Cupcake Force!

All by myself...don't wanna be...

Caitlin has abandoned me to go to New York for a week. Sneaking in her suitcase worked to no avail... Leaving me alone and bored. So I drew this marshmallow.

(You're welcome.)

Flaming Marshmallows

Today was probably the best day of Chemistry ever. For one, we made freakin' smores. With Bunsen burners. Mmm, gas-flavored roasted marshmallows. Anyway, it was all made even better if you can believe it, when Lauren, who is not in my class, got to sit in my class and do it with my group since she missed it last week! So now I will tell you our epic smore adventure and also how our life was threatened.

I learned a couple of things in this oh-so-educational day of Chemistry. Both about Lauren.

1. Lauren likes her marshmallows burned. Not roasted to a nice golden brown, but crumbly black, gooey burned. 

2. Lauren should not be allowed to handle flammable things near fires. Ever.

Now, I bet you're wondering how our lives could have possibly been threatened by the wonderful experience of eating smores in a Chem lab with all the lights off and a projection of a campfire on the board. The thing is, we were all eating our yummy chocolate, marshmallow, and graham cracker inventions, occasionally catching the marshmallows on fire for fun.  As shown here (ignore my awkward face): 

 And here (this is our twisted and slightly-on-the-violent-side friend David. He's Albino. And I hope he doesn't care his picture is on our blog. Oh well, he has no choice.):

 Okay, well eventually Lauren and I decided we wanted a picture of both of us holding up flaming marshmallows. You can see where this might go wrong. You know from the aforementioned that Lauren likes her 'mallows on the extra crispy side, so her little wooden stick had been burned and broken numerous times, leaving a short twig left to use. So, we began roasting our marshmallows and trying to get them aflame, and Lauren's of course immediately bursts into a deathly flame ball of... death. And, not even joking, it falls off her wimpy little stick, right onto our hands. I screamed. This is a picture of the aftermath; observe Lauren's devious face and me cradling my slowly blistering hand: 

 Still the best day ever.

The Sickly Doctor

We've decided that our blog needs mascots. So we made some! They are slightly out of the ordinary and their stories may be more or less depressing, but don't judge. They're awesome. Because they're all dastardly. And awkward. Hence the awesome. Okay. I will stop with the short sentences now. And move on. Seriously. Here I go.

The Silent Gentleman.

As time has shown, 

Sits in the corner,

Quiet and alone.

~*~

The Dastardly Magician

So dastardly and vile,

Waits quietly 

With an evil smile.

~*~

The Sickly Doctor

Gleeful and childish,

Watches with his balloon,

Waiting to fulfill his violent wish.

~*~

Now we decided to have a poetic background story for each mascot. We're only going to do one in this post, and we chose to write the Sickly Doctor's first. Enjoy! I guess... if you like kind of sad things... um, anyway...

His story begins at eight years of age

When the fatal Black Plague was on a deathly rampage.

Infected with the sickness, the boy was in grief.

His parents knew his life was over, his time was brief.

They wanted a solution, they gifted him a red balloon,

Hoping in vain that his disease would subside soon.

They knew it was futile, and so it was true,

They boy became worse, his soul was due. 

His father a doctor, helped to no avail.

He fell sick and soon after, died of the plague as well. 

With no warning or explanation, the boy's soul did not part.

It occupied his body, yet no blood continued to pump in his heart.

If this phenomenon was a curse or a gift, the boy could not guess.

When his mother discovered him, she did not love him any less.

Eventually his small shell of a body showed signs of decay,

He donned his father's newly altered uniform and mask to hide the evidence away.

As time passed, his mother grew old and no longer uttered a breath,

They boy wandered through the years, constantly haunted by death.

Red balloon still firmly in hand, he found himself in a time of manners and money,

Stranded on the doorstep of the Silent Gentleman, a mime in appearance, but so far from funny. 

Now here's a picture of him riding a unicorn! Woohoo!

P.S. The costume worn by the Sickly Doctor is one that plague doctors used to wear while treating patients so they wouldn't contract the plague. Wikipedia it.