The 'Rosity Comic Strip - 9-03-07
September 4, 2007 1:54 am
Renderosity Comics - Wren Derosity's Back to School Contest Inside!
What are your best or worst memories of school?
That first semester was about the most fun time I ever had in my life: the people I was talking to and the subjects we would fearlessly discuss and debate made every party a must do. Parties would disperse near sunrise most nights...concerts and group-movies, gallery showings and critiques, poetry readings in the park, drama rehearsals stretching the midweek nights into glorious evenings indeed...ahhhhh...
Anyway, this brings me to the worst memory of my college years.
I had been having such a good time learning what college was all
about, I had forgotten how important it was to actually
attend college. It was a horrible immediate shock to be on
academic probation after my first semester there. My advisor was a
friend of my dad's so that went really well lemeetellya,
and I can't really say the moral of the experience was that I
shouldn't have done the things I did instead of going to class. I
wouldn't trade a single memory of that first semester. Funny how
the worst moments of your experience sometimes also are the best of
Wren Derosity - Back To School Blues by sparkyjones
The Catpack by anniemation [Janet Lynne]
The Mousecapades - Royal Canadian Mouse Police (RCMP) by coa
The Smiley Faces from Outer Space by edhoover
FoToonZ by Gordon_S [Gordon Syerson]
Frog Tales by frogdot
The Incredible Brinkton Agency by vdelor (read the previous episodes here )
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Post your school memories below
September 3, 2007
You have to go to SCHOOL to get educated? Oh my Goddess! That's what I did wrong! :D (No, I didn't major in Beer and Girls, either... darnit!) Seriously, I don't remember much from school, except that the professors were generally, um, un-intelligent. That's why I'm an autodidact.
Been there, done that. After spending a year in Germany following high school and another year going from place to place after returning, I decided to jump into college. I didn't really go to learn. And I didn't go for the parties. I just went for something to do. Probably not the best way to start off college. I had some issues at home, so I opted for the dorms instead. I wound up in the section of my residence hall with a lot of jocks. Nothing against the athletes, but not the kind of environment I felt at home in. Plus, my roommate was the starting QB for the team and we just didn't seem to get along. Then again, I didn't spnd much time there,hanging out woth my friends and ex-girlfriend/sorta-fiancee instead. Fell behind in classes, kept having problems with the roommate and my RA wasn't a whole lot of help. After getting the runaround from housing, financial aide and financial services, my college life came crashing to a screeching halt. After all that, my GPA took a nosedive and I have nothing to show for any of my time in college. I always thought I'd return by the time I was thirty. Doesn't look like that's going to happen anytime soon.
My worst experience... I was working part time in the dorm cafeteria - it was a mixed group that ate there, and among them this one guy I was hugely mad about. Let's call him Grant, for "grant all my wishes". I tried everything to get him to notice me, smiled, flirted, but he never seemed to notice, just smiled back and went his way. Meanwhile as luck would have it, another guy, call him Bozo, was crazy about me. And he let everyone know it. No matter how hard I tried to ignore him, he would come up behind me and grab me, call me his girlfriend, declare his love for me loudly for all to hear, send me love notes of unrequited passion. More clownish than stalkerish - but I really wanted nothing to do with him. So one day Bozo sends me a note saying he was at last going to really show me how he felt, take me in his arms, and smother me with kisses, etc. I was terrified that Grant would be around and see this display. Bozo could be loud and dramatic, and I really didn't want to lose any chances I had with Grant, few as they might be. But I was ready for him! Later that day in the cafeteria, I kept looking around, waiting for him to tell him once and for all to get lost, watching and hoping that Grant wouldn't show up. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and saw red. Literally! I swirled around and slapped him as hard as I could! Yep, you guessed it. It was Grant that I slapped. I had finally gotten him to notice me! True story btw.
These are GREAT essays! Picking the winners is going to be tough - and i think spelling and grammer should count for something don't you? :) It doesn't even have to be College - High School, Middle School, elementary, tech schools, special tutorial classes, online studies, bible study - if you went to learn something and learned something (especially if what you learned wasn't on the syllabus) then share it up and maybe make off with some free stuffage! Besides - You KNOW you REALLY want to be immortalized as a 3D comic character, rubbing elbows with Wren and Friends AND our sponsors are offering the coolest prizes so there's just no excuse - write your entry before the contest ends!!! oh and thanks for stopping by - we appreciate ya!!
Okay, I'll chime in with a cute one. 2nd grade. We had a guest speaker who came in to tell us how to use hand signals when we were riding our bikes. His last hand signal was the one for stop and to make us remember it he just HAD to tell a joke. "Now remember, never practice this while eating peas at the dinner table." We are all dismissed home and what do you know, dinner is ready and peas is our vegetable of choice. Now being the curious little guy that I am I just had to know what he ment by that comment and why. So, one spoon full of peas, (covered in ketchup, well I was a kid, I ate them that way at the time, I did't know any better.) AND 1....2....3... "HAND SIGNAL FOR STOP". I figured out that peas and hand signals don't mix.....they also don't mix with the freshly vacuumed carpet, my mom's new sweater, the kitchen table, wall or my parents temper. Oddly enough, I never did use hand signals while riding my bike, so it was a lesson that stayed with me a looong looong time.
My worst experience. Last day at school, was kicked out for threatening to kick a teacher in the head..True story, he was going to give me the strap for playing up in class so i turned to walk out of his office, he jumped infront of me so i threatend to kick him in the head if he didn't move by the time i counted to 10..he moved and walked straight to the head masters office where i was called to.. It was the worst day cause the class after that one was one i needed a pass in so i could get into the technical job i had planned to do for sometime...it pays to behave in school and not threaten teachers..
I was a fat teenager and wasn't very popular and therefore picked on and called all kinds of names. But the really worse memory I have of school was my first day of Kindergarten! My Dad took me and I didn't understand what was happening. When we got there and he was leaving I started to cry and tried to go with him, but he told me that I couldn't and had to stay there. I thought he didn't want me anymore and was going to leave me there. I cried and cried. The best was my high school graduation. By that time I was a svelt 120 pounds and suddenly found myself popular. I had a great time dancing and being "pursued." Something that was foreign to me up to that point.
Two stories to tell: Some of my best memories at high school (I'm reaching the end of my last year) have been as a monitor in the library. Despite our terrifying librarian, I was lucky enough to land the friday afternoon duty: No one ever comes into the library on Friday afternoons. Except, of course for Mrs W--, my Science Teacher, and Miss M--, the Art teacher. One Friday, I was in a particularly odd mood. I stood behind the two teachers and started to dance. One of those terrible dances which tend to involve lots of "sprinklers" and "funky monkeys" as well as a custom move from my group of friends called "the teacher" - a combined parody of the most comic teachers in the school. Well, they wouldn't have noticed a thing if Stuart, my partner in the library hadn't started laughing. So Mrs W-- turned around and started laughing too, but Miss M-- still didn't notice a thing. So I moved right behind her and started dancing again. Mrs W-- was killing herself laughing but she didn't notice a thing until I couldn't contain myself any longer and collapsed laughing. I can only imagine the stories that spread through the staff room the following monday... The second great memory is one of Mrs W--'s science class. Our class loves experiments: anything that burns, explodes, foams, whatever, we love them. This has led to rather interesting 'reactions' from other teachers who think it's a gunshot or something. (Hell! It's a shoot-out! oh. It's just the Grade 12s.) The best experiment we ever did, however, was not in the syllabus. Byron, one of the class trouble-makers, told Mrs W-- about a prank he'd heard of. It involved placing one chemical in the cystern of a toilet and another in the bowl. I cannot for the life of me remember which chemicals. So we decided we wanted to see what this would do. Our mistake, however, was not realising that in the prank, the chemicals would be severely diluted... The reaction, which we thought would just splatter a bit and change colour sprayed two metres high and hit the ceiling, leaving what I think was bromine on the ceiling: Dark reddish-brown stains that looked exactly like blood. We were all marvelously proud of ourselves, and even more so when we came back the next lesson and it was still there (several months down the line it has not faded), now sporting a sign Mrs W-- had made: "Byron was shot here."
I don't know if this is my best or worst school experience, maybe a bit of both. The year was 1977 and I was in what you Americans refer to as my "Junior Year" of high school. I remember getting into a discussion with another student who didn't believe in the existence of the human soul. The end result was that I offered to buy his "non-existent" soul for $5. He laughed at the idea but agreed to sell ... his umm ... soul to me for $5. I wrote up an elaborate bill of sale and made him sign it and even got two other students to witness it, after which I gave him $5. Woohoo! I was now the owner of his soul. A few days went by and I bought another soul. By the end of the next week I was the owner of about four souls plus my own. Some time later, I believe it would have a couple of weeks or more, when I had pretty much forgotten about the whole thing, one of the students came to me desperate to buy his soul back. I offered to sell it back to him but at the higher price of $20. He argued and offered me back the original $5 but I stood firm. After more argument I raised it to $25, then $30. I eventually ended up selling him his soul back for $50. Quite a good profit I thought. The next day the student from whom I had bought the first soul wanted to buy his back but didn't have $50. He then asked his parents for the money who then went and complained to the school principle. The end result was that I was called into the principle's office and officially banned from trading in human souls on school premises.
James Hayes: The Inctredible Brinkton Agency. At the inception of the Great Depression, my father lost his job. One of the side effects of this catastrophe was that I only had one suit, made of corduroy. The suit corduroy's inner and outer lining was ripped and extremely ragged and clearly indicated someone who came from a family that had very little money. In any case, the suit lasted me in all sorts of weather. Sometimes Philadelphia had hot, humid weather while on other occasions it was extremely cold. No matter what the weather, I only had the one suit to wear. One particular day, it was extremely warm and my math teacher, who liked me because I was her best student, urged me to take my coat off and do my class work in my shirt sleeves. Unfortunately, like the lining of my suit my shirt was also quite ragged because I only had two shirts and my mother washed one each day so I could have a clean one for the next day. The suit, however, looked very tacky and I was not proud of it so I resisted my teachers urging to take off my coat because the coat had lining that was ragged and thread bare and my shirt was a disastrous set of ripped pockets, poorly matching buttons and in every respect showed someone who did not have decent looking clothing. Finally, as I resisted the teachers efforts she came over and quickly unbuttoned my coat and then she froze with a look of immense concern and pity on her face when she realized that I was so ashamed of my clothes that I did not want anyone in the class to see how ragged they were. She was speechless and I was totally embarrassed. Needless to say, I have never forgotten this incident even though it happed almost eighty years ago.