AN: I have just been dying to post something. I have no idea what category
this is supposed to fall under, but I hope you find it humorus. It's about
when my dad made me clean my room in order to pay for a band trip. My
compliments to Shakespeare and Abraham Lincoln.
This is the story of a girl who could not keep her room clean, a story of clutter and candy-wrappers. But enough of me, the room's the thing.
Four score and seven years ago (okay, okay, cut the four score), the girl's father gave her a room, concieved in organisation and dedicated to the proposition that all rooms are to be cleaned equally.
Now we are engaged in a great clutter war, testing whether this room, or any room so cluttered and so filthy can long endure. We are met on the great battlefield of that war. We have come to agree upon the terms on which this chamber shall be cleaned, that the room may live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we cannot completely clean the room on Saturdays. The brave people who struggled here gave up a long time ago. Rather we should clean it on weekdays, too. The world will little note nor long remember what is written here. In fact, it's probably going to end up in the mound of papers at the bottom of my filing cabinet. But her dad can never forget what the girl did here. It is for the girl, rather, to be dedicated to the unfinished work which they who fought here have given up on. It is rather for the girl to be here dedicated to the task before her, that the girl's dad shall not have deposited the band trip deposit in vain- that this room under God shall shall have a new birth of organization, and that the room of the girl, [owned] by the girl, and for the girl shall not perish from the earth.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Autumn
This is the story of a girl who could not keep her room clean, a story of clutter and candy-wrappers. But enough of me, the room's the thing.
Four score and seven years ago (okay, okay, cut the four score), the girl's father gave her a room, concieved in organisation and dedicated to the proposition that all rooms are to be cleaned equally.
Now we are engaged in a great clutter war, testing whether this room, or any room so cluttered and so filthy can long endure. We are met on the great battlefield of that war. We have come to agree upon the terms on which this chamber shall be cleaned, that the room may live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we cannot completely clean the room on Saturdays. The brave people who struggled here gave up a long time ago. Rather we should clean it on weekdays, too. The world will little note nor long remember what is written here. In fact, it's probably going to end up in the mound of papers at the bottom of my filing cabinet. But her dad can never forget what the girl did here. It is for the girl, rather, to be dedicated to the unfinished work which they who fought here have given up on. It is rather for the girl to be here dedicated to the task before her, that the girl's dad shall not have deposited the band trip deposit in vain- that this room under God shall shall have a new birth of organization, and that the room of the girl, [owned] by the girl, and for the girl shall not perish from the earth.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Autumn