The Restrictions of Angel Bites + Major Work

So I was just wondering...

If you have angel bites, can you not grow a moustache? Or vice versa? I was just watching the new Gym Class Heroes video for Guilty As Charged I think, and I know Travie had on a fake moustache as did the rest of them, but then the thought occured to me - what would it look like if you tried to grow a full on beard through your angel bites? Just two piercings sticking out of this bushy masterpiece?

Seriously, does anyone know? What would it look like? Has anyone tried? How come no one tries?! I wanna know!!! It's killin' me, man!!

Well anyway, that's that. I should get kudos for pondering it 'cause seriously, I think I have a legit point there. Someone better get back to me on this.

On a more serious note, for my English Extension 2 Major Work, I have to be writing a story. Mine's postmodern and I'm aiming to have it 6000-7000 words, but without giving too much away, I was wondering if I could get some insight/feedback. Anyone will do, in fact people I don't know is better 'cause then it's truly unbiased.

Chapter one

Her phone rang. Well, it didnâ�™t ring exactly; rather it spoke to her in a tone that indicated a sleazy, baritoned stupor. Very Love God-esque. Step back, Richard Mercer.
â�œHey. Heyâ�”you there. Thy phone is speaking. I pray thee, pick it up. Do you not wish to discover the person itching to bequeath their advice or demands unto you? Perhaps they wish to reqâ�” ahhhhâ�¦â�œ

Cassie put down her herbal tea and muttered, â�œSome ringtone. I miss the good old days where I was alerted by songs, not the Earl of Greyâ�¦â� under her breath before picking up the receiver.

â�œHello?â�

â�œWouldnâ�™t it be nice if your phone was Optus? Talking on the phone would be an easy treat. Calling the in-laws wouldnâ�™t be a hassle; you could lie and say youâ�™d love to meetâ�¦â�

â�œGoddamn, I have told you people a thousand times - Iâ�™M NOT INTERESTED!â� Slamming down Hermesâ�™ successor of the future, she returned to her interrupted spiritual awakening. Then paused as a peculiar thought struck her. Why in the world was the stupid woman doing her job in rhyme, singing in the tune of the Cadbury ad?

***

Welcome dear friend,

I donâ�™t know if youâ�™ve detected,

Thereâ�™s something fishy about this world,

It may be a tad infected.

The mysterious caller wishing to sell,

Has articulated, fairly well,

Through the magic of The Beach Boys,

Brilliant choice.

Now where will Cassieâ�™s endeavours take us,

We shall soon see.

To the mall? In front of the TV?

Or perhaps to the awards show; the Emmys.

Chapter two

Though persistent telemarketers made Cassie irrevocably angry, she usually remained calm, collected and composed. She enjoyed long walks on the beach, a good musical, wasabi peas, the smell of dishwashing liquid and most of all, the beautiful alliance between a melody and poetry. Cassie could not begin to describe the special kinship she felt with an artist whose lyrics appeared to have been written for her â�“ and the respect she felt for a musician who chose to broadcast their struggles through the outlet of music was a completely different story. She did not drink socially like her twenty-something friends and rarely engaged in sexual romps with strangers; instead resorting to the relative positions of her corresponding celestial bodies as a reason for not dating. One might describe Cassie on a day-to-day basis as â�œoff with the bunnies from outer spaceâ� but she liked to ideally describe herself as optimistic and on-track. She liked it that way.

It was 7.30pm on a Tuesday evening and her slightly deranged guinea pig BjÃ¶rn had escaped. ABBA had always been her Achilles heel-cum-guilty pleasure. Stepping out the door into the damp but breezy night air, Cassie pondered how far BjÃ¶rn wouldâ�™ve gotten on three legs and a tendency for grass: considering she lived in the CBD, not far. Turning into Martin Place, she knew there were many grassy patches fit for guinea pigs. She walked briskly, peering into corners with a torch she could have gone mining with, inwardly calculating the bills sheâ�™d have to pay later that week. Straight up: bills were a drag.

The (Shipped) Gold Standard
Songwriters: Hurley, Andrew; Stump, Patrick; Trohman, Joe; Wentz, Pete;

Sometimes I wanna quit this song and become an accountant now
But I'm no good at math and besides the dollar is down
Plant palm trees on Lake Michigan before it gets cold
I gotta feel the wind chill again before I get old

I wanna scream I love you from the top of my lungs
But I'm afraid that someone else will hear me
You can only blame your problems on my world for so long
Before it all becomes the same old song
As soon as we hit the hospital, I know we're gonna leave this town
And get new passports and get get get get get out now

After frequenting the adjacent side streets a total of four times, little BjÃ¶rn was found attempting to snack fervently on a used dictionary behind a discarded couch.

â�œWhat? Do I not feed you? You had to go find a dictionary to eat? Shit buddy, youâ�™re a very strange old thing, very strange.â�

A southerly wind had just blown in and enjoying this refreshing breeze on her face, she almost pranced home holding her squirming guinea under her arm. However, BjÃ¶rnâ�™s lifelong dream was again restored when he escaped from under Cassieâ�™s arm and made for the nearest wall in a bid for freedom. How a wall was to save him, we currently have no additional information on the matter. Back to you in the studio.

***

The possessor of this building,

Will soon veer the course of Cassieâ�™s way of thinking.

For behind this wall was a support group like no other,

Teaching the populace to live in a way that may cause Cassie a spot of bother.

Are you intrigued, young laddie?

But remember, curiosity killed the feline.

Perhaps this story will bear similarity to your world,

Or are you merely reading to pass the time?

No problem, thatâ�™s fine.

Take from this what you will.

I simply request you have a little think,

About what this room could possibly instill.

***

While scooping up the rotund guinea pig, Cassie peered into the window of the grubby exterior of the building. Her eyes, green with flecks of hazel, were greeted by a large circle of men and women; all watching a lean blonde woman intently at the centre of the room.

â�œA support group? Alcoholics Anonymous? Or taking a page out of Durdenâ�™s book?â� she thought to herself. She heard a sound wave carry an all too familiar phrase to her ears as the young man got up to leaveâ�¦

â�œGoodbye, everybody, Iâ�™ve got to go, gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.â�

Cassie, now well and truly fascinated, decided that she had nothing better to do, and made her way to the door and slipped in, still holding BjÃ¶rn and irresolute as to what would await her.

That's all I've got so far. F33db4ck pplz, kthx.

Uppyunderpants' Journals

The Restrictions of Angel Bites + Major Work