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The Club

Are you ready to hear tales of horror and stupidity? Can you handle the fact that your brain might gnaw it's way out of your skull while reading these stories? OK, then read on. What's that you say? Where did the old stories go? Click here to read them.

Pandora's Spices

Maggie likes to cook. Maggie likes to bake. Maggie likes to drink tea. She would be the perfect house wife if she didn't spend all her money on lip gloss or fly into fits of rage periodically. But since she likes to cook and bake and do kitcheny things, she does it often. One day she made some muffins or something like that and brought them to school in her lunch. She offered Sunny part of one so Sunny accepted, trusting her best friend. Sunny saw the large amounts of brown dust on top and commented to Maggie about wondering if it will burn in her mouth. Maggie, who hadn't tried them yet, didn't know. When Sunny bit into it, her mouth and lips burned like a campfire, and she asked Maggie,"How much cinnamon did you put in this?!" Maggie sheepishly answers,"Just a little bit more than what it said to. Well, OK, a lot more than it said to. I like cinnamon." Sunny's mouth was still burning so she walked quickly toward the water fountain. Maggie had added extra cinnamon to the recipe and more on top to accidentally make "hell's muffin." NO ONE likes cinnamon that much.

Like Totally Cool Tattoos: Sunny & Maggie's First Small Business

Believe it or not, Sunny and Maggie created a "business." It was a small business. No, it wasn't even that. It was a tiny business. They didn't have many customers. No one really trusted them. But that's not the point. It all started when they were really bored. Like so bored they started drawing on their ankles. They drew all over themselves. They used gel pens and regular pens. They drew mostly jewelry. Like rings and bracelets. A business was born. They called it "Like Totally Cool Tattoos." Not "Totally Cool Tattoos." "Like Totally Cool Tattoos." Well, I gave in to their pleading with me to let them scribble...I mean draw on my hand. They drew a red and blue pinky ring on me. It hurt. I mean, they were pressing down on the tender skin around my pinky with pens that were running out of ink. AND THEY ENJOYED IT!!! They love seeing me in pain. I should've been as smart as everyone else and refused to let them stab me with empty pens. They should rename it "Like Totally Cool Tortures."

Ducky's Pain & Laughter Value Pack

Lunch started as usual that day. We were sitting at the long table near the wall. Our abdominal muscles were sore from the previous day's PE workout (our teacher was a body builder, you know). Amber was saying something about if you beat your head on a wall 30 times, you'll die. I choked on my milk, and it went through my nose. Luckily, I caught most of it in the cup from which I was drinking. Sunny, Maggie, and Amber burst out laughing. I complain about getting milk on my sweater. They laugh even more. I get up to get some napkins. As I'm trying to get by this stack of tables, I hit my leg really hard on the edge. I twist my ankle on my way to get a napkin. I come back limping and hit my leg on the table again. Through uncontrolable laughter, Sunny and Maggie say,"Stop Ducky!! It hurts!!" You see, they were laughing so hard that any normal person would've hurt their abs. Add that to already-bruised abs and you see why they are telling me to stop. As if I could. I had every intention of missing that table, but things were so tight, it just happened. I bring so much joy to their lives, they couldn't live without me. The problem is, will I live if I bring joy to them?

DaMoon Corporation

In 6th grade, we had study halls, which is just memories now. We would stay in our portable for 50 minutes or so. Some of us did homework. Some of us drew comics. Then there were those of us who drew on the chalk board (but not with the all-powerful "chalk chunk"). But they didn't just draw on the chalk board; they creatively enterprised on the chalk board. Sunny and Maggie wanted to be interior designers back then (and Maggie still does). They would draw a giant rectangle on the board and divide it into rooms. Then they would add little toilets and curtins. In the end, they would have a cross section of a house, complete with furnishings. Now, drawing giant cross sections is quite fun if you have nothing to do. Maggie became the president and CEO of their little work force called DaMoon Corporation. Maggie was Mr. DaMoon. Sunny was Miss Sumter. John joined and became Mr. Achmed. A culture developed from this study hall odyssey. They all spoke in foreign accents. Everytime you said someone's name, you had to put your hands together and lean forward a little bit. Basicly, it was a small karate bow. They would all work on different parts of the house. I became a terrorist of sorts. I would sneak up and draw and they would chase me off, screaming. (Mr. DaMoon was a tempermental person. His face would turn red all the time.) Then one day, they let me join DaMoon Corporation. I became Mr. Chips. We began to plan houses out at lunch. We named other people with names from food packages. Josh became Peanut Oil, thanks to a box of Chick-Fil-A nuggets. Chris was first Fritos then he was Freako. We didn't give them titles at the begining (i.e., Mr. Peanut Oil) because they were not of DaMoon Corporation. We did not bow when we refered to them because they were not worthy. Well, eventually DaMoon Corporation broke apart and was forever no more. I told Maggie,"When you become an interior designer, name your company 'DaMoon Corporation.'" She said she might. I'm sure she will so the memories of DaMoon Corporation will live on.