Quiz : Mad Lib Story

This documentary is very fascinating. The history of the madhouse tells the story of the shutdown of Britain’s asylums through testimonies from people who were inmates. The patients there were isolated completely and were abused with drugs and experiment. Through their testimonies, not all of the patients have mental illness. Most of the patients there were people who are socially inadequate, have depression, agoraphobic, or people who didn’t even behave the way the society or families thought they should be. Joan is an example. She said, she had been in the army during the war, which may have led to her developing panic attacks and claustrophobia when she was 25 year old. This behavior is now common among our society, but look at what happened

The stone hollow echoed with dozens of small breaths and the clunky shuffling of chairs and tables. The lighting pulsated, from glowing orbs, the color of mandarins, positioned near walls throughout the room. Every child in the room was quiet in fear of disobeying and in pure content that today was another school day. Eilig sat in the back left of the room, at an ancient wooden desk with years worth of scratches and pen marks. Everyone else’s desks were identical: a scribbled-out heart an inch away from the corner, a deep, inch long scratch on the side. The silence was contagious until a woman entered the room, with hare-like features she clutched a clipboard, needle-like claws holding the soft wood in place.

One time she decided she was going to write a kind of book. It is going to be a small book, but it was still going to be a book. Most days after school, and when she wasn’t playing with the yellow monkey, she would sit out in her playhouse. She had a nice playhouse in the backyard with a window seat and plenty of light in there. It was warm in the spring

We decided to boost about the way we solved using algorithm of Walmart API was our hamartia. We were Coca-Cola and we had just broadcasted our secret recipe. Feeling proud we decided we get back to work on the app. Suddenly Jessica points towards a bot rising through the ranks very swiftly and it took over us and continued gaining. Little did I realize how close and clinically choking the walls were, in the dead silence I could hear the gasp and the lack of gasp of everyone in the room. There were only 4 hours left and this was our last chance, but one must realize the bot was made by a graduate student from Urbana Champaign and turned out to be 7 pages long. However, I was younger then, we were blaming each other. It seemed that the room had shrunk and was putting us at each other’s necks. The window no longer showed a view of the outside, but the white light was causing it to reflect the scene inside the room. I feel disconnected to the argument going on between my ‘friends’, just like the contrasting

Seated in my petunia pink room at my tan desk an excruciating voice rang through my eardrum. “Again!” the voice bellowed. I hurried to rewrite my work. I started at the beginning with printed letters. A,a,B,b,C,c… I wrote every letter of the alphabet capitalized and lower cased. “Now cursive!” snapped the voice sharply. Again, I wrote all the letters but in cursive this time.

Once upon a yesterday, there were two kids, Hayden and Lily.Lily was a nice girl with brownish, short hair and blue glasses with diamond-shaped sides.Hayden was a funny kid with brown eyes and hair dyed yellow in the middle.One day, they were going on a field trip.They loved field trips but they didn’t know where they were going.They soon found out that they were visiting lake Catch-a-fish. They had lunch and played games about the nature at the lake. Then they were told that it was an over-night stay because the bus was broken.They decided to have fun by playing games in the games room. There was Pac-man, a pinball game, and table tennis. Soon it was time for dinner and some stories. Dinner was hot dogs, and dessert was cotton candy. While

John Cassavetes spoke briefly about his contempt for television in 1978, saying in an interview: ‘I don't care about CBS, NBC, ABC -- television sucks!’ (Cassavetes 1978), this part of the interview would never make it to air, even those present in it joke about how it never would. Back then it was never the intention for television to look bad, just to be okay and enough to hold an audience for long enough without stirring something up inside of them that might lose them for just a second. Television has since grown and matured into a medium that holds some ground for television that is different, this television is appropriately known as quality television, though the definition of which is a little less clear in its current state, while

I looked down at the cream-colored paper while my mind raced with ideas. The benchmark writing prompt read something like, “Describe your perfect bedroom” with specific detail and such, and I instantly thought of an episode on Extreme Home Makeover, where they designed a candy themed room. As I dabbed down my thoughts on the wide ruled paper about a Hershey’s chocolate bar headboard, I had the most confident and excited smile on my face; I had just known I would make an amazing grade. I was right, I did great considering I was only in fifth grade at the time. This was the time where I loved my English class, the brightly lit room with twenty other children, the floral scent, my amazing teacher and when I thought

I sat down at the computer in my house upstairs, the very computer still up there that I still make books on. Orange and red leaves were scattered aimlessly across the green and brown grass. It was right after the school day. Just the beginning of the final year at Fairfield Elementary, and already I was typing a book. What to call it? I had already planned it out while jumping on my trampoline. I typed on Word, size twenty, Calibri: Wolves of War book 1: The Wolf of Greatness.

“5 months ago, in a toy factory in China, I was born, or created, along with many brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, something was wrong with the paint that my makers used. I somehow ended up red, unlike my brothers and sisters, who were yellow. I was an outcast, the only red duck, and none of my siblings would play with me. They all thought I was weird and call me mean names, like Ugly Duck, and Larry the Loser. I was also smarter than them because I could understand and speak English, so they call me Nick the Nerd and Gandalf the Geek.

My eyesight normally functions in the dark, but today is an exception; probably because I skipped dinner. Stretching my arms out further, there was a soft plush sensation. It's Mom's purse she doesn't use anymore. Noticing the heaviness, I dumped the purse upside down. Out falls a batch of markers. "Oh, Knellia. These are the copic markers I've been looking for!" I exclaimed to my teddy bear. I dumped the purse again. Also a heap of glitter pens rolled across the carpeted floor. Excitement sparked through my chest as I fiddle through the bookshelf for my sketchbook. Sek-chan would love to see my artwork decorated in glitter. I stippled yellow and blue to represent the leaves of the tree while cross-hatchling to fill in mermaid scales. This artwork I'll hand her is a fanfiction out of character to The Little Mermaid. After ten minutes my concentration averted to other thoughts: what freshmen would be like, how teachers would teach, when lunch would come, where friends would hang out, and why my crush would avoid me? I stopped coloring for several seconds to procure my tablet to pump up some Korean music. The langue was foreign to me, but it had a nice, soothing melody. As long as the langue is foreign, music won't distract

On a summer afternoon, as I make my way up to Ling’s house, I was full of excitement because I knew, as I get there, my boredom will be extinguished! If you read this, just know that you are in for a long ride of reading what I did at Ling’s house! Ling and I were making satisfying videos of slime, we were making fascinating slime. Plus, we were talking about Minecraft and school too!

The sun was shining slightly through the thick fog, and as I walked out the front door I could distinctly smell the diesel fuels coming from the silver truck. While I waited on my little sister to finish her breakfast, I packed both of our backpacks and lunchboxes into the backseat of the truck. I hopped in the front seat and asked to play on Brian’s, our close family friend who took us to school, phone until my sister was done eating her breakfast. He always let me play Angry Birds before we left for school. As soon as I was about to defeat the big green pig with the fast yellow bird, my sister came and knocked on my side of the truck. Brian took the phone back and told me to help her get in. Finally, on our way to school, I noticed the leaves piling up everywhere, which showcased the growing number of naked trees. I closed my eyes falling steadily back to sleep, imagining what it would be like to not have school today.

Capturing the dusty smell of the cement, bricks, and wood hung in mid-air as we walked around to explore the recent, unfinished cafe shop that was still in building mode. The scent reminded me of a dead war zone left behind, waiting for another war to come. “So what are you gonna name this cafe shop?”, my dad asked after getting a mini tour of the shop, his body casting a shadow over mine. “Well I don’t quite know yet. I’ll think about it and come up with a name before this place is completed.”, my dad’s friend answered with pieces of hair flying out of his head, wearing a artwork paint on his pant, and shirt. His eyes wondered around the place like he’d never seen the shop he had been working on. Wandering around this place for the last

4. The main topic of the descriptive text are the writer has a beautiful dog named Lobo, he is a Siberian Husky, he is like a real wolf because he wails like a wolf too. When Lobo was a puppy he was like a little kitten, because his ears are like a cat’s ears and doesn’t like bath. But he is really cute, sweet and lovely. Lobo has two sky blue of eyes and bright like clean glasses. He makes writer very happy, and writer think the dog loves her too. Writer promised will love and take care and love Lobo all her life.