Ted Cruz is the Zodiac Killer

Now as many of you already know we have a serious political problem in the United States.

There is man running for president who belongs in prison

No not Donald Trump… Ted Cruz.

Now if you don’t know about the zodiac killer here is a little background:

The Zodiac Killer was a serial killer who committed a number of murder in Northern California in the 1960s and early 1970s.

After he committed these horrific murders he would write into the local news papers and tell them things about the murders that only the police or he would know.

The Zodiac Killer was described to the police as a heftier 5’8 white male.


Now you may be wondering well how tall is Ted Cruz?

5 foot 8 inches!

Coincidence? I think NOT!

Now his age doesn’t exactly match up.

Technically according to his “birth certificate” he was born in 1970 and that makes him 45

So “technically” he wasn’t even born when some of these murders were done and for the others he was a toddler.

But you can doctor documents especially birth certificates, and this man does not look 45.

Like come on


I mean… point proven.



Sometimes I can’t move.  I’ll lay in bed staring blankly at a screen.  I am not evening watching the movie that my eyes are fixated on.  I’m in another world.

The darkness started in my brain, it made me smile less, and cry more.

Then it moved into my eyes,

the darkness made me see things differently.

When I looked in the mirror I didn’t see myself anymore, I saw a girl with dark black eyes.

Darkness took over my mouth soon after.  Negativity spewed out like oil in the middle of a dark blue ocean.  It covered me with a thick black liquid.

Darkness wrapped around my heart so tightly that nothing could escape.

Things I once loved, things that brought me so much happiness no longer warmed my heart, they simply pasted in front of me like a person I use to know.

Darkness takes my legs from time to time.  There’s nothing I want more but to move.  I want to run, and dance and write and jump. 

Instead I sit, lifeless, glaring at the sticky white ceiling of my room.

I would like to think I am stronger than the darkness.

I know I’m not.

Sometimes I trick the darkness.

I make jokes, and laugh and pretend like he doesn’t exist.

The darkness is stronger than me.

And takes over.

A Tragic Story of Prom and Permits: Part 1

Photo Credit: balticassist

Bethany Yoddle, a highschool junior, just got her license right in time for prom. Bethany is an aspiring model/actress/tv show cooking competition judge/daytime talkshow host/reality tv show star. Bethany isn’t going to prom with anyone, but she just assumes they can’t handle her charismatic, multi-talented persona. But, little does she know, her best friend since 4th grade, Ben, is in love with her. Bethany and Ben have gone from swing sets to driving licenses, now they are 16 and she still has no idea.

7 pm hits, and Bethany climbs into her car to make her way to prom. Bethany’s drive to the prom site is a long one, as it’s outside of the city, but luckily she has all her favorite music to listen to on her way there.

Bethany hits the more rural part of her drive, and unfortunately, a deer ran across the road right as Bethany was singing loudly ( and ear-bleedingly bad) to her favorite song. Bethany saw the deer and she slammed the brakes, but just a second too late, and her front bumper collided with the deer.

To Be Continued


White Walls

It used to be white.

The yard was a little greener, and my dog was usually tied up to my tree.

My backyard was concrete and it would burn my feet in the summer time.

My living room had this ghastly green carpet that crept up the stairs and into the hallway.

There were pictures hanging up of my sister and I leading up to the second floor.

My room had light blue walls and white furniture with rose decals.

I used to sit on my knees when I ate dinner with my mom because the dinner table was too high up.

I remember watching Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune every night on the same black leather couch.


Now my house is brown.

The front yard is full of dirt and my tree is dying.

My backyard no longer has hot concrete, but cool stone.

My living room has dark wood tile and my stairs have no carpet.

The pictures have been taken down and the white walls of my house are too white.

My room is the same, except all my stuffed animals and toys have been crammed into a box that now resides in my garage.

I can reach for the salt and pepper on my dinner table without having to stand on my chair.

My black leather couch is gone.


And so is the house I spent my childhood in.

The frame is still there, the same white walls and grey tile.

All the pictures that graced the walls are in the same crowded garage.

But now I’m too big to hid behind the black leather couch when a movie gets scary.

I’m too old to play with my old toys.

My house is still there but it is no longer my home.