Kevin N. Murphy

Colored pencils are shiny. In the nifty or neat sense of the word.

Long-Johns rule! Gotta love the all over warmth of thermals. Lumberjack style. I ain’t just solicitin’ dixie.

Temperature at the beach last night was right around 56 degrees Fahrenheit. It was not nearly as windy as the previous beach bon-fire of recent occasion. Yet the sea breeze was accounted for. While I was on the way down the stairs leading to said beach, a set of hands reach through the steps and grabbed my ankles. I WAS SO SCARED! So much so that I was completely mute and walked on as if nothing had happened. But soon I certainly heard the screams that those hands had been trying to induce. Hide-and-seek at the beach is hard since there aren’t very many places to hide. The darkness is a good place though. So is the underside of the stairs. You know, under them but off the ground. That way you can drop right down on someone.

How many cart-wheels do you think won A.S. the number one spot? 25? 27? Try 30! Yes, and second place got 27. That’s pretty amazing. Cart-wheels are not my specialty. Getting dizzy though. Oh yes, I am in all the way for that. Everyone spreads out, stares at the sky and spins. Meanwhile someone with a flash light counts slowly to 20 or 30, whatever is choice, and at the end of the count everyone attempts to tag the person who was counting. For me it went a little something like this: “15 16 17 18 19 20. (I slam into the ground.)” I don’t think I was able to take more than a few steps each time before eating sand. But yes I would glady be up for another round of nausea.

I thought I knew the words to some songs. I was proved wrong when we were trying to sing them around the fire. That’s the real test of knowing a song. It’s one thing to fill in the easy parts while you’re listening to it. Knowing it around the campfire is much more of an accomplishment. At least in the world of drivel that I frequent it is.