Yesterday at Ben's these two ladies were at the door when I came on my bike. They stare at me and there like, "You're not Conrad are you?!!" whoa. ok I have nooooo eathly clue who these people are. So they say, "yeah we were here a year ago." man that is soooo weird. A hole year and they still know my name. Mom had her own ideas about why they remembered me, but I think I'll keep that to myself. lol.

On Sunday me and Dwayne Beiler were biking down East Newport Rd. when all asudden this lady comes down the road hollerin at us like nuts. "You get off the road right now kids.... and tell your mom!!! I'm gonna sue!!!" fiesty little red-headed thing she was. Then she hops out of her car bout fifty feet ahead of us and starts yelling out obscenities I shall omit for moralities sake. wow. Aint Lancaster County great folks!!!

and a poem i wrote for grammar class. I asked my teacher if she will get mad at me if my poetry sounds evil. so she looked at what i had written so far and she said it looks all right. :) cheers!!! I dont know why that happens to me. Sometimes i just feel like writing about death and demons and witches and pain... and then the next time it'll be about nature and water and blue skies and dreams... Weird bein different from every one else... then again, you get more attention that way too. :) here it is.

Grim Reaper
A lightning bolt streaks 'cross the sky
A thunderclap replies.
A ghostly rider gallops down
From lands beyond the skies.

His cape is long, his clothes are black
His voice is scraping bone.
His mount drums grave-procession beats
Upon the cobblestone.

He slithers up a cabin's steps
Unveils his icy face
He takes an unsuspecting soul
To Master's dwelling place.

A thousand demons screech their glee
The elements reply
The long-caped feind of life rides on
To lands beyond the sky.

His steed breathes fire, his hood hangs low
And hides his fiery eyes.
His name is Death. He gallops on
Through lightning-shattered skies.

later folkses,
conrad