K
Kendall <3 Smoothies
Guest
Yes, No? Either way - please revise, give constructive criticism, decode any errors in vocabulary.
Will Give 10pts.
Also, I am an 8th grader - would you think this is acceptible?
To keep things in order a pedantic prodigy proclaims preposterous orders like am drill Sergeant, completely absorbed in the misanthropy he holds.
Talk regarding the economy is melded with the shrill laughter of the children, excitedly waiting for food, the way a cantankerous individual waits the results of a CBC. And even though perspicuous rules are dictated, the children obtrusively find their way into trouble - and protest the retribution earned.
An infallible Nokia captures the camaraderie and the benevolence exhibited around the four burner, as even the recluse decide to participate in the conversation, their cynical nature becoming more evident than a speck of dusk on a wood table laboriously cleaned with a smudge of generic Lemon Pledge.
At last the conversation turns to the canicular clearance of the GAP, then a subtle cessation in the conversation was noticed by the children, who were as ravenous for food as other people were for social contact, and they knew it was time to feast.
So the children ran haphazardly, numbed by their eagerness throughout the corridors or the house - as the layout was as unfamiliar to the children as a computer is to people living in a third world country.
They arrived at a macedoine of delicious consumables, seasoned with the deteriatives of life itself, a daedal display of consumables at the least, a portrait of food on the wood table yet to masticated by the family. And their gait slowed as they became absorbed in the celestial aroma of the food that was being registered in their brains. For they were locked up in their rooms all day; playing Monopoly, oblivious to the growing scent of the food, which was being built upon since early morning, and the recognition grew upon them.
And they said a prayer and swilled their cheap vino as if they were dehydrated, and the wine was muddled water from a river. And children sipped their carbonated beverages just as well, not only oblivious to the sugar content, but to the affects the phosphoric acid and Carmel coloring would have on their overall wellbeing.
And then the misanthrope arrived at a plausible conclusion. That the Thanksgiving, his first, was more enjoyable than a baseball fans first swing of a bat, or the first steps a recently paralyzed war veteran takes after spinal decompression surgery, and he was set into a state of euphoria - and he joined the perpetual conversation as if he was always apart of it - talking - laughing - deciphering - agreeing.
Will Give 10pts.
Also, I am an 8th grader - would you think this is acceptible?
To keep things in order a pedantic prodigy proclaims preposterous orders like am drill Sergeant, completely absorbed in the misanthropy he holds.
Talk regarding the economy is melded with the shrill laughter of the children, excitedly waiting for food, the way a cantankerous individual waits the results of a CBC. And even though perspicuous rules are dictated, the children obtrusively find their way into trouble - and protest the retribution earned.
An infallible Nokia captures the camaraderie and the benevolence exhibited around the four burner, as even the recluse decide to participate in the conversation, their cynical nature becoming more evident than a speck of dusk on a wood table laboriously cleaned with a smudge of generic Lemon Pledge.
At last the conversation turns to the canicular clearance of the GAP, then a subtle cessation in the conversation was noticed by the children, who were as ravenous for food as other people were for social contact, and they knew it was time to feast.
So the children ran haphazardly, numbed by their eagerness throughout the corridors or the house - as the layout was as unfamiliar to the children as a computer is to people living in a third world country.
They arrived at a macedoine of delicious consumables, seasoned with the deteriatives of life itself, a daedal display of consumables at the least, a portrait of food on the wood table yet to masticated by the family. And their gait slowed as they became absorbed in the celestial aroma of the food that was being registered in their brains. For they were locked up in their rooms all day; playing Monopoly, oblivious to the growing scent of the food, which was being built upon since early morning, and the recognition grew upon them.
And they said a prayer and swilled their cheap vino as if they were dehydrated, and the wine was muddled water from a river. And children sipped their carbonated beverages just as well, not only oblivious to the sugar content, but to the affects the phosphoric acid and Carmel coloring would have on their overall wellbeing.
And then the misanthrope arrived at a plausible conclusion. That the Thanksgiving, his first, was more enjoyable than a baseball fans first swing of a bat, or the first steps a recently paralyzed war veteran takes after spinal decompression surgery, and he was set into a state of euphoria - and he joined the perpetual conversation as if he was always apart of it - talking - laughing - deciphering - agreeing.