Dog With A Blog: "Guess That Author AND Fairytale" Edition

I was one of three children. I always felt like I was the most intelligent of my brothers. Although we had some fun playing sports and rolling around in mud when we were kids, I was ready to be off on my own.

            “Boys, it’s time for you all to go off on your own and get your own place” said my mom.

            I giggled at this. My brothers would make it a month on their own, since they are nowhere close to being as intelligent as me. They were so dependent on my mother. The crime in this neighborhood was intense, and they were in for a rude awakening. Especially Phineas, he was a real moron.

            In this rural town there were only a few places to shop, and we all needed materials to build our new houses.

            “My house is going to be great, I can see it now,” said Presley.

            Phineas, the family idiot, agreed with him and I just shook my head in doubt. There was no way my younger brothers would build a house better than me. I have always been the golden child. I followed the rules, worked on the farm, and did anything around the house that I could.

            “What are you laughing at, Percy,” Presley said to me.

            “Oh, just your stupidity!”

            “Oh, you still think you’re the best man on the farm, huh? Well I’ll prove you wrong”

            “Yeah, me too!” Phineas agreed.

            “Alright, I’ll tell you what. If you guys can build houses more sturdy than mine, I will buy your roast beef for two months,”

            “Deal!” my brothers said simultaneously.

            I don’t think my brothers know what they are getting themselves into. I have won everything since we were little. I remember when we were just six years old; I won the national tuna sandwich-eating contest.

            An hour passed before we all met at the checkout line of the county store. My youngest brother had idiotically picked out straw and Presley bought some sticks. Even after they saw that I had bought the bricks, they still thought they had a chance.

            It was a hot day in June when I looked out my window. My brother’s house was being blown apart by a dark figure that I could not make out. I’m sure he’s fine, he will just go over to Presley’s house.

            It could have only been a few hours later when the same situation was happening at Presley’s house too. Maybe I was next. Oh well, I’ll just enjoy my drink until then.

            In the middle of my daily nap I was woken abruptly by banging on my door.

            Of course! It was my idiot brothers.

            “Let us in, let us in!” They both screamed with terror in their voice.

            I ran to the door and let them in. I guess I was feeling nice after my nap.

            They explained to me how some intruder went to both of their houses and destroyed them. So naturally, they hauled ass to my house. Complete stupidity and irresponsibility on their part.

            There was a knock at my door.

            “Let me in!” the voice yelled.

            “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!”

            My brothers were freaking out.

“It’s him! The terrifying wolf!”

I assured them that my house was way better then theirs and that there was no way he could blow it down. Please, that is just ridiculous.

After taking a few huffs and puffs, the damn wolf went up on my roof. He thought he was getting in through the chimney. Yeah right, Mr. Wolf!

My brothers were curled up in balls in the corners of the living room as I prepared a fire. The wolf was not getting in my house.

            It was only seconds before the wolf let out a shriek. Hah, the fire had burned him. I looked out the window only to see the big bully scurrying away. No way he was coming back here. My brothers were amazed.

            “That was awesome, Percy!” Phineas said.

            I already knew what I did was heroic, like I needed assurance from two stupid pigs.

            “Let’s go boys,” I said, “We have two more brick houses to build".

           

           

             

           

Brave New World Narrative (through the eyes of Johnny Boy)

I walk into a factory to see what seemed like hundreds of identical workers laboring. Their work seemed like endless repetition. How do these people stand to do the same thing, all day, every day, over and over? I felt sick to my stomach. I may have been considered a savage but at least I don’t live a life of repetition. To cope I repeated to myself, "O brave new world," he repeated. "O brave new world that has such people in it. Let's start at once” (Huxley 104). What kind of world is this, where the words “mother” and “father” are forbidden and feelings are not allowed? This was nothing like where I grew up.

How can two places coexist that are so different from one another? Although I was made fun of where I used to live, at least I could read and have feelings without being told to do otherwise. It puzzles me on why my prized possession given to me by Popé, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, is not allowed in this city. Mustapha says that his people would not understand the text. He says that people cannot read into history. I am just sitting here saying “why” to myself after every statement he makes. I question him and he answers, but he says that I cannot judge the new world with the rules of the old and that it just can’t work. I completely disagree, however. Everyone deserves the freedom to judge as they please.

What these people need in God and to actually feel some emotion. Soma should not be used as a scapegoat to get away from any problem that may come up. The Indians in the Reservations are able to battle their obstacles through their belief in God. Life is unpleasant at times, and it should be, but drugs are not the way to handle with that pain. The technology this city has does not have the ability to combat their battles for them, either. If one does not experience true pain, how will they know when they are truly happy?

 Sure, unhappiness is a bad thing. But it is people’s right to choose whether or not they want to be happy. Although the people do not know that they are unhappy because of how they are engineered when they are embryos, it is still not morally just to force them into this artificial sense of happiness. These people are essentially robots, brainwashed and emotionless. They even abuse the concept of sex, which is supposed to be a special thing done with someone you love. The reason something so intimate is abused by them is because they don’t have anything else to appreciate. If only they could appreciate God, or literature, and experience sin. I feel like if only they experienced some sorrow and grief that they would be better people. They would finally see what the world has to offer outside of the jobs that they repeat every day and the drugs that they take every night to help them forget about it all.

I had never seen anything as horrible as Three Weeks in a Helicopter, I don’t understand how these people prefer such things to true works of art such as those of Shakespeare. I wish I could have showed Lenina how it feels to be loved, but she could not comprehend due to whatever the government had been brainwashing these innocent people with. I knew somewhere deep inside that she wanted more than just a sexual relationship from me. I guess I was too much of a romantic, honestly.  I was comparing these robots, especially Lenina, to the characters in The Tempest and Romeo and Juliet. It was silly for me to compare these people to such complex and emotional characters, anyway. How could these heartless humans be anything like the romantics that Shakespeare fabricated so particularly?

It was at the Park Lane Hospital for the Dying that I had felt the worst pain of my life. My mother had been forced into taking the soma. I know she would not have done this voluntarily. She was such a lively woman. She used to describe London as a beautiful place. I try not to compare the paradise that she described to the reality of the monster that London is. Although it is still kept whole and intact, it surely is not beautiful.

Frookoonstoon

The rationalism that came out of the Enlightenment and romanticism intertwine in the novel to create a work that is still popular in today’s culture. The novel shows the power of science, but it also warns of how dangerous it can be. Victor becomes obsessed with learning more knowledge and is always wanting more. In Frankenstein, the creation of the monsters poses questions about science, which is why it is still prevalent in today’s culture. Victor’s knowledge consumes him and leads him to creating a monster that is ruled by emotion. The monster is enraged when his creator will not make him a companion. Victor’s fall represents the condemnation of Rationalism because he is ruled by his creation. Through his research, Victor tries to learn more about life as a whole. As he gains more and more knowledge, he is led to creating the hideous creature, which caused his downfall after all of his loved ones were killed.  Although Victor’s character sought out knowledge and the power that came from it, the creature he created was passionate and showed traits of romanticism. This occurrence serves as a warning to what knowledge and rationalism can bring. The monster that Victor creates represents the Romanticism movement because he is longing for companionship and dedicated to what he wants. The monster endures in popular culture because his want for love and to be needed appeals to the audience and brings out emotion in the reader. For example, once Victor dies, the creature has nothing to live for anymore and in fact cries over Victor’s dead body.