If you don't already believe it, please see below.

Mason's contribution, a graphic rendition:


Orbax's contribution, a short story:

quote:

Originally posted by Orbax A Boy Named John by Orbax As the warming glow of the rising sun slowly announced the arrival of yet another beautiful day, a foot began to twitch. This particular foot belonged to one "John Brinks" - a kid as average as his name. His hair was brown, his eyes were brown, he was 5 foot 10. His foot on this day was twitching. As was his leg. You see, his stomach muscles were fluctuating wildly as deep sobs wracked his body. Each new bird chirp sent another wave of self loathing through him. There was no particular reason to hate the birds, or even himself. He had no history of depression in the family and he had always done alright in school. A "B" average, a few failed attempts at dating, no one really hated him. Pretty decent life. There was one thing missing, however. The pain of its absence was a 400 oz slurpy in his brain. John had always known "something" was missing. That there was "more" to "life" than "this". He had no real concept of any of those words as he had had his existence given to him. Yet maybe that was it. Maybe his life was too cookie cutter. He lived by all "their" rules. The tears began to dry up. Yes. YES! thats what it was. It was not his lack of education, motivation, discipline, work ethic, or genuine care about others. It was the rules! they needed...TO BE BROKEN! John quickly sat up and wiped his nose on his mothers hooded work sweater that he had taken posession of a few months ago. "Whatever", he thought, "Its mine now". He quickly threw on a pair of boxers that had a little santa village imprinted on them - a gift from his "mom". He said he hated them but always wore them, anyway. He never cared that his moms eyes brightened a little every time she saw them peeking out. One day he would bitterly miss the small joys his mother took pleasure in. He was not concerned about that now, however. There were rules to be broken. He quickly padded downstairs to his sisters room. She had left for work 20 minutes ago. He had heard her quietly slip out the front door to not wake him. Didnt she know he was upstairs crying, he thought sneeringly. Doesnt she care? As he entered her room a small part of him was amazed at how much of a girl his sister truly was. He treated her brusquely most of the time, and gave little thought as to how she interpreted that. He had never been present at the tearful conversations his sister had had with their mother trying to figure out why he hated her so much. He would never know that he was slowly cutting himself off from the best friend he could ever have. He glanced briefly at the photo collage on her wall. With a small sigh of exasperation he tore a childhood picture of himself off, leaving a small bit of photo backing left hanging limply where a memory had been. He was already throwing away the photo- not seeing the remnant of "My little brother, John. We used to get along so well" written on the paper he had just callously removed. He went quickly to her dresser, excited to start his new life. He found an old pair of jeans that he thought he might be able to squeeze into. They were from when his sister had gained a little weight through the beginning of college. Her "freshman 15" had turned into about 50. Since then she had lost all of her weight and was stunning - but he never mentioned it. She was his sister for Gods sake he wasnt gay... He grabbed her old jeans with a small tear below the left buttcheek and frantically stepped into them pulling them up. They came just above his crotch. Perfect. Who says guys cant wear low riders anyway. He pulled open another drawer, and another, and another. Finally he had a small pile on the floor: White Belt white teeshirt green teeshirt pink ankle socks her "malibu" style pooka shell necklace she had picked up in hawaii or something. Or was it mexico. He didnt really pay attention to where she went. He quickly hustled back upstairs - running was out of the question with THESE jeans, honey. Standing in front of the mirror he quickly threw on the white, then the green shirts. He put on the necklace, then the socks. He looked at the whole effect in the mirror. He FELT fabulous and fierce but..well...he thought he looked a little gay. WHICH HE WASNT! He glanced at his hair. Oh no! Bed head! no wonder! he looked RIDICULOUS with that hair. He hurried into the bathroom and quickly wetted his hair with warm water (GOD the water takes FOREVER to heat up in this house. What is this...the middle ages?!) and hair gel. With a flourish he plastered his hair down and gave himself a little loopy loop in the front with his bangs. "there", he thought, "Now I dont look gay" Tears ran down his cheeks again at how beautiful he was and that his beauty would now be able to run free in the world, even though he would not be able to. He was unleashed. He was no longer just an average "john". - in loving memory of he died in a puddle of his own tears right after holding the cat

Gentlemen, please do the world a favor and open an art institute.

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