Writing Assignment #7, Draft 2

The Ballad of Bonny Biz McQueen

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The wretched girl has died.

She was a sweet girl, 5 foot three
A really comely lass
She ate caviar on bagels,
And had a gorgeous ass.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The wretched girl has died.

All the lads were quite in love
But only one caught Bizzy’s eye,
A handsome boy with with wavy hair
His name was Rodney Pie.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The wretched girl has died.

Now Rodney worshipped Bizzy
And Bizzy adored him
They pledged to be faithful to each other
Ever loving without whim.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The wretched girl has died.

But one day Bizzy strolled out
On the sunlit lawn
And there was Rodney and Jilly Mae
Getting their freak on!

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The wretched girl has died
The poor girl’s heart was broken
She fled the awkward scene
She smashed her car into Rodney’s truck
And yelled, “That’s from Biz McQueen!”.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The wretched girl has died

Bizzy was on a rampage,
She was usually like a mouse
Now screaming in righteous anger
Biz blew up Rodney’s house.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The wretched girl has died

She jumped into her magenta car
And headed far away
Now that her man no longer loved her
There was no cause to stay.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The wretched girl has died.

Blinded by tears and crying hard
She gave an almighty sniff
And inspired by Thelma and Louise
She drove right off a cliff.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The wretched girl has died.

Writing Assignment #7, Draft 1

The Ballad of Bonny Biz McQueen

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The little lamb has died.

She was a sweet girl, 5 foot three
A really comely lass
She ate caviar on bagels,
And had a gorgeous ass.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The little lamb has died.

All the lads were quite in love
But only one caught Bizzy’s eye,
A handsome boy with with wavy hair
His name was Rodney Pie.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The little lamb has died.

Now Rodney worshipped Bizzy
And Bizzy adored him
They pledged to be faithful to each other
Eternally loving without whim.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The little lamb has died.

But one day Bizzy strolled out
On the sunlit lawn
And there was Rodney and Jilly Mae
Getting their freak on!

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The little lamb has died

The poor girl’s heart was broken
She fled the awkward scene
She smashed her car into Rodney’s truck
And yelled, “That’s from Biz McQueen!”.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The little lamb has died

Bizzy was on a rampage,
She was usually like a mouse
Now screaming in righteous anger
Biz threw things at Rodney’s house.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The little lamb has died

She jumped into her magenta car
And headed far away
Now that her man no longer loved her
There was no cause to stay.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The little lamb has died.

Blinded by tears and crying hard
She gave an almighty sniff
And inspired by Thelma and Louise
She drove right off a cliff.

Oh that pretty dame, called Bizzy McQueen
No longer will she ride
In her pink Ferrari, with spinners flashing
The little lamb has died.

Writing Assignment #6, Draft 3

Allegory of the Slave

Once a long time ago, in a land of golden fields and dark forests, lived Kip. Kip was a gnome, less than three and a half feet tall, with flaming red hair and a rather large nose. He lived in a small village at the base of the Crooked Mountains, with his wife and children. His people lived a peaceful and pastoral life in their town, harvesting crops and digging up opals the size of chicken eggs in the soft, crumbly soil. They were content to live in harmony with nature, working their own trades and having great feasts celebrating the seasons. Kip was no exception, and loved nothing better than to sit in the Flying Squirrel (the local tavern), and drink a pint of berry mead. Occasionally, the gnomes would venture out of their community, and go to other gnome towns, to visit relatives or to trade the opals for which their county was famous for. But mostly they stayed at home, telling stories around the fire and having full moon dances.
It all changed the day the stranger came into town. On a dewy morning in early spring, when the pear trees were in bloom and the forest was alive with the chirping of baby birds, a man swaddled in rough black silk and carrying a pack swaggered into the village. The gnomes were terrified because this man was a giant! He was at least five feet tall, with curly green hair and a vicious, charming grin,. He introduced himself to Kip and the rest of the gnomes who had tentatively gathered in the town square, as Mir the Trader. He told them that he had heard of their opals, and had traveled all the way from his home across the eastern hills in the desert, for the jewels. He inquired if he could trade some of his silk for them. The villagers were awestruck at the cascades of glowing cloth in shades of peacock blue and sunset pink, and eagerly swapped a few gems for the material. Mir’s pale eyes widened in greed when he saw the smooth opals glittering in the gnome’s callused hands. He went on his way just as the day was drawing to a close, his sack bulging with his new treasure. That night, in the Flying Squirrel, Kip asked his friends if they had trusted the giant. The gnomes all agreed that he was jovial enough, and they had far too many opals anyway. Besides, their wives and daughters were thrilled at the prospect of new pinafores and petticoats. Kip was silent with worry, he had seen the flare of avarice in the merchant’s eyes, and remembered the cruel twist of his smile.
In time, the gnomes forgot the visitor, and both the memory of the man, and the silk petticoats faded. A few months later however, more men who were all as tall as Mir arrived in twos and threes, trading the eager gnomes spices and silver for the opals. The giants began to settle in the woods at the foot of the mountains, and didn’t bother the village much. But on an evening in fall, when dusk was falling, Mir was seen again, riding on a monstrous beast, far larger than the goats that the gnomes kept. He was accompanied by a whole group of the men: towering, aloof, and carrying spears and swords that glinted in the rising moon. They gathered the trembling gnomes into the square, and informed them that they were now in charge of the town, and all of it’s opals. Mir’s grin was predatory as he spoke, “You savages are unfit to handle such valuable property of the kingdom. We’ve come to educate you, in a way. Your primitive rituals and idle days are over. You little midgets will mine for us now. Such small brains clearly cannot think for themselves, you obviously need guidance from people higher than you. If you protest or rebel, we shall make your lives more miserable than they already are.” The giants laughed as one, and the gnomes cowered in terror, clutching each other in panic. Kip bravely stepped up and cried out, “What right have you over us? You do not understand our lives, leave us alone!”. Mir took out a dagger, and brutally slashed his cheeks. The villagers were mute in shock. Then some of the braver ones threw themselves at the trader, beating at his legs with their chubby fists and feet. Mir cut them all down without blinking, and the men formed a ring around the terrified villagers, who were cradling their dead friends and sobbing. Kip’s skin was permanently marked with two thin lines, scars that remained with him until he died.
And so it was that the giants enslaved the gnomes, forcing them with whips and blades to mine deep into the Crooked Mountains, and carry backbreaking loads of opals to their wagons, where they were thanked with a slap or an insult. Eventually the supply of opals ran out, and one day, the giants disappeared, leaving a town of ghostly slaves, who were once gnomes. Slowly, feebly, they tried to rebuild their lives, but oppression had crushed their spirits so that the mended town, and it’s inhabitants, were shadows of what they once had been.

Writing Assignment #6, Draft 2

Allegory of the Slave

Once a long time ago, in a land of golden fields and dark forests, lived Kip. Kip was a gnome, a little less than three and a half feet tall, with flaming red hair and a rather large nose. He lived in a small village at the base of the Crooked Mountains, with his wife and children. His people lived a peaceful and pastoral life in their small town, harvesting crops and, for leisure, digging up opals the size of chicken eggs in the soft, crumbly soil. They were content to live in harmony with nature, working their own trades and having great feasts celebrating the seasons. Kip was no exception, and loved nothing better than to sit in the Flying Squirrel (the local tavern), and drink a pint of berry mead. Occasionally, the gnomes would venture out of their community, and go visit other gnome towns, to visit relatives or to trade the opals for which their county was famous for. But mostly they stayed at home, telling stories around the fire and having full moon dances.
It all changed the day the stranger came into town. On a dewy morning in early spring, when the pear trees were in bloom and the forest was alive with the chirping of baby birds, a man swaddled in rough black silk and carrying a pack swaggered into town. The gnomes were terrified because this man was a giant! He was at least five feet tall, with curly green hair and a vicious, charming grin,. He introduced himself to Kip and the rest of the gnomes who had tentatively gathered in the town square, as Mir the Trader. He told them that he had heard of their opals, and had traveled all the way from his home across the eastern hills in the desert, for the jewels. He inquired if he could trade some of his silk for them. The villagers were awestruck at the cascades of glowing cloth in shades of peacock blue and sunset pink, and eagerly swapped a few gems for the material. Mir’s pale eyes widened in greed when he saw the smooth opals glittering in the gnome’s callused hands. He went on his way just as the day was drawing to a close, his sack bulging with his new treasure. That night, in the Flying Squirrel, Kip asked his friends if they had trusted the giant. The gnomes all agreed that he was jovial enough, and besides they had far too many opals anyway, and their wives and daughters were thrilled at the prospect of new pinafores and petticoats. Kip was silent with worry, he had seen the flare of avarice in the merchant’s eyes, and remembered the cruel twist of his smile.
In time, the gnomes forgot the visitor, and both the memory of the man, and the silk petticoats faded. A few months later however, more men who were all as tall as Mir arrived in twos and threes, trading the eager gnomes spices and silver for the opals. The giants began to settle in the woods at the foot of the mountains, and didn’t bother the village much. But on an evening in fall, when dusk was falling, Mir was seen again, riding on a monstrous beast, far larger than the goats that the gnomes kept. He was accompanied by a whole group of the men: tall, aloof, and carrying spears and swords that glinted in the rising moon. They gathered the trembling gnomes into the square, and informed them that they were now in charge of the village, and all of it’s opals. Mir’s grin was predatory as he spoke, “You savages are unfit to handle such valuable property of the kingdom. We’ve come to educate you, in a way. Your primitive rituals and idle days are over. You little midgets will mine for us now. Such small brains clearly cannot think for themselves, you obviously need guidance from people higher than you. If you protest or rebel, we shall make your lives more miserable than they already are.” The giants laughed as one, and the gnomes cowered in terror, clutching each other in panic. Kip bravely stepped up and cried out, “What right have you over us? You do not understand our lives, leave!”. Mir took out a dagger, and viciously slashed his cheek. The rest of the gnomes were mute in shock. Then some of the braver ones threw themselves at the trader, beating at his legs with their chubby fists and feet. Mir cut them all down without blinking, and the men formed a ring around the terrified villagers, who were clutching their dead friends and sobbing. Kip’s skin was permanently marked with two thin lines, scars that remained with him until he died.
And so it was that the giants enslaved the gnomes, forcing them with whips and blades to mine deep into the Crooked Mountains, and carry backbreaking loads of opals to their wagons, where they were thanked with a slap or an insult. Eventually the supply of opals ran out, and one day, the giants disappeared, leaving a town of ghostly slaves, who were once gnomes. Slowly, feebly, they tried to rebuild their lives, but oppression had crushed their spirits so that the mended town, and it’s inhabitants, were shadows of what they once had been.

Writing Assignment #6, Draft 1

Allegory of the Slave

Once a long time ago, in a land of golden fields and dark forests, lived Kip. Kip was a gnome, a little less than three and a half feet tall, with flaming red hair and a rather large nose. He lived in a small village at the base of the Crooked Mountains, with his wife and children. His people lived a peaceful and pastoral life in their small town, harvesting crops and, for leisure, digging up opals the size of chicken eggs in the soft, crumbly soil. They were content to live in harmony with nature, working their own trades and having great feasts celebrating the seasons. Kip was no exception, and loved nothing better than to sit in the Flying Squirrel (the local tavern) , and drink a pint of berry mead. Occasionally, the gnomes would venture out of their community, and go visit other gnome towns, to visit relatives or to trade the opals for which their county was famous for. But mostly they stayed at home, telling stories around the fire and having full moon dances.
It all changed the day the stranger came into town. On a dewy morning in early spring, when the pear trees were in bloom and the forest was alive with the chirping of baby birds, a man swaddled in rough black silk and carrying a pack swaggered into town. The gnomes were terrified because this man was a giant! He was at least five feet tall, with curly green hair and a vicious, charming grin,. He introduced himself to Kip and the rest of the gnomes who had tentatively gathered in the town square, as Mir the Trader. He told the alarmed gnomes that he had heard of their opals, and wanted to know if he could trade some of his silk for the stones. The villagers were awestruck at the cascades of glowing cloth in shades of peacock blue and sunset pink, and eagerly swapped a few gems for the material. Mir’s pale eyes widened in greed when he saw the smooth opals glittering in the gnome’s callused hands. He went on his way just as the day was drawing to a close, his sack bulging with his new treasure. That night, in the Flying Squirrel, Kip asked his friends if they had trusted the giant. The gnomes all agreed that he was jovial enough, and besides they had far too many opals anyway, and their wives and daughters were thrilled at the prospect of new pinafores and petticoats. Kip was silent with worry, : he had seen the flare of avarice in the merchant’s eyes, and remembered the cruel twist of his smile.
In time, the gnomes forgot the visitor, and both the memory of the man, and the silk petticoats faded. But on an evening in fall, when dusk was falling, Mir was seen again, riding on a monstrous beast, far larger than the goats that the gnomes kept. He was accompanied by a whole group of his people: tall, aloof, and carrying spears and swords that glinted in the rising moon. They gathered the trembling gnomes into the square, and informed them that they were now in charge of the village, and all of it’s opals. Mir’s grin was predatory as he spoke, “You savages are unfit to handle such valuable property of the kingdom. We’ve come to educate you, in a way. Your primitive rituals and idle days are over. You little midgets will mine for us now. Such small brains clearly cannot think for themselves, you obviously need guidance from people higher than you. If you protest or rebel, we shall make your lives more miserable than they already are.” The giants laughed as one, and the gnomes cowered in terror, clutching each other in panic. Kip bravely stepped up and cried out, “What right have you over us? You do not understand our lives, leave!”. Mir took out a dagger, and viciously slashed his cheek. The rest of the gnomes were mute in shock. Kip’s skin was permanently marked with two thin lines, scars that remained with him until he died.
And so it was that the giants enslaved the gnomes, forcing them with whips and blades to mine deep into the Crooked Mountains, and carry backbreaking loads of opals to their wagons, where they were thanked with a slap or an insult. Eventually the supply of opals ran out, and one day, the giants disappeared, leaving a town of ghostly slaves, who were once gnomes. Slowly, feebly, they tried to rebuild their lives, but oppression had crushed their spirits so that the mended town, and it’s inhabitants, were shadows of what they had been.