Archive for June, 2011


College sandwiches are good, but the chicken sucks.

June 20, 2011

For those of you who don’t know, I’m taking a college course of the summer (Java Programming) because I absolutely refuse to take APCS at school with…

Dammit, my therapist told me not to think of her.

Anyways, my parents want me to know some basic computer programming, because apparently everyone knows how to program like a mofo by college.

Unfortunately, I haven’t turned 16 yet, so I couldn’t sign up for classes at West Valley, which has a minimum age requirement of 16.  West Valley also happened to be the closest college, which is, eh, 5 minutes away via bike.  The next closest college was De Anza, but I couldn’t go there because the schedule was all weird and we’re leaving in China in August or something.

So I was forced to go to Mission College.  Mission is great, by the way, not dissing it or anything, but it’s kind of inconvenient.  It involves half an hour of driving one way, and that totals around 6 hours just to take one freaking class.  Well, actually two, if you want to count the lab portion and the lecture portion separate.

I was hoping to get my application rejected so I could then get rejected from C Programming (my first alternate) so I could get into Psychology (my second alternate), but no such luck.  I got into Java.

I wasn't happy, but at least we were going to learn how to speak Coffee-with-a-flame.

By the way, our last day of school was Wednesday last week, which means I got a whopping 4 days of freedom before I went to college in high school.  Oh, and this isn’t a class designed for just high schoolers who want to take a summer class – it’s a college course.  There were adults, some maybe as old as 40, in the class, along with a couple of high schoolers such as yours truly.

Anyways, today, I went to class.  The teacher was a black dude with a slight accent.  It sounded Jamaican, but could just as easily be South African, because I have absolutely no idea when it comes to accents.

He started off class by talking about stuff such as Java is very interesting and You will like Java and This class will be easier if you already know some stuff about programming and just in general being a very energetic teacher.  I don’t understand being energetic in the morning, but I guess when you’re teaching something with a cup of espresso as the logo, you’re gonna be energetic.

Oh, and before I forget, you can expect to have two hours of homework for every one hour of class.


Also, you have a midterm and a final.  Each is worth 20% of your grade.


Anyways, we started programming that very day which also happens to be today, and although I didn’t make any mistakes (I am perfect, after all (OK, maybe just lucky)), a lot of the mistakes I saw around me were very small errors – they forgot to capitalize a letter, they put a colon instead of a semicolon, their head exploded.

Hasta luego.


Ridiculous Literature

June 15, 2011

The Thunder Stealer

A tall, thin man rushed through a hallway, pushing past other men carrying suitcases and stacks of paper.  He finally reached the destination he had been searching for, and barreled into the room.  A silver-haired woman glanced up at him, obviously irritated.  “What do you want, Smith?” she snapped.

Smith panted, “You know that top secret lightning shooting machine?”

The woman looked at him as if he were crazy.  “What, you want more funding? We’ve given you fifty million to build the ridiculous weapon already, what else do you want?”

“No, no.  Although our security could probably use some funding after…”

“Smith, stop babbling.  What the fuck is so urgent?

“Lara, it was stolen.”  Smith sounded oddly calm, and it seemed as though the panting had helped him regain his breath.

“What the fuck do you mean it was stolen? Did you take it out for a walk, and the Chupacabra decided the thing was his?”

“Some kid just ran in and took it.”

Lara couldn’t speak for a moment.  She looked as if she were choking on air, and Smith wondered if he should perform the Heimlich on his colleague.

Some kid just ran the fuck into the headquarters of the fucking CIA and took the fucking weapon that cost fifty fucking million dollars to make?”

Smith decided to not perform the Heimlich.  He nodded weakly.


“Right, right… we have security cameras everywhere, we can identify him…” Smith mumbled quietly to himself as he exited the room, leaving Lara to check if her blood pressure was abnormally high and to take the appropriate pills.

Smith, using advanced programs, immediately identified the teenager thief as one Jercy Packson.  He searched up his file and found out that Jercy Packson lived with his mother and had been expelled from over seven schools in the past five years alone.

Lara walked in, a vein bulging, but otherwise looking relatively normal.  “Well?” she snapped at him.

“I found him.  I know where he lives.”

“Great. Go get the fucking weapon then,” she snarled.

Smith looked through his copy of The Top Secret CIA Handbook to Top Secret Operations, and found the section he was searching for.  The chapter was titled “How to deal with a teenager who has stolen a fifty million dollar lightning shooter.”  He read quickly through it and dialed a number on his cell phone.

“This is Smith.  We need a SWAT team with their usual clothing, except with some kind of rubber suit over it.”

He paused.  Then he told the person on the other end of the line the address of Jercy Packson.

The next day, the newspaper’s front page article read:

“A teenager named Jercy Packson was shot and killed yesterday by a SWAT team in rubber suits.  It was revealed that Packson had stolen extremely sensitive equipment from the CIA and immediate retrieval was necessary.  According to the SWAT team leader, Packson attempted to activate the equipment and was immediately shot.  “We were told that if the machine was activated, many lives would be lost.  We did what we could to save as many lives as possible,” the leader commented.

Packson’s mother, one Sally Packson, was devastated by the loss of her teenage delinquent son.  She was babbling about Olympus and Greek gods and demigods, and was quickly detained to prevent her from hurting herself.  She is currently undergoing psychiatric treatment for, in her doctor’s words, “being completely fucking crazy” See more on page A3

Lara high fived Smith.  “Now that is what I call swift and efficient action!”