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eLearning: Life Map Dylan Hill

but why

Dylan Hill

on 22 February 2014

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Transcript of eLearning: Life Map Dylan Hill

Life Map
The Birthing
Jambalaya Thursday
A View to a Kill
ACME: Acclaimed Corrosive, Mighty Explosive
a ghastly
, humdrum night. A wicked chain of
canic eruptions occurred within the Soufrière
ills. On this night, May 17, I was born. A vagrant on the-
I was born on May 17, 1995 in the town of Paradise, CA.
God Save the Queen
It had finally happened. My senses had been roused. A word was spoken; a solitary, august word. I may not have betrothed in a confab, but, forsooth, I had breathed true averment of patois.

Age: 6
I must concede; I may be of horse sense. My falsifiers excogitate my intellectual faculty as... dotish. HOWEVER, ON THIS DAY IN MY LIFE, I HAD CONFUTED THESE NAMES. ON THIS DAY, I MADE A TURKEY.
When I was a Freshman, I met the inoculable, pestiferous spume that goes by the alias of Michael Petrucha. My life has never been so wretched.
By Dylan Hill
Cacographic Colors
Click to add text
Click to add text
Click to add text
Ho! Join scene, bambino Dylan, at the age of 9. I had an appointment with my optometrist. I had not apprehended the fact that my vision was substandard. With my new visage, I was gaffed with my now bolstered optical adroitness.
Come world, you cannot slaughter the everlasting!
When I was 13, I had my first love.

There was nobody that compared to my baby.
And nobody came between us who could ever come above.

She had me going crazy, oh I was starstruck.
She woke me up daily, don't need no Starbucks.
The Posterior Extravaganza
ACME: Acclaimed Corrosive, Mighty Explosive
First Day of High School
First Day of High School
First Day of High School
First Day of High School
First Day of High School
To be entirely candid, I expected that the first day of High School would cusp with my expiration. This, favorably, was bogus, yo.
I had decided that if I did not enroll in kindergarten by the end of the year, I would have to come into the possession of a job, and that wasn't my slice of pie. I'm a child.
The Race
This year, I entered the biggest Flounch competition. I was the fastest.
Babies are neither funny nor cute.
I jest. "LOL," as the green ones say.
Anyways, build a castle in the sky at this coporeality: I was 12. I had bulldozed the bracken bristles beyond the basic bricker basket, if you buckle my bar. I cease.

Not a diddly fly speck happened when I turned 12.
My age is of 17 brief years. I apperceived the fact that I was the lone sir to be held accountable for casting the die. It had to be done: I must combine with Michael Petrucha, the most detestable, low-life, sordid, vile, unloveable miscreation of procreation that this planet could ever surmise to be fabricated. To delve into why I opted to coalesce with this repugnant, picayune blob is privy to no one. Although I would be in direct action with this abstraction of passionate interaction, to claim that I did not succumb to the painful physiological reaction heaved onto my tender protoplasm is an apocryphal claim by an irresponsible gall. His inclination to metaphysical castration was causing me great frustration, but I made scene.
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