That Sunday they set ablaze the remnants of our camps, and loaded us up back into containers. All night the cries of women and children sounded, and the stench of bodily odors permeated the air. It was a cool night, and yet the sweat and tears that created a thing film of tackiness clung to our bodies. Still, it was a sort of reprieve; the two newborns that had been captured along with their mothers in the invasion did not shriek as hard as they did during the day. In the morning, however, the heat of the New Mexican sun exercised its ruthlessness. To make matters worse, the containers they held us in, fitted only with a single slit stretching horizontally along the container was our only window into the outside world when we traveled, as well as our only air source to cool us down. Packed with fifty to sixty per container in a container no bigger than school bus meant that we were already susceptible to overheating. The cruel sun only made things more unbearable. As I watched our camp become a fiery speck along the line of the desert, I thought of how on Sundays my mother and father would dress up a little tidier than usual, and ask me to wear a button up and some jeans. I’d come down the stairs, tired from being out with friends the night before and my mother would reprimand me for not combing my hair back. My father would grumble about something and we’d all hop in the car for church. I remembered how the preacher admonished about longing for sin after we’d come to God, and how Lot, stalwart and obedient, left his burning city behind with the faith God would lead him and his family towards something greater. But Lot’s wife, wistful and nostalgic, looked back at the burning city for one last final goodbye and was turned to a pillar of salt. Then the preacher would say something about the lustful nature of sin, and how we must stay faithful to God. My mother would amen, folding her hands and closing her eyes tightly as if she closed them tight enough God would see her faithfulness. I went along staring at that burning speck that was Los Lunas, leaving farther my own city, and waiting for the moment I too would turn into a pillar of salt. That night, they unloaded us again, one-by-one, into an open dirt clearing. A man behind me pushed through the line and sprinted out into the clearing. The day had exhausted him however, and he didn’t make it 200 feet before one of our captors seized him up and impaled him with its long, razor sharp arm. Our captors clicked in amusement and approval and continued the process of examining us one-by-one before pushing us towards the clearing to wait. Our captors were thick as the trees: it seemed as though they stood like monsters from a fairy tale book, and yet here they were, as palpable as the situation we were currently in.

Invaders. Invaders who had, up until a week prior had not even been within our line of sight. Invaders who had been lurking in the immensity of the black, waiting for the moment to strike us. I recalled the night they came: how my mother clutched her cross pendant and prayed zealously under her breath. How four days later she was still chanting prayers, hoping the words would ward them off, even as one pierced his arm through her breast. I gazed around at my fellow captives, wondering who amongst the bunch was still a fervent Christian soul. The emptiness in their eyes, the same emptiness that was mirrored in my own, revealed the truth.



I choose to write my parody of Mary Rowlandson’s The History of the Captivity. I thought it might be interesting to do a parody written in sci-fi to highlight the foreign nature of Rowlandson’s captivity narrative. Since the Indians are a group of people that she has never experienced before, and their ways are foreign to her, I thought the way to best replicate this was to have my narrator also be seized by captors he was completely unfamiliar with as well. The concept for the most part is identical: both narrators are captured and use religion to navigate that captivity, and the continuum that the plot follows is admittedly the same. However, the details within the narrative are different. For example, it’s alien not Indians that attack; it’s a hot morning, not a cold one; my narrator is a boy, Rowlandson is a woman; my narrator is a Christian who has given up on God, Rowlandson is fervently Christian. These differences I believe, while subtle, change the tone of the story significantly. The sixth remove of Rowlandson’s captivity narrative, re-imagined through my creative project, ceases to be a story of hope and instead becomes a story of despair. I think this creative project aided me in significantly re-imagining the same experiences Rowlandson might have had but in the modern world. By creating a world that parodied that of Rowlandson’s by bringing it into 2017, where the threat of invasion is plausible of occurring, I was able to recreate some of the same feelings, while also manipulating my audience through a religious lens, as Rowlandson did. Overall, I believe that I learned a great deal about parodying others’ works. In addition to that, I got to exercise my creative gears, which we often don’t get to do in English class!


-Sara Nuila-Chae

Lines From Above the Griffith Observatory

Four long years have passed; the summer never ending
And again I hear the cars zooming
The actors, immigrating from their small towns

All with the same hope- Once again.

I look upon these concrete rivers
So wild and connected they boast

Thoughts of connections and collusion
The landscape molded with our hands
And sky colored by our minds
The day has come when I recall
Here, under this great palm tree

The sprawling urban print

Always in season, you can find it all
Clad in a heavy haze, never to see a fall
I see again the rows of hedges, trimmed in perfect geometry

Fairies take care of them all

Sent up, in silence, among the trees!

Where they dwell, no one knows
Uncertainty is evident, in a sanctuary
We are so connected, I see you in my hands
Neighbors sit alone  

Now, with my attention waning
As I sit here in traffic, in wait
What comes to mind is my beloved city

She thrives and pulses with energy

I recall all about that career

The food drove around with life

The concrete unchanged from our last affair
The gentle brown dust floats above

And kisses us all

From the Valley to Santa Monica
I drove endlessly through the pathways
Over the Great River, her character and resilience so apparent    

Wherever business travels, they will follow

The 405 rumbles with excited and mystery
haunts me to this day

The vibrations of the motors, the plastic bag floating through the air carelessly
And the smell of industry, were then to me

An imperilment, a feeling of love

It oozed with a crowded glamour

Gripping the world’s interest, it’s time surely has not passed

For those dreamers who seek to find meaning
Join the game in all of its magic

For I have learned to look on the concrete

Not in my high school days
At all of the people I could help

Tents and blankets line the way

The beat of the machine, so powerful and mighty

Will have some unfortunate casualties

I have felt a presence that fills me with desire

Of calculated thoughts, a sense of invincibility

Of something deeper in my history

Whose origins are mixed and messy
And the fresh ocean and the heavy air

And the tinted sky, and in the mind of us all

A goal we all desire

All cultured factions, all people of greed
All go through the motions. Therefore am I still

A lover of PCH and Hollywoods
And mountains, all that we infect

From this concrete land, an all powerful world
Of importing, of communicating- both what they half create

And what is celebrated and acclaimed

The anchor or my industrial thoughts, the promoter

The model, the keeper of my wallet, and soul

Of my moral being


Dear Red Hen,

The choice to name the poem after the Griffith Observatory is very meaningful when you compare it to the work this poem is parodying. This beautiful building is a place of worship for the modern Angeleno, their religion is science. They look up to the heavens and are struck with awe at the ever expanding and powerful universe.This relates to the underlying theme of power in the poem as it is secretly what every citizen is truly after. There is also something very curious about how a godless society treats their environment. The environment cities have today is very manufactured and has little to no nature in it.  If you compare this to Wordsworth’s poem about the natural phenomena he observes one must question how much of that is inspired by the faith demonstrated in that period. The problems that face the environment and society are swept under the rug as charms of the magical town where dreams are made. The fascination with LaLa Land and its objectification as a mecca for industry causes people to fetishize it. Los Angeles is no longer a city it is a flawless destination. In reality there are issues with smog, traffic, and immigration. The concept of sanctuary cities is mentioned and is an incredibly important topic many fortunate individuals can afford to look over. There is also a large homeless problem that has led to the development of shanty towns beyond the infamous Skid Row. The root of these issues is suggested to be people’s overwhelming desire for power and fame. The city is being used to facilitate people’s selfish desires and as a result it is being destroyed. The author of this poem stays true to the conversational tone of Wordsworth’s poem as even uses some of his original lines to display irony. This poem is a critique on the careless mindset of the power hungry Angelenos.

-Maya Gonzales

Dudeee… How Long was I asleep?

So I was chillin’ with my shorty right, it was the summer of 1997. Everything was aiiight, we were hanging out in Yosemite, camping next to some family.  Then we started talking about the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers movie that we had seen at the drive-in theaters two years ago. She starts saying how Tommy, the white ranger is sooo cute, yadda, yadda, yadda. So then I proceeded to talking about how Tommy was not as cute as Kimberly, the pink ranger, she’s da bomb! So then shorty hits me with an “as if” seeming offensive now. She has the audacity to say that Tommy is better than me because he is always being heroic and what not meanwhile I’m lazy and don’t do anything.

So whatever, she’s trippin’ big time and it bothered me cuz she’s always nagging about SOMETHING, even while we’re in nature trying to mellow out and all that. I felt dissed but it’s cool. So I grab my cassette player, tell her my bad, and that I’m going to walk our dog, Coyote, for a bit just to get away from her for a minute. My plan worked, wickeddd. Everything is cool vibes and I’m walking for like 30 minutes through this trail Coyote was pulling me down. Then I see this wavy bro with this gnarly hat that looks like Raiden’s from Mortal Kombat. Turn’s out he’s a park ranger for Yosemite National Park! The bro is like totally 29 but looks like a young pup. Said his name was John Muir and that he knew the park like the back of his hand. Great vibes I felt from ’em. John Muir then takes out a cigarette pack full of joints and offers me one. Man, this dude is way more dope than shorty back at camp. She could totally use a joint to calm that damn attitude. So we’re chiefing now and I go ahead and offer him a listen to N.W.A’s cassette on my cassette player. He was totally vibing to it even though he didn’t really know what it meant.

John Muir then asks me if I could be a bro and help him carry a keg up the trail. He said some other ranger buddies of his met up there on Fridays to sip some brews so I was definitely down. I would just tell shorty later on that Coyote ran away and that I was looking for him. We get to this dope opening that overlooks the entire valley, mindblown… There are a bunch of his buddies with those wicked hats just chilling kinda awkwardly but whatever, I have the honors of doing the first keg stand… and that’s the last thing I remember. When I woke up, I was by myself. I had no idea where Coyote was and my cassette player was missing and I had this dinky vinyl player. How the heck am I going to play music on that? When I get back to the camp I see these frickin’ kids on these boards that are hovering! What kind of witchcraft is that!? They ask me why I am so dirty and I told them I was raging hard– they were cool dudes. I asked them what they thought about the Power Rangers movie since I wanted to get my mind off of those sorcery hovering board things. They said it was ok, but thought the CGI was kind of bland and thought it would have been better if their phone screens were bigger.

I start laughing because there is no way someone can watch a movie on a dial phone. The kid starts getting sassy, so I start to argue with him. I pushed him like a good 20 feet before his brother stepped in. That kid sure had an attitude for a 7 year old… The brother proceeds to taking out this piece of plastic from his pocket and SHOWS ME THE MOVIE! This is DEFINITELY witchcraft. The older brother then mentions something about the Wi-Fi being spotty up in the mountains so the video is not going to stream in HD which is such a pain because he is used to 4g. I had no idea what this kid was saying and I was at a loss for words. He told me the phone was the 2017 Samsung galaxy! I flipped– 2017?! I Started running hysterically down the road as I could not believe anything– and then this car that makes no noise (a Tesla) with a driver that was texting, hit me. Dead.



There are various reasons for me wanting to write this particular parody. The first is that the era resonates with my childhood. I was born in 1992, so I have slight memory on what occurred in 1997ish time. I am somewhat older than most of my classmates, so I can write with faint tones of humor that would usually only be appreciated from someone that lived through the 1990’s. With Washington Irving’s story, there is the gap where he sleeps for 20 years. With that gap, I felt a lot has changed in our present day, 2017, to 1997. That is why I am fond of what I am writing. I try to capture the retro-modern depiction of a college “bro”. I felt my voice spoke through the writing more as this creative writing allowed me to express my humor more in comparison to other analytical readings we have needed to do. I tied in to what would interest my friends or classmates if they were to read it.

The additional significance is with the finer details used in the writing. I made sure to tie  in obsolete things like walkmans or cassette players or in our modern things like hoverboards and smartphones and how we are practically dead without Wi-Fi. The other neat thing is that they did a remake of the original Power Rangers movie that came out in 1995, so I was able to compare that to the one that just came out in 2017.

A Tesla is something that represents how we have changed what a car can be. I tie in the fact that a driver was texting as humor although it is a serious issue our country and many around the world face. I hope that with the humor, readers are in agreement that texting while driving is a very dangerous act.

Lastly, I use my deep love from my older cousins to inspire me. Most of them are in their early-late 30’s. I have always looked up to them since I was young and so their slang and ways would influence how I behaved. Most younger people tend to look up to someone older than them that is still cool. As a result, I use a lot of 90’s slang, especially in the first paragraph. Another fine detail I use, is John Muir. He was considered one of the first explorers of Yosemite National Park. Of course, by 1997, John Muir has long passed. The intent for making John Muir alive in the story is that he is supposed to be a ghost or legend similar to when Rip encountered what would be Henry Hudson and the Dutch-dressed men, when trekking through the mountains.



-Daniel Estrada

A Visit to my Fiancé’s Home: A Study

It has been two days here at my in-laws’ house, and seeing my fiancé here makes me scratch much of the assumptions I had previously made about creatures like her. I made an amateur mistake, and I should have factored in the variable of a natural habitat in to the formula of understanding my fiancé. Fortunately, I have taken several notes while I have been here that might help me compose a perfect synopsis of her family and genealogically determined characteristics.

For one, when I first met her father at a BBQ at the park, I noticed he was wearing a baseball cap, so I was very quick to jot that down since the sun was not as shiny as other days. What was his conviction? What could have possibly made him put that hat on before he walked out of his house?

Now that I am here in his natural habitat, I noticed that he does not have hair on the uppermost part of his head. This bewildered me, for he was only 48, while my father is 52 and has most of his hair. When he took his hat off, I gave a quick ocular study of my fiancé to see if she had most of her hair, and she did—albeit she is only 22. However, it struck me as a potential issue if and when my fiancé turns 48. I quickly took out my notebook on the table in front of me and wrote down what I had noticed. When I quickly whipped it out from my luggage in the guest room, and made studious observations of everybody around me, they looked at me with perplexed faces—as if it were unforeseen that I wanted to study them while we all had dinner. I slyly grabbed the adorning centerpiece of the table, and moved it front of me as an attempt to camouflage myself in order for them to act natural. This did not seem to work as I planned.

It was my fiancé, her father and her mother at the table. As I was writing in my notebook in front of me, they all stopped eating, and the only thing that I could derive from this habit, was that these creatures could not eat while I had my notebook out. They suddenly acted outside the natural tendencies of animals to eat when hungry. Any motor function that facilitates eating or digesting was slowed or stopped altogether. The only reason I say slowed, however, is because I noticed the father had food in his mouth already, but chewed very slowly while he looked at me with a confused face. I found it quite troubling in my near future if suddenly my fiancé decided to not eat even if she were to be hungry.

I am finding it consistently more difficult to assimilate to the living standards of my fiancé. Although I am able to find some similarities between our dichotomies, the differences have caused me much to be worrisome about. If we are to get married, what are the chances that I will assimilate to her genealogical determiners?



For my creative project, I chose to mimic the style that Jonathan Swift used in his novel, Gulliver’s Travel’s. I liked the absurdity that Swift used in his novel to make Gulliver seem like a fool despite Gulliver’s ironically objective approach. The fact that he takes it upon himself to study the unknown world around him in relation to his subjectivity makes it the perfect way to expose any type of gaze. From reading Swift’s novel, I learned how arbitrary cultural differences are, and how misconstrued they can get if any outside gaze tries to sum them up into categories.

For my version I chose not to go “political” because I liked more the way in which Gulliver as a character is made to look, and how he could be made into a real person who believes his vantage point is one without bias. The character I created shares this with Gulliver because he tries to breakdown and study his fiancé’s family as if he were there visiting to objectify them. Although the way in which he does it is lighthearted, it is a type of dehumanization because he is sees them in a two-dimensional manner, and the things he tries to relate back to his own background are arbitrary—so in effect, he misconstrues them.

Cesar R

Elsewhere in the Grand Canyon State

Girl! Arabella! I have so much to tell you!

There is this state in the United States called Arizona, you know the Grand Canyon State. Along with desert and cacti, there are so many Indian Reservations here, and something was going on with water, but we haven’t had trouble getting water. Of course my father understand how much I need to be hydrated. Anyways it’s so amazing, were staying in Phoenix of course. It’s so hot here, but I can take some credit for that, I mean I am a sight to behold how could the weather not change based on my presence? One day as I was sitting on South Mountain above the city of Phoenix, I spotted by my glorious eyes, my bae. As he stepped out his Jaguar, he was dazzling,  he had on some Ray Bans the aviator ones of course, that black Ralph Lauren shirt I got him a few days ago, and some Versace boots. As I read Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” How could my bae not be rich, he needs to buy me expensive things, I am a queen and should be treated as such. Of course you are one too, but you know I’m in the U.S. Remember Arabella, “Diamonds are a girls best friend.” Did I tell you he was on the cover of Forbes magazine this month?

Anyways we have already been here for a few days, my dads being going to countless business meetings, he keeps talking about reservations and water. The colossal buildings in downtown Phoenix are truly a sight to behold, I mean besides me. At night the dazzling and flashing lights accommodate my selfies for Snapchat and Instagram, not Facebook cause you know that’s for old people. I don’t want my dad commenting how beautiful I am, I hear it enough on a daily basis. I just want to be a simple girl in the world, you know? Of course Arabella if you ever come down over here, I assure you you must stay on the bright side of Phoenix, you may get lost if you go on the sides with boarded up houses, trash on the streets, it’s so dark there. I don’t understand how hard it is to pick up after yourself, apparently they didn’t have the right resources to get the job done. Truly its such a simple fix. We only drove through to get to the Downtown area.

Oh Arabella, I wish you could feel and see the beauty here. There are countless of glittering, radiant geodes, the luscious lavender color looks gorgeous in the sunlight. The cacti, the crystals, Himalayan salt relaxing lamps, bracelets, and earnings! Oh! and by the way the turquoise looks great on my skin, maybe I’ll send you some.

Remember Arabella, life is always good!


S. G


For my creative assignment, I really wanted to focus on important class and political actions we constantly face in our society. Hartly House, Calcutta is a great representation of many problems that although we may not pay attention to still exist today. As we know the protagonist was very egotistical, I rally wanted to recreate that with a sort of materialism that really demonstrated the class gaps. This past March, I was able to visit my grandpa in Phoenix, Arizona one of the main things I noticed as were passing around the downtown area, is on one side there is a major poverty line, and not the other side there is so much wealth. There is a lot of reservation problems, Native Americans are being persecuted because of their land. Sometimes they aren’t even allowed proper access to water. Phoenix is very popular with the tourist despise the fact there are many dangerous areas. Even though I am not from Phoenix, we visit quite often, and we know how the ropes go as if we already live there. Arizona is well known for its gems and rocks, many times people only go for what they can buy. Hartly House, Calcutta really inspired me to take the route of what is really going on. Just like Sophie I only lightly touched on the problems, but at the end of it leaves one with questions about Native Americans and the water situations. There are more important things to talk about besides materialism. As we seen in Sophie’s letters, she was obsessed with the materialistic world , and always failed to see what was really important. This is so relevant to today, it’s pretty disturbing how much people actually don’t care about others besides themselves.

-Viviana Ojeda

Charlie House, Amsterdam

Email 1

The endless flying frenzy of little insects speed to their deaths into a sea of goo that is the saliva in my mouth. I have arrived at the little town of Lisse within the Netherlands, I might say it is nothing but open land. I shall write as a reminder to you, dear Alexander, of my mother’s cruel death after all these years of battle against cancer. Now, forget I ever spoke of such tender and heart retching topic. I am not exactly sure what I am doing here in this little town but to accompany my father at Charlie House, I suppose, and be away from my life in Washington, DC. I shall put my electronic device to sleep and return another day and write to you again. I must take a long walk across the plains.

Your best buddy,


Email 2

As I recall, Alexander, you are always locked within the vicinity of your room playing video games. I cannot even begin to explain the sights of the Western Netherlands. Of course, you probably will not understand nor appreciate the beauty of nature like I do as I have recently discovered. I will describe in the simplest terms that I can to your level of understanding. The many thing you will find outdoors are green, the color of the little round power button on you console. You can turn your head in every direction to find endless fields of brilliant flowers, not walls. The scent of manure is a breath of fresh air and is everything good compared to the city smog. I met a young lady by the name of Brooke and she was sweet enough to show me around town. I have grown quite fond of her presence.

Your buddy,


Email 3

I met a fellow American today on my way to the horse stables and in this young fellow’s hand was something like a cigarette, except it was not a cigarette. There is a specific type of green (I was later informed the plant was called marijuana) that can be rolled inside a specific type of paper, lit and inhaled to get “high”, as they say to describe the sensational experience. If only you can take this trip with me and feel the relaxation from the fumes of this plant of wonders, but you are busy in your catholic studies and I have the time to spare and money from my allowance to spend. Decent music can make you a decent man. Like Tupac.

I hope the Lord can forgive me, I was a G
And gettin’ high was a way of bein’ free

I cannot tell you how popular I have become among these foreign women. All these women often try to get into my pants, but I refuse to let anyone break me away from my catholic moralities. My love, I will give to the lord and only the lord.



Letter 4

My father has fell under the spell of a lady business partner, which I was strongly against until I found myself giving my love to the young lady, Sam. I am happy, Alexander. We will meet soon.



The Netherlands was somewhat chosen at random. As we see that Sophia was a big fish in a little pond when she arrived in Calcutta, I wanted to imitate that but in a domestic and modern setting. My character Sebastian was modeled after Sophia, hence the similarity in the names, and both are addressing a passive friend who does not respond, making it feel like the readers are intruding the conversation. The name of Charlie House was modeled after Hartly House, and I chose Amsterdam because it is the capital of the Netherlands just as Calcutta is the Capital of India at the time. Phebe Gibbes’s Hartly House, Calcutta was a bit long and made it impossible to capture every aspect within a 500 word piece. I had to focus on key aspects of Sophia as a character and her actions. Sophia is introduced as a spoiled brat and it seems she doesn’t realize it, being she is only 16 years of age. Instead of beginning the first letter with a scene of dead bodies, I began it with dead insects inside the narrator’s mouth. Moving from Washington, DC to the Netherlands is a big change, like from a big city to a small town. I believe Sophia brings up the death of her mother simply looking for sympathy, so I tried that. She doesn’t have a clue what she is doing in India, so I sort of paralleled that. The only thing the readers know is that her father is involved in the trade industry between Europe and India, but she could care less. Sebastian also doesn’t care much about his father’s business and is simply enjoying life as a teenage boy. Sophia sees herself as superior to Arabella and she contradicts her words through her actions quite a lot. She says she will never marry in Indonesia, but ends up doing just that. Sebastian says he will not love anyone else but the lord, but falls for Sam, who he barely knows. Sophia loves to include quotes from various philosophers, poets, etc. and to mimic that for a contemporary audience, I used a few lines from a song by Tupac. Both Sophia and Sebastian are both dandy-like as well, both are very conceited. I also noticed that when Sophia closes her letters, she puts in less effort each time.

-Van Vang

The Administration

Somewhere over by what use to be Maryland, near the coast, in the city of B.C.E there lived a man named Beorge Gush. was a simple man. He got up everyday and did the very least of what he was meant to do as his wife nagged him about all his other responsibilities that he already knew about but was too busy watching SNL reruns to really care. One day she sent him to the next city over to pick up some oil she needed to cook and heat up the house. She wasn’t out of gas or anything, she just needed more in case the one she had at home ran out. He reluctantly got up, put on his jacket and walked out the town with a metal jug for oil. He got the oil right away as the people in the next city were easy to take advantage of. Before he got back to town, he stopped under a tree to take a quick nap.
“I dont wana see that deplorable woman anyway” he sighed as he closed his eyes.
 Not long after (something like 10 minutes he wrote once) he woke up and decided to return to the city. He noticed a huge wall standing at the edge of the city that he swore wasn’t there before.  He looked and was shocked as he didn’t recognize anything or anyone. These strange people were dressed like nothing Beorge had seen before!  Their light colored hair was nicely combed to the right and their skin pale and rough. They wore what appeared to be a soldier’s uniform with a particularly red colored helmet and a band on the left side of their arm with a picture of an elephant on it. Beorge watched them as they had huge glasses of beer outside right on the side of a street outside of a tavern laughing and talking loudly echoing through the streets. Beorge tried to walk quickly by them as they watched him with eyes so low you could barely see a sliver of blue coming from their iris and their banter competed with laughter from another group of young men not far away.They didn’t talk to people walking down the street or passing by them, they stayed in their circle of friends and laughed loudly amongst themselves.

Beorge came to what he believed to be his house, but his house was long gone. In place of not only his house but his whole street stood a long wide one floor convenience store. A huge sign over the door read AmeriMart.On the sliding door of the store there was a headshot of a man and underneath it read, SPONSORED BY THE ADMINISTRATION. He leaned in closer to try and get a closer look of who was in the picture but he didn’t recognize him at as he looked like all the young men he saw on the street with nicely combed hair and sparkling blue eyes. “Don’t get your hot breathe all over the Admiral’s image!” someone yelled at Beorge from behind his back. “The Who?” Beorge replied. “THE ADMIRAL!” someone else yelled from the side of the convenience store. “Hes only responsible for you being here! Alive and free in this great city! How did you even get passed the wall?!” Suddenly Beorge began to hear more and more voices surrounding him. The voices yelled “Commie!” “SJW Trash!” “Sinner” and so many other insults Beorge couldn’t keep even decipher what they meant. The crowd continued to surround him. Hands reaching out towards him as he tried to walk back but more hands were there. They got him from the neck and as a team did the deed. 


Reasoning: My piece is a parody of Rip Van Winkle by Washington Irving. I wanted to focus on the scene where he comes back and realizes his town is completely different with changes symbolizing the changes in the country during the time. I wanted to do a piece of the current change America is facing. I tried to turn the satire feel of the changing town to the next level and attempt to create allusions and references to keep the comedy element of the satire present with the names of the people and city all refer to something political. It sounds a little weird but I named him Beorge Wush because I wanted to keep it sort of historically relevant and imagining George Bush slept threw Obama’s presidency and arrive in Trumps America made sense to me.  Trying to bring out what I thought of a bit comical in Van Winkle, I attempted to make symbolic connections to the major changes of Van Winkles town. The people changing to mean and extremely political in Van Winkle have turned into nazi looking guys in the parody. As for the form and style, I read over Irvings work and tried to identify key elements of style to try and imitate.  I noticed the ending was very interesting in the way he rushes the action as Van Winkle goes from one scene to another discovering horrible things every turn before he is confronted. I attempted to use this method in the piece to bring the same story telling element seen in Irving’s work and also to keep the short piece eventful and interesting. Overall I was attempting to deliver a similar message Irving was writing about during his time. He focused on the changing political atmosphere and how sudden and serious these changes can be and how easily someone in the right mindset, like an average joe, can be affected.

-Noel Nevarez

I knew you were trouble when you crash landed

By Johnathan Swift

This one is dedicated to anyone’s who`s  ever been done wrong by a man

I went out on a boat

Gotta wife and kid at home

But I think there’s more out there for me to see…

It’s time to pack up and leave, get wrecked with some friends and

Then try and figure out where I can possibly be.

I guess my friends left me and headed to the west

They`re just jealous because they know I’m the best

An island to myself, this aint too bad.

Just need a honey to share this place with

This song for you too girl, don’t be sad


With a body like that who needs a mind

Give in baby, it’s just a matter of time.

If you really want to do the best for your kind

Give it up, give it up, give it up, your mine.

[ Beat Intensifies]

Welcome to the land where the geniuses roam free

all of this to enjoy untainted beauty.

Even with all this boundless beauty, girl all I see is you.

…Oooo girl…

With that long flowing hair and a mane like a waterfall

I only seen you from behind, but girl I know you got it all

I’m running through these fields to get closer to you

Girl don’t be shy, show me what you can do 


With a body like that, who needs a mind

Give in baby, it’s just a matter of time.

If you really want to do the best for your kind

Give it up, give it up, give it up, your mine.

Girl you know we were meant to be

Name one person here that’s better than me

When you turned around, your big brown eyes stared into my soul

Oh damn you a horse… I gotta go

Is this some kind of magic trick?

You smart and all but your body too thick

Man I’ve been played

I was in love but now you a beast

…. It’s time to get slayed

Come on you`re smart, so scientific

I know you want to be like me, just so terrific

I’m sure you can find a way to fix that face

Go on, be a part of the superior race


With a body like that who needs a mind

Give in baby, it`s just a matter of time

If you really want to do the best for your kind

Give it up, give it up, give it up, your mine.

Maybe I shouldn’t encourage you

Go on and fix your face, you’ll still never be part of the crew

In our minds you`ll always be the yahoo

Yeah, I know this may sound mean

But there’s a reason why God only saves the queen

Dear, Reader

I pulled my inspiration from The Lonley Island Boys which I believe originated from the digital sketches on Saturday Night Live. The band uses topical humor and guest stars to introduce their brand of raunchy comedy to their audience. I tried to make this like a kind of failed love story parody that mimics the crude rap songs in today`s media. Although advocacy for gender equality his a very popular topic in our society at the moment, rap songs still continue to portray women in this inferior state. I compared this issue of gender inequality to Jonathan Swift`s depiction of the Houyhnhnms and Yahoos when Gulliver encounters them in Gulliver`s travels.

These lyrics depict Gulliver as a rapper of some sort and shows how he sees the Houyhnhnms as such an advanced race, but only through the mentality that they are comparable to humans. This reflects how these rap songs put women on a pedestal while objectifying them. It makes it seem like a man`s success is defined by how many women are attracted to them and the ridiculously misogynistic traits that they believe women find attracted. This is exactly why I depicted the Houyhnhnms as an undesirable woman who has been objectified by a man yet the man still craves her attention just as Gulliver craves the attention of the Houyhnhnms even though he still is unable to completely accept these animals as superior beings because he is still holding them to this standards scientifically advanced humans. The chorus expresses the notion that the both women and Houyhnhnms are both subjugated to the standard that mankind is the dominant species and regardless of their vast intelligence and advancements that they can offer the world it will still always be better if man took over the mantle as the superior being. The second verse is a direct parody of love songs and how girls are described in a really vague way so that all girls can identify with that girl being sang about. My interpretation of Gulliver`s travels and his interaction with the Houyhnhnms is that he feels superior to them even though they are super intelligent begins. If they are anything but white males he looks down upon them. This is the colonialist ideal that I try to portray in the chorus. Like women are objectified and thought of as something that you can own in today`s music. Gulliver looks at the Houyhnhnms in the same way. He expresses the Eurocentric mindset in saying that maybe if the person that he is directing this to “rather woman or Houyhnhnm” looked like him, he would except them. The song then dives deeper into the mindset of a European male in the 18th century by essentially saying if another race adopted the traits of European culture, or assimilated, then they would still not be accepted so what`s the point in trying to force them to. As we have learned throughout the entire year, forced assimilation and integration of European culture and language into other countries is a dominant theme in many of the texts we`ve read. These lyrics expose this issue and reveals how this never leads to equality, but only promotes more problems. As for the form of the song, it can be sung with any rhythm that the singer pleases. I did however, greatly admire Swifts idea to let the horses name fit the sound that horses make.  I did include a line in the chorus that alludes to the song not just being a satire about a horse-faced girl, but about the Houyhnhnms as well. The chorus is about how women and Houyhnhnms should give up trying to be a contribution to society with their intellect and basically let the men take over, but the line “Give it up, give it up, give it up” is also meant to mimic the galloping rhythm of a horse. Overall, the piece is meant to be considered from the egotistical point of view of Gulliver arriving in every land and expecting to be praised for his status as a white European male; this idea is also made obvious with the closing line which refers to British royalty.

-Kamani Morrow

A captive Narrative

The supreme power and greatness of the Mother, together with the faithfulness of her promise displayed, being a narrative of the captivity and restoration of the good dog jade, commended by her, to all that desires to know Mother’s doings to, and dealings with her. On the tenth of February, came more of the “people” with great numbers upon the land: Their first coming was at sunrise; hearing the neighing of the horses, looking out; our grass lay place was being trampled, and the horses were whipped sometimes leaving scars, they’re blood seeping into the land of the great Mother. They took 5 of my brethren dogs, and a puppy, and threw them into the river. My Alpha they took and slit his throat, he had attempted to help the others. I, and my two pups hid but soon they came and took away them both, oh well.

When I saw the two dead pups, the women bowed their head but kept moving, there was no howling or pawing, they did not care, and I too walked away because I had lost my pack. They were wild animals that had no morals.

When I woke I was alone with my ‘owner’.  These strange creatures were hostile, eyeing me often, but then also coming over to rub my head.  Their Alpha wore all black and commanded the others on what to do.  I was on my own with these feral creatures and I thought, “Great Mother give me guidance on what I should do”. Mother was our divine ruler that we worshipped and he was clearly testing me to make sure my faith was real.  We were no longer in the grassy woods where they had first begun to make these odd structures, but in a place with irregular trees put together in what I would assume is their way of shelter. There were no trees around and the smell changed, the land looked ravaged. They were hideous to me, they would feed me what they called ‘bread’ every day, instead of fresh killed meat, and then they would throw a ball and ask me to retrieve, begrudgingly I would while they laughed in joy.  They didn’t circle their food, sniff, and lick it, but nothing happened and either way the food was consumed. The betas and submissive people did not honor their Alpha, when he walked by they did not sniff his butt or bow their heads, they lacked class and respect.

There was one other loyal dog like myself around, they kept a contraption on her mouth. If she lifted her head they would smack her and eventually she would just whimper with her eyes closed.

When the full moon finally arrived after my never ending stay, they stayed in doors, I tried to explain that we needed to be out and run under the moonlight to honor Mother; to find food and honor the great Mother, but they neither cared or understood.

I knew that although this was foreign, If I were to make it out, away from these vial beings, Mother would reward me for my faith and servitude.




In this narrative I choose to follow the syntactical style of Mary Rowlandson in that most sentences I use are long and complex similar to Rowlandson. The diction used to critique the ‘people’ in the narrative are similar to Rowlandson’s choice in that here I use “owner”, and other terms that are familiar to a dog and not a person, similar to how Rowlandson defines most her narrative with terms and ways that only the Puritans would understand which could be creating a narrative bias as well. The events I choose to discuss are in a way mocking Rowlandson’s narrative in that throughout the whole narrative of Rowlandson she acts as though her captors were so terrible although they treated her better and took care of her. In this I choose to make her into a wild dog so as to express this notion of understanding other cultures and the ironic nature of the captive narrative. Rowlandson judges for the differences in culture although there is clearly a structure of class which is why I mention the absurd and incredulous tone of how the people don’t sniff each others butts. That is meant to mock the fascination with class and social etiquette that Rowlandson is obsessed with. In this Narrative, Mother, or more symbolically Mother Nature represents God and the powers and faith needed to believe in such a powerful thing. When the blood spills into the land of mother it’s a reference to when the smoke in the book went up to the heavens. Every part of the narrative is religiously charged.  I also choose to utilize formal diction to emphasize a religiously charged feel as Rowlandson does while simultaneously attempting to mock what little feelings towards others she appears to have. When bad things happen she states it rather than expresses her grief.



-Haley Halsey

The new Land of Mexico

I was very happy, I know now, at home with my trophy wife and two kids. But one day I accepted an advantageous offer to be the driver of a Truck. I, as a diesel gas-guzzling American couldn’t turn down the offer to drive the roads built by taxes and fire guns freely in the Land of the Free. I bought a Truck on the 2nd day of March 2017, acquired some haul (burgers for a McDonalds in Texas) and set off on the Freedom trail on the 3rd. If I had learned my lesson of knowing when I was happy I would never have set out on this dreaded adventure.

The closer to Texas I got, the more misfortunes were beset upon me. After the third time that I was mugged driving through LA I was out of tires and began carrying my truck, fireman’s carry style. I made it all the way to Nevada, trading and making discoveries and inventions as I went but I was soon apprehended by the police for not having a Truck-carrying permit and thrown into a police van. I expected nothing less than to be murdered at the hands of these police but then I remembered that I was a white male, and would likely be let on my own way soon.

Upon the 3rd day of March one of the Policemen came into my van, and said “you’re going back to Mexico where you belong”. I told him that I was a white but the dark light of the van prevented me from being seen properly. They forced me into another van, drove several miles, and threw me out of the van in a totally new land, immediately turning tail and going back across the border to the US, and in so doing said their goodbyes.

In typical American fashion in a new land, I walked confidently knowing I was the true owner of the land regardless of who was there already. This land was covered with dust and sparse trees, and I walked carefully to not be surprised by any drug cartels. On the ground I saw strange tracks, feet that were spaced out very far from each other and then very close. At last I came upon the inhabitants of the land, a sight which disconcerted me greatly. I beheld a great number of people. The women among the group were all dancing and had long black hair, and the men simply sat and stared at my shimmering white skin. Never, in all my years, had I come upon a sight so disagreeable. Full of contempt, I attempted to go on my way when an ugly monster blocked my way. “Amigo,” he said, “necesito su libertad“. I drew my .45 from my leather-plated holster and, striking him, informed him that “Freedom ain’t optional. It’s coming for you no matter what”, as the US army materialized out of nowhere and liberated the poor people of Mexico.


To Mr(s). Editor,

This piece strictly adheres to the requirements sent out by your agency. It formally follows the conventions used in the fourth part, first chapter of Gulliver’s Travels. It adheres to the language – the story is set in the past tense, it depicts dread in the first paragraph, capture in the second, leaving the comfortable world in the third, and discovery and rescue in the fourth, just as Gulliver’s travels does. Furthermore, it uses similar diction – rather than contracting words like prevented, disconcerted, disagreeable, etc. as they are used in the text. This post also engages with the modern reader, it uses stereotypes like having a full family, being a proud American, and feeling superior to other cultures that are sure to be familiar to present readers. The artistry of this writing is like the source text, it is descriptive rather than poetic and metaphoric. The diction was carefully chosen so as not to remove that feeling of the narrative. Finally, the use of the medium to communicate the ridiculousness of American superiority was carefully chosen – it could not have been done by a poem about nationalism in playing a harp, for example. Thus, the parodied content matched the source.

The message of this imitation or parody was that the imperialism and believed superiority of Americans in other countries is ridiculous, and that the manliness inherent in American culture is ridiculous as well. There are many other messages within the poem, for example the arrest for not having a license for a fictitious mode of transportation criticizes the over-regulation of the American government concerning modes of transportation. The portrayal of the Mexicans was kept short because the message of the piece would possibly have been obscured by racist stereotypes, meaning it was not a stylistic choice but a question of prudence.


Joshua Jolly