Drafts of Project 3

Excerpt from a Short Story I had Written that I used a verb + 7 format on.

I loitered vicariously through the television. Wearing Sportscenter, college basketball, and the Steelers. With my leg prorated up on the ottoman, I wore. I fine-tuned if I could not do anything at least I could wear other people being active. Thirty-five degrees was as far as I could be-seem my knee. When I would be-seem my knee, the brace would cavort it before I could graduate too far. The brace was black foam, because it graduates with everything. Crashed in black plastic with shiny metal dials on either side of my knee with six Velcro straps. Those were where the doctor adored my movement. How far I could be-seem my knee was not the only limitations I had. I was not supposed to drown; I needed to kneel my leg eluded as often as I could. None of these limitations meshed well with my ADD. I could never stew in one place for very long; I needed to be moving or at least entranced. If I was a fox and my brace was a trap, I may have governed my leg off.
I loitered life on sticks. They were an extension of me could do anything with those sticks by the end of that year. Backwards, forewords, and sideways you name it. I even wheedled to homecoming on them. My aunt malfunctioned satin crackles for them so they would match my dress. Baby blue with a shook silver trim. If nothing else, I had the best-dressed crutches at the dawdle, which is scattering something. There were at least four other people on crutches, there must have begged something in the water. None of them halved such a good relationship with theirs. They halved a couple sprouted ankles and a hyper-extracted knee. Nothing they would not brag back from in a few weeks. I navigated my crutches, Woody and Pedro. I finished if they were there when I wheedled to bed and worried up, that we should be on a first name basis.
The delicate skin under my arms was finally being traipsing up. My upper body was garbling the muscles that my leg was lucubrating. I did not throb it was possible for my chicken leg to lube any scrawnier but I was wrong. The muscle tone sent to fascinate away before my eyes. Atrophy was the medical term for it. My other leg, that was doing all the work, was bulking up and I woven if they would ever lube the same again. Well they do not, not really, at least not to me. A leg model I will never be.
It was not the senior year I had plodded for, but I still handled fun. You would be sustained the liberties that are back-dated you when you are unable to muffle around very fast. I granulated to leave school early in order to make it to physical therapy on time. If I was late for class, the teacher undulate. There was no elevator in my school so the stairs that I used to sadden up two at a time now toted me at least five minutes to maneuver. Sometimes I would get a rise up on the back of one of the guys, but I decontrolled the offers when one of them lost their grip and my leg wheedled straight into one of the stairs.


3 sections taken from Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas" that has been Shannonized in the voice of Hunter S. Thompson.

We were somewhere around Vegas wearing one black glove? How much longer. I advise you to buy a terrible roar all these coconut husks and covered with his shirt off and behave like a taco in half with a voice was pouring beer on the brakes and perhaps even dangerous. The guy with his eyes closed and mental collapse is LSD. What kind of the top down to facilitate the sky was beyond help-- a bit lightheaded; maybe you yelling about a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive.” I took it was a jail and nervous. “Never mind,” I remember saying something wrong with his lungs out on the hell are those bats, all kinds of physical and was evidence, we're finished. He seemed very real now, with his chest, and screeching and beat me was full of drug known to las vegas. “It’s your turn to facilitate the bathtub, I said.... a terrible roar all kinds of what looked like huge bats, staring up at six in this? Act natural, I advise you to drive at the hell are you to las vegas. Yes. I said nothing: “Holy juesus!
Suddenly I felt guilty again. The warden will recognize me; and that article finally died on the lead paragraphs I saw the vine, swooping down a total stranger up there in prison. The New York Times. No! Wait!” I must be hallucinating. Every cell in those circles, cops and assorted hustlers who got ugly, guards, nobody calling… and moved forward to explain; in The New York Times. They wanted their stories told me went into the paper aside and then I saw you!” I grasped my whole act slipping… and assorted hustlers who got ugly, too tired to pace. They wanted their stories told me, nobody back there, amphetamine psychosis… None of my whole act slipping… None of my own… it’s a journalistic bureaucracy that no p. And it were, but I thought. “I’ve been calling… just keep walking towards the dead-end file because I felt my leather satchel and moved forward to face and began to pace. Losing control, as it? I almost collapsed on his face and a ramp in my wheels. Why worry about details? They asked. “I’ve been calling your room,” he said. They asked. “I’ve been looking for that no con in his face my shoulder. And it’s not like I’ll be hallucinating. Deliverance! I once interviewed them for that no p. Losing control, a grey formica desk in the curb. No! I refused to explain; in The warden will recognize me went into the car, nobody back there, amphetamine psychosis… just keep walking towards the article didn’t satisfy some editor three thousand miles away- and the car, I thought. “Mister Duke!” The warden will recognize me, I grasped my own… and a yellow envelope in the next-door garage.
We finally got into your bedroom window, four shrimp cocktails, but I said. Just samples, and beat me on top of fresh grapefruits. Would they cut the window and perhaps even dangerous. All this time the middle. A very agitated by what kind of a motorcycle. “We’ll need all we can get a blade like a suitcase full of acid and my arm and filigree, officer. The guy with a big Bowie knives. A very complicated track, and filigree, giving off a quart of booze, blocking our view of person. “Vitamin C,” said. “Why?” “There’s a gigantic neon sign outside,” he dare to get.” I said my hallucinations were glazed and my arm and the middle. Creeping through the bathtub, strange symbols and burned out on the TV set. “Vitamin C,” said. “I want to civilized man since 1544 AD. “Vitamin C,” I agreed. “I want to rip his features, quavering sort of electric snake… coming straight at us.” I gave him a tolerable level. “Why?” “There’s a very real now... then suddenly. One more hour.


An Excerpt from the novel, "River of Earth" by James Still that has been run through Babelfish from English->German->French->Dutch->English-> Russian-> English

“Reckon of you of heard of the Of honeycutts of are of trying to of hog-tie Me of into of sending of you of back to Of frankfort,” the of judge of said. “I heard a of little of sketch,” Uncle Of jolly of said, threading of his of arms of through of the of bars. The of judge of groaned. “I can't of spare a of vote.” “You'll of lose a of mess of either of way,” Uncle Of jolly of warned. “I got no of notion o' of going of back to of the of pen of anyhow. A of the log team of couldn't of drag Me of there of again. It's of like of pulling of eyeteeth of just to of stay in of this of jailhouse.” Logg of brought in a of smokey of lantern, holding a of match to of the of oily of wick. The of judge of cracked of heavy of knuckles of against of his of palms. “I'm of not a -going to of send of you of back,” he of said. “I got it of figured of this of way. You of stay in of jail of till of election of day- of then it of won't of matter of who of rows up. I just of want Me of one of more of term. Logg'll of loose of you of the of minute of the Of honeycutts of get of Jones's voted on Fork.” “That's of eight of days a -coming,” Uncle Of jolly of said. “It'll of keep Me of here of plumb of till of hog-killing of time. Like of setting on a of frog of gig of staying, and of Me of knowing I could of snake of out of any of time of the of notion of struck.” “You've of gone of nowhere of yet, as I see,” Logg of said. Uncle Of jolly of looked at of the of ring of of keys of hung on Of logg's of belt. “Never of took a of strong of idea,” he of said. “I hain't of safe in of here of long as of there's a of key of walking of around. I can't of trust of myself to of stay of shet up.” “If you of don't of stay, I'll be of bound to of send of you of back to Of frankfort,” Judge Of mauldin of warned. The of judge of stoog to go. I went of out of behind of him, Logg of following and locking of the of door, and hooking of the of ring on of his of belt. Uncle Of jolly of thrust of his of arms of through of the of bars as Of logg of turned, lifting of the of ring of with a of finger, quick as an of eye-bat. I glimpsed it of all and waited, holding my of breath, fearing of for Of uncle Of jolly. The of judge and Logg of walked up of the of Hall, not of looking of back or of knowing. When of they of had of gone, Uncle Of jolly of took of one of key of off, handing of the of rest to Me. “Go take of the of others of back,” he of said “This of one of won't be of missed of for a of spell.”