight for the glory of God. I fight for plunder.
Wind chimes tinkle in the chill night air. The garden sparkles with crystalline ice. I wear a sky blue silk kimono; my skin is yellow. I dance in the falling flakes, silver blade flashing, dark ninja blood staining the virgin snow as black-clad forms fall dead at my feet.
Perfectly dealt, my strokes slash out a haiku of death, each cut a decapitation, each lunge a disembowelment.
I fight for the emperor and my shogun master.
I trek across the deserts of Egypt and the steppes of Russia with Napoleon. Our triumphs, our cruelty are legendary, our retreat through a freezing hell our penance.
At Vera Cruz, we remembered the Alamo by invading Mexico via the sea and defeating the Mexican Army in their own streets.
I die in a dusty ditch next to a wheat field in a place called Antietam, then spring to life.
On the walls of old Peking, I stand side by side with heroes, to beat back a horde of Chinese hatchet men who seek the deaths of all foreign devils.
For fifty-five days we hold, a hundred United States Marines who defeat a two-thousand-year-old empire.
I feel the wood and fabric of my SPAD shudder under the chattering machine guns. I watch a Fokker DVII crumple in the air, its wings burning as it plunges, spinning, to the Western Front far, far below.
I love a Blackfoot Indian girl named Silver Fox.
I meet Hemmingway in Spain.
I fight in the trenches, breathe poison gas.
I parachute into Normandy on D-day.
I wage war in Malaysia, Vietnam, Korea, Laos, Cambodia, France, Belgium, Austria, Istanbul, and Peking.
In Jerusalem, in Actium, Rome, Paris, Fort Pitt, Yorktown, Moscow, Osaka, Cambria, Flanders, Belleau Wood, Guernica, the Sahara, Caen, Berlin, Dien Bren Phu, and Hanoi.
All of them were me. Me. The Eternal Warrior. The Hand of God, the Master of War. An immortal spirit with no beginning and perhaps no end, only an eternity of suffering and strife and the tide of battle. No peace, no rest. No love, no family, no home. The sword my only mistress, the battle-rent banner my testament.
With stone and wood, with bronze and iron, with steel and adamantium as my tools, my weapons, I live the warrior’s life; die the warrior’s death a thousand times over. My lives line up behind me on parade, and I can see them all, like dim silhouettes marching over Golgotha.
I’ve suffered the spear’s tip and the headman’s ax, the slashing sword, the arrow’s pierce, the crossbow’s bolt. I’ve drowned. Been burned. Crucified. Blown asunder. Felt the hangman’s noose.
And in the end, all that pain ever led to was finding that its never truly a climax, only another beginning in the endless, eternal cycle of blood and conflict, as inevitable as the rising sun, the phases of the moon, the passing of the stars, the falling rain.

The Easter Bunny’s Break…

The Easter Bunny is not all the fun and games you think he is. He is a schizophrenic bi-polar bunny with murderous tendencies. Easter is one of the few days of the year he’s nice. He decides to give out dead birds, (never born to begin with), with hideous pastel colors on them. He does it because they find it fun, (the humans that is). After he’s done being all happy happy and shit like that, he goes on break.
His break consists of rampaging through Iraq with a full supply of heavy artillery. Thing about it is, he cares nothing about who it is he kills; Iraqi or American, all the same to him. To him they all bleed the same, the more explosive the more awesome it is. Like once, he saw this guy poking his head out a doorway, in a gunfight with light weapons. He pulls out the Type 87 Grenade Launcher, launches one at the door, right as the guy looks out… “Hey buddy! ILUVYOU!” *boom*. He watched as the guys’ body split in two and the two pieces went in opposite directions.
That was mildly funny compared to this one time on the ridge. The Easter Bunny was on a sniper camp point on a ridge and saw this guy on the parallel ridge, some 400 yards away, running to get his noob spot. The Easter Bunny had to smile; “too perfect…” he takes aim and fires into the air. The guy runs on the ridge clueless to his utter destruction at hand.
“Can you feel the love tonight,” the Easter Bunny started singing. Grenade: 30 feet to go. Noob: 30 feet until in the path of fire. Hmm. Calculations, calculations. Let’s do the math, shall we? Noob> grenade \/ = Perpendicular! Death to the noob! His ass blasted into vast amounts of particles, and what was left made it halfway back to the Easter Bunny. “Boom fun laugh DIE!!!” He went on and on and on, until… he got hungry.
Then he proceeded to maul innocent bystanders. “I WANT IT MY WAY!!!!”


Type 87 Grenade Launcher w/ optional Tripod

“Tune in next week for more adventures into ‘Holiday Creature Favorite Pastimes’, here on WDRK 133.7 Skitz FM.”

This was how my day went on Saturday.



I was walkin down the road, and there was this squirrel, and I said "DUDE, SQUIRREL!" and the squirrel said "DUDE, MIKE!" and I was all like DUDE and he was all like DUDE! and I was all like "where the fuck did I park my car?" and he was all like "why the fuck am I talking?" and we had a party, and long story short, squirrel vs. Honda= bad for squirrel. so anyways, then I continued walking down the road, and then I realized my shoe was untied, so I bent down to tie my shoe and was transported to the magical land of tamriel, did battle with this evil dude named dagoth ur, called him fat, insulted his mama, then went home, then CHEERED LIKE HELL as I watched Notre Dame get THEIR ASSES HANDED TO THEM by Michigan. I <3 the wolverines. so anyways, the final score was 47-21. To anyone who wants to know how to play football, they should pay close attention to the Michigan wolverines. They got it covered. So anyways, I decided to go outside again and walk down that road, when I saw the squirrel again, only this time in a full body cast, and I said "Notre Dame Sucks ass!" but he was a Notre dame fan, so he ran into the street to kill me, but got run over by a Honda again. (Honda: 2 squirrel:0) so anyways, I keep walking down the street, bragging to anyone who wouldn’t jump in front of a Honda about how Michigan (who was ranked 11th,) beat Notre Dame (who was ranked 2ND!!!! HELLZ YA!) Anyways, they eventually got mad, so I got arrested for 3 counts of murder, 6-armed robberies, one of which involved some candy and a baby, and 3rd degree burns. Don’t ask. So im bribing the cops, and who do I see? Mr. squirrel, back for a 3rd round. So I pull out my samurai sword, and he pulls out his glue stick, and we duke it out, right there in the mall. (Not sure when I got to the mall, try to stick with me here) after 20 minutes, I have a horrible gash in my chest, my sword is broken, and the squirrel is pinning my sword arm to the ground. I played possum, and he thought I was dead, so he ran back across the street. Guess who shows up? Our good friend Mr. Honda. Honda once again shows squirrel that in the game of Honda, Mike, squirrel, Honda always beats squirrel. So, i'm walking down the street again, this time with MY glue stick, going crazy and murdering small Notre dame fans left and right. Well, eventually, I ran out of glue, and I came home. By this time, the yard gnome has invaded my home, and I have to go back to tamriel to find something to kill him. I find it, and I come back, and I make the yard gnome into a slice of pizza. (Delicious, btw) so I team up with Darth Vader, and end the problem with Luke once and for all. So now, they are both going to counseling, and last I heard, they made it really far in group. So anyways, I decide to go home and guess what? I have 3 friend requests waiting for me. So I talk to Mr. squirrel, (he's alive and a good guy now) and I decide to add all those people, even though I only knew 1. So I decided to write my experiences down on this comment because I thought I’d share my day. Mr. squirrel attempted to go home, but there was a gang of Hondas waiting for him, and they gang-raped him, after which they ran him over many times. The current score in the game of Honda vs. squirrel is 36:0. Guess who’s winning? So at the end of the day, I saw Mr. Honda and I waved to him. I also learned how to speak Wookie, which I’m proud of, it’s a very complex language, you know...

The moral of this story is: cookies go better with milk. End of story.