Wednesday, November 23, 2011

I'm Retiring from Club Penguin

There's this feeling I can't help but feel. I just want to take over a certain area of art and gain success. I can't access every opportunity because of the mistakes I made. My dreams feel limited but there's nothing else I could possibly want more. I want the money, not for greed but to feel powerful. I want the image of being an individual to flourish through the minds of my reads. I want to make an impact on the world and to fulfill my purpose. I want it all!

Everyday I will work so hard to get to the finish line. I promised my father that I would make him proud before he left to serve our country. I'll give God everything just for a chance to be listened to. I will lose needed hours of sleep and I will sweat until my wet feet slide me onto my back. I want it more than anything else.

No one will stop me and no one will stand in my way. If I get pushed down, I'll get back up. No online punk or beautiful sneaky girl will tear me apart. I'm not cocky, I'm just proud of who I am. I've worked my hardest to get where I am today, and I am not letting anyone take that away from me. I don't care what you think of me, because I've come from nothing. I still have a lot to learn about myself, but it brings me to tears thinking about the light at the end of the tunnel.

God gave me a second chance, and I did not deserve a second chance. I am not going to let him down, I am not going to let my family down and I am not going to let myself down ever again. I'm determined to accomplish something no one else has ever done before. I am going to make our nation a better place to live in. I am here for a reason, and that reason is to write in some manner.

I've quit Club Penguin 3 times, and I have finally figured out why I continuously keep returning. It did not return for the thrill of an online game, because truthfully Club Penguin has not interested me in months. I did not return for the supposed friends I have made, because everyone has backstabbed me from sometime to another. I keep returning because I love to write. I don't think while I write, I just write. I believe that God gave me a natural talent, and I think he gave me a second chance because my writing is meant to impact people of the world.

I believe everyone has a destiny. We are all here for some reason, whether it to be a doctor or a famous rapper. We all have skills that separate us from the "in crowd". Some people embrace their inner talents, others ignore them. My job from this day forward is to write. I want to become an author, a movie writer and perhaps something else along those lines. Whatever I do, I promise you that I will be successful. I hope the best for you too my friend, because you took the time to view this old blog.

I'm not quitting Club Penguin. I have impacted the lives of some of the best people walking on the face of Earth. That is something I will always smile about. I do not hate anyone, because all of my readers helped me became the man I am today. Without you, there would be no more. Club Penguin Neighborhood has been a great experience for me, and I believe everyone else had a fun time as well. I am retiring happily from the Club Penguin world.


~Frostylittle, President of Club Penguin Neighborhood

P.S. I do hope Penny Mickey decides to do something with my dear old blog.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Chapter 3: Penguinbook

"Yeah bud, hide at the gym for another 3 hours. That's all you got going for you anyway, just keep avoiding the drama. It's not like your involved in the drama or anything... You just caused it."

It is midnight. I'm home, my old sisters away and everyone upstairs is sound asleep. I spend most of the night resting, watching a few episodes of Entourage and flipping through On Demand shows. I get this sudden urge to hop into my internet dimension. Why not, right?

I whip off my fuzzy blue blanket and roll off the couch. I calmly walk over to my family's living-room, where our little computer station lives. I leap roughly onto our office chair and press on a wireless white mouse. The computer screen lights up and I comfortably log onto my Macintosh user.

I type in 'Facebook' and my loaded newsfeed appears. I hate the fact that I enjoy reading other people's statuses. Why do I have to care about the lives of my so called friends? Dominating the page is non other than the queen of Facebooking. She takes pictures of herself, complains about relationship issues in her statuses and has a new post on her wall every 3 seconds. Why isn't she such a big mouth in real life?

This girl drives me nuts. She's just like every other white girl in the city. She loves attention, I swear to you her parents don't acknowledge her presence around the house. The girl does whatever she has to in order to fit in. I'm totally different. I'm a complete individual, and that gives me a great deal of power in the high school world. Someday somebody just has to slap some common sense into that chick. Could I do the honors? 

She also just so happens to get with every boy imaginable. Jocks, nerds, musicians, skaters and every straggler in between. Girls love to brag about how they hooked up with so and so. The Facebook queen once famously announced, "She like hates me because I like got with her boyfriend!" I hate you because you just said like twice in a sentence. I refuse to like that status.

At the same time, she's just crazy hot. She has the perfect figure, the best behind and not a bad rack. I sometimes think about just cuddling with her, holding her close to my body. It makes me go mad. Why do I want this tart anywhere near me? I'm better than her and every other girl in all ways possible. I'm not bragging, it's true. I've been through hell in my life and I deserve to be proud of where I stand.  

I close the Facebook window and sign into the Frostyflakes chat room. Its empty, as usual. Some XAT.COM lurker private chats me and starts complaining about how I rigged a challenge. I wonder what I did wrong this time? A few other angry chatters message me so that they can sneak a piece of the drama. Every freaking internet dweller brings so much stress into my life.

I close the chat window without replying to a single penguin. I get off the computer chair and stomp my way into a dark kitchen. I carefully lay down on the wooden floor, and I begin to perform pushups. This is my way of dealing with the negative energy I receive from certain people. 

I wonder if you can bench as much as me?

The following information has been recovered from a variety of trustworthy sources

Late last night at around 1:30 AM, a penguin by the name of Athletico96 entered a private farm located north of Ice Palace. This shady area is home to Club Penguin's most wanted criminal, Witty12. Over the past few years Witty has earned billions of coins through the process of illegally selling rainbow painted puffles. According to local homeless penguins, Athletico entered Witty's farm carrying a galoon of gasoline. 

At 3:30 AM a mobster by the name of Cammycam09 walked through the farm gates wearing a cleanly washed tuxedo. At 6:30 AM that morning, the entire farm viciously exploded. This explosion caused 85% of Ice Palace's farms to burn into bits. It has been reported that these three penguins escaped and are wondering around the city of Ice Palace.

You will be given 20 minutes to scurry around Club Penguin!  Your job is to figure out why this explosion occurred. After the time is up, whoever has the best explanation for why this sudden explosion happened will win the challenge. (Use evidence!)

~Frostylittle, President of Club Penguin Neighborhood

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Death 2:

"You've quit like 4 times... Why? Are you going to quit again Frosty? Huh? Are you?"

There's this tiny chapel down the end of my street. The windows are covered in illustrations of the ten commandments, and there's a large mural of the last supper plastered on the wall. My family is entirely Catholic, but we tend to visit the church only a few times a year. All of us could easily roll out of bed to attend the 9 o'clock mass. We have no excuses. 

The door creeks when I pull it open. I reach over to a cup of holy water and bless myself. My light footsteps echo throughout the room. There are 14 rows of wooden chairs, and all but one row remain empty. There's a man sitting towards the back. He has a thick black beard and is wearing dark sunglasses. A white robe covers his chubby body and a golden pyramid symbol hangs loosely around his neck.

The man seems so calm. His head follows my movement as I walk towards his row. I take a seat next to him, and I stair into his wrinkly face. The man smiles respectfully. He closes the large book resting on his lap, and gently pets my left cheek. I flip his hand off my left cheek in an aggressive manner.

The man removes his glasses, revealing a set of blood shot eyes. His cheeks are mighty red, even though the weather has been nothing but warm. He laughs evilly, and burps a blob of green smoke into the atmosphere. The smoke ruins my vision. Everything becomes a blur, and my body starts to cry.

My vision is reborn and I find myself in an orange dimension. The floor, the walls and the ceiling are one piece of matter. A (color here) penguin emerges into this world holding a knife. (He or she?) has (Hair?), and is representing Club Penguin with a (Shirt?). The penguin whips a knife towards my left cheek, and I manage to somehow spin the weapon back towards him. The knife bullets into the chest of the penguin, and he/she explodes into black pixels.

I wake up, and I am certainly breathing heavily. My pillow is covered in fresh drool, and my heart is beating too fast. There's this awkward pain in my left cheek. I hop of my bunk bed and flip the light switch. My cheek is bleeding heavily, and my fingernails appear to be covered in blood. Holy chapel, have I gone mad?

~Frostylittle, President of Club Penguin Neighborhood

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Chapter 2: I Love You, Chicken Fingers

"You're a goddamn cold person Frosty. Don't you care for anyone but yourself? Would it kill you to be nice? You have a deep hatred against me and my friends... Admit it already."

I walk down an empty street. I'm cold. I start to shiver. Its night time. The street lanterns and occasional truck lights are the only sources of light. All of the local restaurants and pharmacies are in darkness. It's just me, all alone, without an iPod. I flip on the hood of my dark blue sweatshirt and walk at a comfortable pace.

These words keep invading my thoughts. I try to pretend not to care, but deep down it hurts. Every member of a single chat room enjoys hating my guts. I do not want to numb the pain, I embrace it.  What happens if I let their comments get to me?

A person magically appears on a bench in front of an abandoned bowling alley. He has a rather thick beard, and is hiding under a pair of dark sunglasses. Grease stains cover his blue shirt and he is laughing hysterically. He is wearing a thick golden chain, and in his veiny hands is a boxy laptop. I stop and sit next to him. The man does not seem to acknowledge my presence.

I peak over his shoulder and glance at the computer screen. He is on a chat room, and everyone seems to be having a swell time. "LMAO" and "ROFL" cover the chat area. Suddenly, a chatter brings up the topic of a Club Penguin Neighborhood post. There was a passage within the post that criticized everyone in that chat room. For a moment, the man looks away from the computer screen. He drops the laptop and sighs.

The figure disappears. I step away from the bench and continue my walk. I swiftly place my hands in the pockets of my grey sweatpants. I feel for that poor man. Over the past few months, these bizarre situations scurry through my imagination on a daily basis. It's as if someone is trying to tell me something. Sometimes it is difficult for me to understand the difference between my reality and my fantasies.

There's a small Chinese restaurant open until two in the morning down my town's main street. Tonight it is empty. I push open the squeaky door and roam into it's small takeout room. I order a basket of chicken fingers for a quick snack. The service is crazy fast, and the food is entirely healthy. I grab my basket, throw a few bucks on the container and thank the nice foreign woman. I hop on a stool and pull out a wrinkled paper ball.

Using my handy dandy pocket pencil, I jot down words. Things like story ideas, challenges and rhyme patterns cover the sheet. This time it's a little different. I scribble the words "Awake-A-Thon" down. Man, these chicken fingers are fantastic... I wonder how much protein they contain?

Sleeping is for straight up swagger jackers

If your body did not require sleep, wouldn't life be so much more epic? You could chill at the gym until sunrise, jog around the city at midnight and go on an endless road trip in Witty12's wheelless van... Sweetastic, right? Well, guess what dudes, the penguins of Story-Book Survival are pulling an extreme all nighter this Friday! Boom, boom, pow.

Winning this challenge is as easy as going blind! Starting exactly at 8:00 PM, all competitors must be in the Boiler Room ready to do absolutely nothing. If anyone logs off of Club Penguin for any reason, they are certainly out. Sir Frostylittle (That's me!) will not be logged onto Club Penguin the entire time, because all beasts need sleep. You are required to keep a conversation going on Club Penguin with your peers!

Better start napping.


~Frostylittle, President of Club Penguin Neighborhood 

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Death 1: Andre aka Ty Waddles

"Frosty, is that you?"

I open my eyes and find myself laying on the greasy bathroom floor. There's this awful stench floating permanently through the air. My body is so tired and I cannot remember anything. These words keep echoing through my mind, quotes from internet dwellers. I have to stop thinking about Club Penguin.

I jump to my feet and brush off my dusty adidas shorts. This floor is clearly unsanitary and the last thing I want is a juicy pimple on my forehead. I slowly walk over to the sink, turn on some warm water and splash my face clean. Damn, who's that good looking guy in the mirror? I know not everyone feels the same way, but I am really happy with how I look. I have worked hard on this body, and I deserve to enjoy my reflection.

The door slams open once again and in walks the dude with the spiky blonde hair. This guy looks like he's under the weather. He drags his feet over to another sink and blankly stairs into the mirror. Man, I can tell that he hates his reflection. Maybe he should try working out a little bit? Whatever, I should not be telling a random dude how to live his life. I hate people like that.

I turn my head towards him and say, "What's up?" There's a good chance that he might know why I blanked out. He does not flinch a muscle in his body. What's his problem? I was just trying to make conversation. There's something about this guy that I cannot quite understand. He seems different, and I am not saying that there's anything wrong with being different. It's just that... He looks like the type of person who does not get enough sunlight.

The dude turns to me stiffly. There's so much anger in his eyes. For no apparent reason, he throws a fist towards my face. I manage to catch it. I do not want to punch him back. There is obviously something wrong with him, and I do not want to hurt him.

He mumbles softly, "Frosty... I will not stand for my friends being called jerks." He starts staggering back and fourth uneasily. He unzips his hoodie and tosses it to the ground.  He swings another fist at me and completely misses. The skin on his arms are so pale.

"How did you find me?" The boy looks at me with such a terrified face. It's as if I revealed his biggest secret to the world. He falls on his butt and dizzily looks up at me. The boy starts bawling.

"I'm Andre, from Club Penguin." He proclaimed, "You've hurt so many people Frosty... I wanted to set you straight. I came here with the intention of killing you. That's what my friends wanted me to do." Andre pulls out a container of needles and points to a wound on my left arm. He drops the container and falls back on his head.

Andre stops breathing. His body dissolves into computer pixels, and his tears evaporite into a thick orange smoke. I fall to the ground. My vision becomes blurry, and my body dissolves slowly. I let out a final scream and my mind completely blanks out.

I wake up on a toilet seat, holding a beat up notebook and a mechanical pencil.

~Frostylittle, President of Club Penguin Neighborhood

Club Penguin Is the Best!

Without Club Penguin this Club Penguin Game Show would not exist. Thank-you Lane Merrifield, Lance Priebe and David Kyrsko for creating Club Penguin!
Blogger Widgets