C.Buzzington Jr.

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Children's Circle
2/21/2018 5:39am

In my home country, a person ought to be at least a hundred something to participate in the Children's Circle. (I think it has something to do with the number's ability to make contact with the moon?)

Sure, the blood rituals and manic howling make the Children's Circle SOUND as inclusive and family friendly as any other ancient location or event, but a lot of the regulations and participants contrast such a perception.

When given any say, I much prefer Underground Robot Fighting.


2/20/2018 12:18pm

Of February and All the Trouble That it Brings

You may have noticed that I did not make a Valentine's Day post this year. While at first glance this may appear to have been a mere slight on my end, it was actually intentional. You can't ask why, because at the moment I am not receiving questions. But I can tell you why.

To me, love is like the hornet that I caught between my knees that one time. In simpler terms? OW OW OW OW OW OW. And I have tried to subdue my quarrel with the concept, to revoke any snide remarks that might almost come to mind when the Psychic Aquatics coach and PsychTech instructor make googly eyes during our mentally mandated fire drills, when those furred creatures who shall not be named reserve each other seats on the Lonely Bus.

But you know what? PsyHigh is about more than romance. It's about Gerald, the gender neutral tentacled stud who's always skipping class. It's about our Founders, who wanted nothing more than to break the veiny fabric of reality and let whimsical nonsense burst out of those arteries.

So I won't stop being silent, I won't stop hounding on those hounds or making dirty faces at the love birds. Until we can come together as a school and accept that we are greater than our flings.

Or until Gerald swipes right.

Whichever comes first.


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2/20/2018 11:54am

Of Today's School Lunch (Food Review #1)

As those of you who have come to know me may be full, aware, I have nothing against a lump or two of abstractly colored slime. I do however, take issue when the various lumps take to SCREAMING at me in various pitches, quoting various Nicholas Cage movies, and just generally making me feel bad about myself. I raise this question to the invisible workers of Psy High's only secondary cafeteria: How would you like to munch on slime that lowers your self-esteem? How would you like to have a headache as opposed to a stomach ache?

The milk served on the side was a nice touch, as it gave a unique political perspective on this whole "cows vs no cows" Student Council debate. But the milk in itself was not enough to save this hot mess of a meal, even if it did include the hopes, dreams, and tears, of every faculty member.

For my suffering, and for my lack of a more positive perspective, I see no other option than to give today's mid-time meal a 3/10, and URGE the rest of you to eat on your own thoughts today, instead of the works of others.


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8/15/2017 9:45am

Of Walking and Succumbing to Fatality-FINAL WARNING

So today I was thinking of all the coffee I wasn't going to consume, as I took my daily walk. This coffee is unrelated to my experience. A lot of my thoughts are unrelated to my experiences. This much is average, to say the least.

As I walked, the scenery surrounding began to collapse, and I found myself visually immersed in a bright white light. I know you are thinking, big whoop. Literally any body of matter below six feet can make the courtyard disappear, why would I brag about this? And my answer is, let me finish the story.

Of course, I was neither surprised nor impressed by the blank state in which I found myself. What was surprising, however, was the barks. I do not know if they were human or other, but I do know this. I never hear barks. I cannot be hearing barks. When I came to this school, I told you "My name is CBuzz and I am severely allergic to dogs. This includes all dog products: barking, fur, innocence, and so on."

I told all of you this. I tapped it out in morse in each and every bathroom stall for the first two weeks. I telepathically projected it on the first minute of every hour until I recieved the notice, "Stop projecting things on the first minute of every hour."

So I am hurt, to say the least. I have already died seven times because of dogs. Just thinking about them now is making my body begin to ooze and strangle itself. Please, think before you act.

One more unsatisfactory daily walk, and I'm reporting these occurences to the headmaster.


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