Hotwings.

BEST WORD IN THE WORLD?  Fascinating.  So many options to use it in.
BEST FOOD IN THE WORLD?  Hot wings.  They're like the funny mexican guy of the food world.
BEST KNOCK KNOCK JOKE?  HA!!!  Fool!  There IS none!! Knock knock jokes SUCK!!!
Wow, I'm glad I got that off my chest.  I've been feeling so angry tonight, you know??   The little monkey started flinging poo when he came back to the bathroom and the computer game he was on was completely gone and I was playing Tetris.  Apparently he was about to beat thousand something record or something.
Oopsy-daisy.
So he kicked me in the head, the little jerk-face.  I mean, naturally I punched his leg (hard) and we started screeching in fury and wrestling it out.  It was at that moment that the Bear decided to wake up from her slumber.
SAFETY TIP:  Don't poke the sleeping bear.
My little rumble with the monkey man ended pretty quick but I'm still feeling pretty hyped up on adrenaline.  When people use the saying "High on life" do you think they mean it literally???
Is there something that those people know that we don't?  Is there a way to literally get high on life? Hmmm...
Government secrets maybe?
 Or is it just one of those "secrets of life" thingys?
I hope not.  I'd rather have a government scandal.
Catch ya later alligator!!! (Or whatever you are)

Monkeys. Bears. Cranes. Leopards.

Aren't monkeys so cute?  They're like a mix of fluffy little puppy/kitties and babies.  Fluffythingys/babies.  No wonder people love them.  SOO CUTE!!  Sometimes my brother Drew remind me of a monkey.  Sweet innocent little fluffy baby one moment, then throwing poop and screeching the next.

My Mom's the bear.  You ever seen one of those nature shows with the bears and such??  Where it shows great fluffily bears bumbling along, they sort of look like they're grinning sometimes, don't they?  My mom's like that.  The mother bear of the family, which isn't exactly a compliment.  She's ultra strong, impossible to win an arm wrestling match against.  Must come from hauling all those flowers around.

Cal, my other brother, is like a crane.  Really skinny and he has the worst singing voice.  You know how cranes kind of croak when they sing?  My brother's like that, not exactly a bad singing voice but... not good either.  Interesting maybe.  And cranes look like hippies, especially the ones with the the red stripe around it's throat.  Also a bit of a jerk.  Not that that has anything to do with cranes.

Dad's like a leopard.  Quiet, and polite.  Some snide jokes but mostly a quiet and controlled guy.  Except for those rare moments were his temper slips and he yells.  One word.  SCARY!!!  But he's REALLY nice the other 99% percent of time.  I don't know why leopard comes to mind, it just fits.

Me?  Well I don't think I should really be the one to judge that, but it would be a bit unfair to talk about everyone except for me so I'll tell a little about myself.  I have ten fingers and ten toes.  I have a bunch of blankets on me right now 'cause it's so dang cold out!  I'm watching a show about ducklings, DO NOT ASK!!  Urm, what else... I have anger management issues, although you wouldn't guess it first looking at me.  I'm not the most patient person in the world, I get that from the Bear.

I'll catch you later, my faithful readers!
-blog of awesomeness, this is Bryn.  Signing off.
(I got that from a dj)

Favorites

Favorite colors.  Favorite game.  Favorite movie.  Favorite song.  There are too many favorites in the world we live in, let's say you start a casual conversation with a kid younger than you, and the first thing you ask is, "What's you favorite (fill in the blank)?"
I don't like to play favorites, I think it's mean and dishonoring for other colors.  Like brown.  How many people do you know who would say their favorite color is brown?  NO ONE!  I feel bad for brown.  It must be so lonely.
Ah, well.
So anyway, normally I wouldn't play favorites but there is just no avoiding it sometimes.  I have one favorite,  Derek Landy.
Period.
That's all I need to say, and all ready you can sense the power and sheer brilliance of it already.  I love him.  LUVV HIM!!!!  He's awesome.  BEST.  AUTHOR.  EVER.
My favorite definitely.
I love him with every ounce of my being in a totally non-weird, non-stalkerish way.
He wrote the Skulduggery Pleasant series, the most hilarious book in the WORLD!!!!
Now you know.

Movies and Murder

I'm watching the oldest, cheesiest, movie in history.  Well, arguably.  There are tons of old bad movies out there, all from the same time period.  Makes you wonder what all the types of pain and suffering the people at that time had to be put through.  My dad loves them.  They're the movies they watched when they were kids or something.  Some scenes are really morbid, like a old man running (well, sort of shuffling) throw a mob of people who were trying to beat him to death with sticks.  Really.  Where do people come up with this???

  You know I heard a theory from someone that the reason for all these school shootings and stuff is because of all the violence in our culture and music.  And to some point, I agree.  The great thing about the violence nowadays is that all the popular musicians (Eminem, Lady Gaga, etc.) are just better looking than all the violence inspiring things back then.  So props to us new generationers.  :)

My brother is hiding way in the basement right now and he's pretty much why I'm in such a bad mood.  Could you have guessed I was in a bad mood?  I think you should have; the whole topic of violence in generations isn't the happiest.

But I'm so totally moving past that.  Not even thinking about violence of any kind.  Definitely not beating my brother with a large stick.

Nope.  Definitely not that.  After all, if I beat him with a stick whenever I got mad at him; we might have stains on our carpet CONSTANTLY.

And no one wants that.

The bill for cleaning it would be huge.

So I must fight down this urge to kill my older (and yet far stupider and grumpier) brother with every ounce of willpower that I have.

If I did kill him, however, I just have to wonder if I would get caught.  After all, who would suspect the younger and more innocent daughter to a be a murderer?  Not that I AM a murderer.  Keep in mind this is all theoretically.

If I were to say, go down there and offer him a poisoned apple (which I promise you, I do NOT own one) and, of course, the being the nasty and ungrateful brother that he is he would glare at me, say no, and I would tell him that it was poisoned and apple, and just to prove me wrong; he would eat it.

And thus, he would be dead and I would be so much happier.

Sadly this is all hypothetical, and poisoned apples only exist in fairy tales.

As the devil would say, Alas.

(If you're reading this Cal, don't freak out.  I never actually planned to poison you.  I planned to strangle you in your sleep which is a TOTALLY different story.)

:)

Here We Are Again

We are here again at the beginning.  Here is what happened... *sound track starts playing like ~whoosh~whoosh~, then you see a hippie doing the strange hand wavy thingy, finally you are back in time, in my living room to be precise*
"How's your blog going?"  My mother says innocently, like she thinks that I don't know, but I do, oh, I do...
"Oh, fine."  I say, just as innocently.  "Have you gotten around to reading it yet?"  I ask, subtly drawing it out.
"Yeah, I read it."  She said and begins to type on the computer some more.
"Did you like it?"  I pestered and she makes noncommittal sounds.
"Sure, it was OK."
"Just OK?"
"It was fine."  Casually she takes a sip of water and I pounce.  (Metaphorically, of course, I've never actually pounced on my mother.)
"Fine enough to recommend to your friends on Facebook?"  I grinned and she looked at me and sighed.
"What do you want me to say?  It was good?  Alright.  It was.  It was very good and I'm very proud."
I cackle madly, because I know that she didn't just think it was good, she loved.  Call it daughter's intuition.
"It was very good and I expect you to keep writing it."  She continued and the smile faded off my face.
"Umm..."
"What is it?"  She asked, a gleam in her eyes, like a wolf before a lamb with a limp.
"I... Ah... Sorta, forgot the email address that I used and I don't really know how to log on again..."
She didn't look surprised.  Insulting, right?
"Just... just make a new one okay?"  She said and I smiled sweetly.
"Can I use your email address?  Oh, no mind.  I'm just going to anyway, kay?"  She opened her mouth in protest but I was already walking away. I stubbed my toe on the way out, totally ruining the dramatic entrance.
*suddenly you're rushing back, throw space and air.  The hippie is back (time travel stuff--- hippies are a necessity) and he's singing country songs (country songs and time travel, not so much a necessity, but I'm watching American Idol and there's a cowboy on....(my mom's tearing up, hehe)) Then you're finally back*
Okay, I think that was an exceptional start to my new blog, starting with a little short story.  Maybe it wasn't the best I've ever done, considering that I only came up with this in a few minutes and it definitely wasn't a true story, more like a theoretical possibility of one.  Sadly enough the only true part is the melodramatic ending and me stubbing my toe on my way out.
More's the pity.  Every time I try a melodramatic ending it ALWAYS ends the same.  Me and my toes getting hurt.
Grr...
So, um, welcome to the blog and stuff.