The students at the School for Creative and Performing Arts AIN'T MISBEHAVIN'. They were brought up proper. Of course, they do tend to burst into song and dance for no apparent reason, which can get a little annoying. We suppose it could be worse -- they could be off-key, which would warrant a seriousass-whuppin'. (See Onstage.)
We're feeling a little shaken. Not stirred. The anticipation is overwhelming. Finally, we get to spend A NIGHT WITH SECRET AGENT NUMBER FIVE. Granted, we've already had intimate relations with secret agents one through four, but this is getting to be the big time. We just hope we don't suffer from performance anxiety. (See Events.)
If only we had hair like RAPUNZEL! Aside from the fact that our cost for hair care would skyrocket, we see plenty of benefits to having long, flaxen locks.
We're feeling a little cluttered and closed in, bordering on claustrophobia. Our whole office is simply has way too much stuff in it. There's stuff on the desks! There's stuff on the floor! There's stuff in places best left unseen. It's a good thing there's a WAREHOUSE SALE this weekend. We're in the market for some place to keep our stuff.(See Literary.)
The hill is alive with the sound of metal. Well, it is at CHIDLAW GALLERY, where Arthur Gibbons has constructed a hill of aluminum and steel. We've created a similar type of artwork. It's taken a lot of skill and precision to get it just the way we want it. Currently, it's adorning our bedroom floor. We call it "Dirty Clothes." Catchy title, no? (See Art.)
Ewwww, gross! We though our Clearasil days were over. But we woke up this morning and found THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL smack dab in the middle of our forehead. And just how are we going to get a date with that monstrosity bulging forth? This just isn't fair. Didn't we have enough problems with acne in high school? Next thing you know, our skin problems are going to be the subject of a musical comedy. (See Onstage.)