Ueffqo Monologue

Hey, how are you all doing out there ? Well, me I have just been trying to stay healthy and keep my head high so I can make it back to the only thing I have and that’s you all “my family”. I try not to think about you all too much because when I think about what's going on out there it makes me mad and I am so tired ‘’omg’’. We don't eat that much during war but when we get back to the base we eat pretty good, well actually really good. I notice that a lot of people donate food and medicine and first-aid kits too. I just got an Lee-Enfield rifle and it's a pretty nice gun, it can hold 10 bullets. I just been waiting to use it on, Germany, Austria-Hungary and the Ottoman Empire against the Allied forces of Great Britain, and there are some

Daniella Owusuwaah Ashley Dunn THE 191: Section K 28, April 2015 Avenue Q: Sesame Street Meets South Park Avenue Q is a laugh-out-loud, fast moving musical that is an adult version of Sesame Street that address racism, pornography, homophobia, and the parable of finding one’s purpose in life through satirical songs. On Friday, April 17, I saw Miami’s production of Avenue Q directed by Ms. Saffron Henke at the Gates-Abegglen Theatre. This unique show uses puppets as a shield to explore issues that are often hard and sensitive to talk about; it’s easy to talk about racism when it’s through a puppet. I believe that the goal of Miami’s production of Avenue Q was to present and educated to the community and the students about issues such as

Hi there. My name is Genevieve (Jenna for short) and I’m proud to say I am a part of CCU’s class of 2019. I come from a small town in the middle of nowhere in Harford County, Maryland. I have two younger sisters, so I’m the first one of the family to tackle this adventure. I’m planning on majoring in communication with a minor in photography. I discovered my passion for writing/business/broadcasting when I was placed into a journalism class in tenth grade. I never thought I’d end up being the business manager and one of many reporters on a staff that created a 20-page newspaper every month for the next three years, and a main anchor on our daily morning announcements.

Eventually, Ellen became exasperated by the group and stepped out onto the balcony where she was able to escape the maelstrom of yelling. However, she did enjoy speaking her mind on the topic of the New York upper class and how she wanted to become part of it. Unfortunately, Mr.Beaufort joined her a few moments later, breaking her temporary tranquility. Ostensibly, he appeared calm and had a conversation with Ellen about her home, but his intentions were gradually unveiled. It started with his sudden comment on Ellen’s hair, calling it gorgeous. She thanked him awkwardly and took a step back from him, only allowing Mr.Beaufort to take two steps forward. Soon afterwards, he engaged in a conversation about Mrs.Struthers’ paintings and how beautiful they were, but Ellen knew that he was a dilettante of the topic, for she had known that most art in Europe would triumph over any of the art in this house. Oblivious of his true intents, he seized this opportunity to come closer to Ellen and clasped his hand around hers. He asked her if she still kept in touch with her husband and if she was currently seeing anyone in New York, stumbling upon all his words. The tension in the air was palpable and Ellen only did what she could; she gave him a smile and said that she needed to step inside, leaving him on the outside. Her heart pounding, she dashed off the balcony into the house, thinking of the look on Newland’s face when she informed him that she would be going to the party, which was now elucidated. She sat down at the table with the Duke and Mrs.Struthers and finished her dinner. After having a few more drinks she began to feel a bit drowsy, so she thanked Mrs.Struthers for having her and concluded that besides her strange and revealing encounter with

Woah, woah, woah. We got a bitch ass sprog here thinking dissing someone's comment is really going to get us somewhere. You're just a little thirteen-year-old furfag, grow the fuck up already. Anyways, I was just stating the fact that just because other people are allergic to something shouldn't be the reason why something should be illegal same for folks who have asthma. Also the thing on destroying your lungs/cancer there way more other things that cause cancer, but you don't see the government trying to stop it, know do you? All the shit they put in our food cause cancer, but you don't see tons of commercials talking about how we should grow our own food or to eat better. I mean people should have the right to smoke a cigarette if they want

“Yes, you there, that man er—young man I spoke to earlier,” she shrilled, clumsily trotting across the street. “Yes, you,” she panted, grasping hold of her centered, skirt slit and swiftly darting across the grass. “Oh it’s wet, the grass is moist,” she wailed. “Yes, you there,” she said again, pointing at me, nearing closer and clamoring up the porch steps. “Oh look, those are some beautiful, Ah—deadly roses!” she squawked, “I think they just made a ladder in my favorite tights.” Her face looked like it was going to sob again, but briskly, she straightened her stance and blew out a sharp breath. “I know,” she said breathlessly, “you're probably wondering what this horrendous woman is is doing in front of you and—oh my god, is this street full of supermodels!” her eyes shifted distractedly, gawking at Gemma. “You look like an angel. Your light, champagne blond hair is so gorgeous, and you're so lean and perfect—how tall are you? She quizzed Gemma.

As I close my eyes even for the briefest of seconds, I still feel my heart race and adrenaline pulse throughout my body, as my fingers tighten around the throttle of my All-Terrain Vehicle. My eyes focusing on each object in my path as if I were a bird of prey soaring in on its next meal; where puddles of rain, loose rocks, fallen tree limbs, aged stumps now hidden by magnificent ferns of the Pacific Northwest, could maim my escape of reality and the burdens daily life. I am one with my machine racing through the wood line of some primal forest, skirting narrow trails with sheer vertical drops that would frighten most pedestrians; it is here on my machine, wearing protective garments, my helmet in hand pretending as if I were a gladiator entering an ancient

I fnishing talking to an annoying girl, and suddenly I hear a bang. I search the room and find Naomi on the ground holding her head, she's shaking back and forth mumbling things I can understand.

I hope this message finds you well. I am hoping this is Jeanie Bergen from Aaron Sorkin's Masterclass, otherwise you can disregard this message.

I remember when we were little kids, me and Banquo would always go to each other house's to play and one day we decided to play outside on a rainy day and we came home with muddy clothes and shoes, we were inseparable. Banquo, the person who we are all here gathered to honor was my best friend since we were both kids and I will never forgot him and always and forever keep him in my thoughts. As I said Banquo and I were inseparable as kids, we did everything together. Banquo and I lived near each other which worked to our benefit since their wasn't a day were we weren't playing soldiers or some other game we would invent. In our prime years we started to play grown up games and tried our best to prove that we were grown ups and not

Smith’s sweet perfume danced happily through the air, luring me into her room the following day at school. Once again, we turned in our essays and awaited the dreaded comments. Her constant nail tapping was a tension building clock, a constant reminder of the doom that awaited us all. She always selected her “victims” for each new day, and then focused on her helpless “prey.” With magnetic eyes, she would irresistibly and forcefully draw students’ attention to her. With each point of her finger, I waited for her nail to lift me out of my chair and onto my feet. Eventually, it did. “Well, William,” she always had to recognize the writer before the humiliation could begin, “I’m quite impressed. You read my ‘red pen advice’ and actually applied it when

ill fucking kill you bitch if you don't stop talking shit behind my back you dirty tart. You be suck all sort of dick my boy and I gonna expose your bitch ass if you don't stop. maybe ill brake your fucking family's knees in. I'm not going to fuck around anymore you fucking dirty ass bitch, another thing you owe me money you hoe. bitch I got niggas that are willing to beat your ass.........

My life was flashing before my eyes, I was realizing what was happening death was coming. Cold and stillness filled the room while the feeling of death started to overtake my body it was a different feeling but it had to come. My limbs felt heavy and I thought real slow everything was slowing down. Just then something odd happened like nothing I ever thought some sound came into the room an annoying buzzing creature.

Hello, i’m that person who always starts a story by introducing everybody, and today I will introduce a beautiful place that sparkles like a diamond, Crystal City. A happy place where almost no darkness or rudeness is happening, almost, there is one mammal who wants to use the city’s power crystals to his advantage, and take over the land. This is a story about the two heroes who save the city, “Hey Firedog, why do you keep putting the doorknobs back into the doors, you know how I feel about them”, said Thundercat, she’s a teal cat who has electric powers and is a superhero, she is also as furry as a poodle,

Years ago, my youngest son died—dropped into the icy waves of the sea, drowned in water almost as salty as my grief-filled tears. When he was pulled from the waters, a ring carved of smooth, white bone was clutched in his hand, and his eyes were covered, bound closed with leather.