Avisa
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Post by Avisa on Jun 17, 2004 19:34:42 GMT
As promised, here is my Valedictorian speech. Please try to refrain from barfing at the sappiness.
Good evening and welcome to teachers, parents, guests and fellow Grade Eight students. I am Stephanie Spence, and I am very honored to have been chosen as Valedictorian for our graduating class of 2004. Well, it had to happen someday. My class’s time at DCS is coming to an end. I’m sure you’re all crying a river inside, and that your party-making and cries of glee are your way of dealing with this tragedy. This was a very difficult speech to write. The fact that I didn’t start writing it until yesterday afternoon probably didn’t help matters any, but that is beside the point. The problem that faced me as I wrote this was how to summarize my time here. How do you put nine years of your life into a speech less than two pages long? There are only forty-eight lines in a sheet of 8x10 paper, and on average ninety-three characters per line. How could I fit 64% of my life in one hundred and eighty-six characters? Well, there you go Mme. LeBlanc. Proof that you have gotten to me, after all. I don’t remember many things about my early days at school. I recall crying on the first day of Kindergarten because Joey and Jamie were in my class. Looking back, I still think that was a prophetic reaction. I remember not being able to pronounce Lealyn’s name when I first met her. I believe I went through a brief period when I called her ‘Lalyn’, but it didn’t last long. I remember thinking that Courtney was one of the messiest and most absent-minded people on earth. That hasn’t changed, but now I’m beginning to catch up with her. I remember getting into fights with Kyle over who was ‘It’ in a game of tag. It never did get settled, but I’m still under firm belief that even though I tripped him, his leg still touched my foot and classified him ‘tagged’. I remember screaming as I ran away from Brian in a game of dodgeball. You wouldn’t think that he would be able to hurt someone so much with a ball made of cloth. But he could. I remember hiding from some teacher or another in the library with Matthew Landry, reading Charles Dickens and making fun of “A Tale of Two Cities’. That incident gave way to a rather annoying habit he now has of calling me ’The Dickens’ when I attack. I remember staying after school in Homework Club with Mathew Croswaite and Brittany, drawing caricatures of various people in the school, along with funny captions. We didn’t do any of our assigned work that day, but our unassigned work caused the janitor to laugh when he saw it. I remember furiously thinking of boiling Raym in oil when he stole my shoes, and then tying his body to an anthill and covering it with honey. Now I’ve calmed down, and only wish to introduce him to my friend, the oven (Now, with new lock on door!). I remember being ready to tear my hair out at both Kalin and Tyson for being pests. Kalin never stopped asking me ‘Why?’, and Tyson never said anything, period. And neither seemed to care that they had the power to annoy me, which was very odd. Throughout our lives, my class has gone through nine grades at Dorchester Consolidated. We survived the days when the longest word we could spell was ‘meter’, when painted spaghetti was fine art, when possession of a cool sticker could cause a small war. In DCS we have formed the friendships that have changed our lives, realized what nuts our parents can become when we bring home that lovely little ‘D’ (and how graciously they struggle, trying to help with homework they themselves don’t understand), and been taught by the teachers who set us on the path to being an adult. We have learned more there than any other place, and we will leave more behind us than anywhere else as we go on to the next step in our lives. I cannot adequately express my gratitude and my classmate’s gratitude for being there for us as we went from children to teenagers, and helping us become the people you see here today; ready to take on TRHS and form new memories and friendships there as we did during our first nine years of education. Needless to say, we will never forget the people of Dorchester Consolidated School, from the tiniest Kindergartner to the mightiest Principal. We thank the teachers, the parents, and the friends who have made us who we are. To them, we owe more than we can ever give back. Our memories will stay with us forever, no matter where in the world we end up spending our lives. Thank for your time and your patience as I recounted pointless memories you probably all wish I had kept to myself. In the immortal words of Bugs Bunny: “That’s all, folks!”
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Avisa
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Post by Avisa on Jun 17, 2004 19:36:31 GMT
And here is the much funnier Prophecy (a stroy about our 20th Year Reunion)
The parking lot at Dorchester Consolidated School was ablaze with light. That was very unusual at nine PM on a Saturday night in June. Perhaps a hard-working teacher was planning some festive end-of-the-year activity inside the walls. But no: a banner hung across the front of the building, proclaiming ‘Welcome, Graduates of ’04!’. And sure enough, a Jaguar with a license plate reading ‘Beckman’ was parked in the Principal’s space. The blond-haired man inside was grumbling to himself. “Perfect. Just perfect. They’re late already. How am I supposed to get to the 10:30 class now?” he said, glaring out the window. “If they’re not here in five minutes, I’ll—okay, deep breaths, deep breaths, pet the kitty, pet the kitty.”<br> Breathing deeply and petting an imaginary cat, he failed to notice a woman in furs and jewels walking across the pavement with a confused expression on her face. Until she bumped into his car and fell down. In seconds, Brian was outside. “Why you idiotic—deep breaths—you’re going to scratch the paint!—pet the kitty—who are you?”<br> The woman straightened up, rubbing her forehead. “I think I’m Brittany,” she replied, checking to make sure all her jewels were safe. “But I might be Ashley. I’m not sure.”<br> The blond man stared. “Brittany Coombs?” he asked incredulously. When she nodded, his eyes grew even wider. “Why are you wearing all that weird cr—deep breaths.” “Oh, these?” said Brittany, gesturing at her coat and jewelry. “My dear William gave them to me. Some sort of royal jewel things, I think—they belonged to someone in his family who died a while ago. Elizabeth the Second or something like that. Anyway, Charles was against it, but Will said that a future Queen had to have Queen-y things. He’s so cute when he’s insisting.” She giggled and winked. Brian, who had been standing there with a gaping mouth, swallowed and started to speak. But his words quickly turned to a howl of pain as a skateboard ran over his foot. “*CENSORED*!!!!!” he screamed, hopping around and holding his crushed toes. Meanwhile, Brittany was smiling vaguely at the bright blue contraption. “Wow,” she said admiringly. “A board with wheels! What will they think of next?”<br> “Hey! A little help?” said a small voice to their left. Turning, they saw a girl in shorts and a T-shirt zooming towards them on a skateboard. Brittany graciously stepped aside, but Brian saw her too late. Soon he was on the ground, howling over the pain in his other foot. The girl scooped up the runaway board and did some sort of twisty thing that had her facing the other way. “Hi,” she said softly. Brittany blinked. “High?” she mused, her brow wrinkling. “I don’t think that we’re any higher than we were a few seconds ago.”<br> Brian groaned and sat up. “Who are you?” he asked bluntly, glaring at her. The girl smiled a little. “I’m three-time world champion skateboarder, Lee Shan,” she replied, taking off her helmet. “I used to be Lealyn Shannon, though.”<br> No sooner had she said those words than a horrible, high-pitched sound filled the air. Both Lealyn and Brian covered their ears, wincing in pain. But Brittany didn’t. Because the sound was Brittany—squealing. “LEALYN!!!!” she shrieked, jumping up and down hugging her. “I haven’t seen you for ages and ages! It’s been so long! How come you never reply to my e-mails? I send you at least twelve a day, I mean they can’t all be lost—“ She broke off. A brand new Dodge pick-up truck was bouncing down the road towards them, turning into the lot, stopping about ten feet away. Lealyn chose this handy diversion to duck out of her old friend’s embrace and back away. The driver side door opened slowly. Out stepped a pair of jeans and workboots. Then came a plaid flannel shirt, a toolbelt, and a cowboy hat. A tall man sauntered toward them with his hands in his pockets, walking slowly but deliberately in her direction. A young girl was walking along the sidewalk, eating her ice cream, when she saw him. Her eyes went wide. “Look! It’s ML from Extreme Home Makeover!” Shrieking, she ran back to town. The man stopped and drew his hands out of his pockets. In each hand he held a power drill, which he whirred expertly before sticking them into his toolbelt. “Finally! A guy!” said Brian, limping over to him. “Hey Matt, what’s up?”<br> “Nothing much. Just the usual: repairing homes, inspiring dreams, having fangirls drool all over me, relaxing in my three million dollar mansion. Normal life of a carpenter.” He grinned and leaned against the Jaguar. “So,” said Lealyn. “We have Princess Brittany over there, a World Champion skateboarder, a carpenter hunk, and--” she looked questionably over at Brian. “I’m an Anger Management instructor,” he said. Fighting down an insane urge to laugh, she nodded. “All right. So…who’s going to be next to show up? And what will they be?”<br> “Let’s go team!” Instantly four heads swiveled to the right. And four mouths dropped wide open. Barreling towards them, shaking his pom-poms, was an old but still recognizable Joey Burns. He wore shorts and a tank-top, cut in the traditional cheerleader style and all in bright shades of purple and gold. “Lets go, Lionhearts!” he roared again, turning a clumsy cartwheel. “We’re the best and we know it! We shake our booties to show it! Go, go, go!”<br> They couldn’t take it anymore. Every one of them, even the always-cool Matthew, collapsed onto the pavement in laughter. “Laugh at us you might! But we are still the mightiest!” He raised his arms in the air and sank into a half split, started screaming, and fell over. “Oh—oh, we’re not—hoo-ha-ha-ha!!” said Lealyn, managing to sit up. “We’re just—ha-ha—just laughing—HA!—over—shirt---cartwheel!—hee-hee.”<br> After a few minutes they managed to stand up and stop they’re giggles, though they were still smiling and none of them dared to look at each other. “Cheerleading is very honorable,” Joey was saying, pacing back and forth in front of them. “It requires skill, beauty, fashion sense, and—“ But like many before him, he was cut off. This time it was twin dirtbikes which blew dust into his face, causing him to choke. The dirtbikes turned at a dime, stopping at the exact same second.
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Chris Wells
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Post by Chris Wells on Jun 17, 2004 19:36:32 GMT
*looks at his watch*
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Avisa
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Post by Avisa on Jun 17, 2004 19:37:32 GMT
The riders stood up, moved in sync until they were standing in front of the group, and them removed their helmets as one person. “Raym? Tyson?” said Matthew, wiping the dust from his eyes. “What are you guys?”<br> “Professional dirtbike racers,” said Raym. “We win all of the time. We rule,” said Tyson “So that’s why we’ve never heard of you,” Lealyn remarked. “Shut up, or I’ll call my manager!” growled Raym. But they ceased to be new and interesting now. The others had lost interest and were debating who would win in a fight, Wolverine or Spiderman. Shrugging, the newcomers sat down and joined in. That was when the camouflaged figure popped out of the bushes and scuttled towards them. “Psst,” he whispered. They didn’t hear. “PSSST!” Joey turned, glaring. “We’re having a conversation here. Go away.”<br> ML stared at the dark-haired guy. “Hey, aren’t you Kalin?”<br> He nodded. “Yeah. Uh…what is this?”<br> “A reunion,” said Tyson. “We’re your old classmates.”<br> “Yeah, well, I got a tip that a few big stars are showing up here tonight. I’ll let you in on some of the moolah if you’ll just tell me why.”<br> “Stars?” said Raym, echoing everyone else’s confusion. “What stars?”<br> “Don’t play games. I’m a journalist; I’ve got a sixth sense for these kinds of things. You can’t fool me.” “But we really don’t know,” said Lealyn. “It’s too cloudy to have stars out anyway,” said you-know-who in the fur coat. But suddenly, a camera was being shoved into their faces. “The stars are coming to see me,” said the guy behind it, turning this way and that in order to catch everything on film. “They know I’m here. They want me to film them, to make them powerful. I make stars out of dust and gas. The shoot across the sky, and I am forgotten. But not this time.”<br> Most of the group backed away. But Kalin came closer. “Who are you?” he asked. The camera was lowered. “Kyle?!” yelled everyone. He nodded vaguely, looking around. “Mmmm-hmmm. Where are they? They’re coming, you know. Here, to me, rushing towards fame, always fame, like pickles to a bunny rabbit, a frog to the brine, pickled frog…” he babbled on and on, pulling out a mini-laptop and typing out ideas of madness. Brian leaned over to Matthew. “I think he’s lost it.”<br> Kyle’s head shot up. ‘Headlights!” he said, pointing. And there were. But the thing that grabbed their attention was what the headlights were attached to. It was a black stretch limousine. It whispered up to the group, stopping about ten feet away. A chauffer hopped out and unrolled a red velvet carpet. They stared in anticipation as the door was opened. Out stepped a willowy woman in a slinky, silk evening gown. Diamonds sparkled at her throat, and her black hair was curled and set against her face just-so. An impossibly tall man stood next to her, in a crisp suit and with an expression of boredom on his face. Kalin started talking very fast into his mini tape-recorder. “And out of the limo steps the singing diva Courtney Cannuelle, as well as James Milner, the star of “A Fall Too Soon’, the most popular soap opera in North America.” “Well,” said Matthew. “A snotty diva and a bad actor. Great company.”<br> “Popcorn?” asked Raym, holding out the bag. Soon they were talking about horror movies, and if they noticed when the two stars sat down next to them they didn’t show it. This discussion lasted for about ten minutes. It ended when the helicopter crashed into the limousine. A person clothed in black landed beside it, attached to a parachute. “Oh, crud,” they said, staring at the smoldering remains. “This is going to attract some people.” Turning, they spotted the group, all of whom were staring with open mouths. “That was fast” they remarked. “Who are you?” asked Joey, shaking a pom-pom threateningly. In answer, the person swept off their aviation helmet and stepped into the light. “Stephanie? Is that you?” they asked, staring. The girl blinked. “Um…yes. Am I dead? How do you know my name?”<br> “Well, we only went to school with you for nine years,” said Matthew. “Oh, crud,” she said again. “Is this that reunion I got the invitation to?”<br> “Yeah.” Brian nodded. “So…where have you been? And why do you have a helicopter?”<br> “Oh, that.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I was late for a shoot, and taxis take too long—besides, they were going to need it tomorrow anyway! I only borrowed it for, like, ten minutes!”<br> Courtney raised a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “Huh?” she said. “What shoot?”<br> Stephanie was cutting away the parachute and her voice was muffled when she replied. “I do stunts for movies. Fight scenes, falling down cliffs, climbing mesh fences. But in the new shot, I was just standing in as a body double. Tomorrow, I was going to jump from a helicopter.” Her face appeared as she shrugged off the black silk. “Guess they’re going to need a new one.”<br> “Atoms!” yelled Kyle, running forward and grabbing her by the arm. “You shall be my new star! Together, we will paint the story of Adia Ackaminnie on the silver screen, telling of her amazing feats in the Third Dimension of the Pock!”<br> Stephanie stared at him. It was obvious to the rest of the group that she was about to resort to drastic measures. After seeing her crash the helicopter, none of them particularly wanted to know what those measures would be. Lealyn stepped between them. “Okay, let’s talk about something else.” “What’s more interesting to talk about than Oscar-worthy movies?” asked Kyle. “Besides pancakes, of course.”<br> “Uh…how about the way we all turned out? In one class, in a small school, we have two dirtbike racers, a singing diva, a soap opera star, a world-champion skateboarder, a movie director, a journalist, a carpenter hunk, a male cheerleader, an Anger Management instructor, a princess, and a stuntwoman. That’s pretty interesting.” She looked around hopefully. Tyson spoke up. “Nah, that’s boring. Let’s do something else. “I found a pack of cards in the helicopter,” supplied Stephanie. “They have pictures of famous teddy bears on them.” “Cards it is,” said Joey. And cards it was.
There you go. Laugh uproariously, starting...now.
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Jade Cross
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~})i({~
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Post by Jade Cross on Jun 17, 2004 19:38:11 GMT
Very good Avisa! I wish that you had spoken at the high school graduation this year. ^_^
*pelts Chris with cookies*
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Chris Wells
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*~Blind~*
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Post by Chris Wells on Jun 17, 2004 19:38:46 GMT
*checks his watch again*
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Michaela
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Vampire
~..Avise la Fin..~
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Post by Michaela on Jun 17, 2004 19:39:32 GMT
*drops an avil on Chris' head* Oh, sod off. I like it. ^^
Well done, 'Visa.
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Chris Wells
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*~Blind~*
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Post by Chris Wells on Jun 17, 2004 19:41:49 GMT
GAH! *runs*
*stops and thinks*
mich cant lift an anvil
*watches as she tries to lift it and falls backwards*
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Avisa
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Privacy is my specialty.
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Post by Avisa on Jun 17, 2004 19:43:31 GMT
Thanks. BTW, the Raym guy I mentioned is more annoying and stupid than...*eyes slide over to Chris* someone.
The Prophecy is my favorite of the two. It's funnier. My friend Courtney wrote most of it.
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Chris Wells
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Post by Chris Wells on Jun 17, 2004 19:46:27 GMT
*is in total shock* meeeee? annoyinggggg? how so?
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Post by Nicodemus on Jun 17, 2004 19:48:43 GMT
So you have a middle school graduation? Grade eight graduation?
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Michaela
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~..Avise la Fin..~
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Post by Michaela on Jun 17, 2004 19:57:52 GMT
Christopher, it's called vampiric strngth. I could lift a car, if I was so inclined.
Do some reading, would you? It may heighten your IQ.
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Avisa
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Privacy is my specialty.
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Post by Avisa on Jun 17, 2004 20:00:23 GMT
Yeah. We have to: Our school is for Kindergarten to Grade Eight. And yet, it only has a hundred kids.
Anyway, you get attached to a place in nine years.
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Post by Nicodemus on Jun 17, 2004 20:03:22 GMT
Yes, Ive been to Galien schools for 10 years..and its closing down. I am dissapointed.
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Jade Cross
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Post by Jade Cross on Jun 17, 2004 21:48:04 GMT
*looks at Joe sadly and nods* All these years... for nothing. Cheated, is how it feels. I had only one more year to go... I was top of my class and would've been valedictorian. And the poor old freshmen... I'm glad that for us Juniors, we only have one more year elsewhere, but for the younger classmen... *deeply sighs*
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