Last year I made a rather lengthy section of the BFW website called Dispatches from the Third Grade. It featured scanned journal entries I wrote when I was eight. It was briefly popular then sort of fizzled out once the gag got old. Oddly enough, without any links on a BFW page, the dispatches still get about five hits a day, mostly from people seeing them in Google Image Search.
Since its been a while here on the blog without a substantial post, I figured I would tap the well of my youth once again to provide you with cheap and easy content. I wrote a story for a fourth grade class called “The Giant Hamburger Bun.” I would just scan it and post it here, but sadly the entire story is written in nine-year-old boy cursive and illegible to most people. But here is the cover illustration, followed by a word for word transcript (misspellings included) typed by me, fifteen years later. The parenthetical is in the original text.
The Giant Hamburger Bun
Micheal A. Surfer lives in (of course) California, in the city of San Francisco. Mike likes to surf, but he hates the smog.
Mike’s fourteen years old but he has the strength of an adult. He has spiked blonde hair. Mike also has blue-green eyes. He can surf with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back. Mike works part time at a “Burger King.”
Whenever he leaves “Burger King” Mike starts to choke on the air. Mike was disgusted by the pollution. Allthough he rode a bike wich didn’t give off pollution the air still had smog. Mike was going to make the biggest hamburger bun in the world. Mike was going to put the bun on top of San Fransisco.
Earlier that day there was a warning so nobody was in the city. Mike went to the Pacific Ocean. A big wave came and Mike was fifty stories high. It was difficult because Mike was holding the sixty thousand ton bun. Mike dropped the bun on San Fransisco and the smog was gone. The bun absorbed all the smog in San Fransisco.
Mike was a hero for just a day because it was sunny and people wanted to go to the beach. Mike knew everyone’s name because everyone is called “dude” in California. When Mike became older he was elected mayor of a city nobody heard of. He wasn’t mayor of San Francisco because the mayor’s term wasn’t over. But Mike was proud and so were his parents because he stoped smog in San Fransisco.
Keep in mind that I’m from New England and being only nine, I imagined Californian geography to be similar to that of Massachusetts, and assumed San Francisco to be just down the road from LA.
I’m not sure how I was led to believe that a 14-year-old with the strength of an adult could lift something that was 60,000 tons. I won’t go into any analyzing of the story, but you can tell my irrational west coast hatin’ was already in its nascent stages.
It says a lot about the public school system I was in at the time that the only correction made by the teacher through the entire story is a tiny red x through the extra ‘L’ in ‘allthough’. Each bastardization of San Francisco is left alone, apparently correctly spelling it twice was good enough.