User:Scaea/Edward R. Morrison

Biography
Edward R. Morrison was born in Boulder Colorado to Bruce E. Morrison and Joyce Richardson. He attended Swanson Elementary School from kindergarden until sixth grade when he graduated to North Arvada Middle School (NAMS). As everyone who attended this school, he describes this expiriance as "hellacious". He attended Arvada High School from 1999 until 2003, running on their Cross Country and Track teams and ran faster than the coach, Rick Durant, had during his high school career. He went on a leadership retreat to Europe in the summer of 2002 with The Orbis Institute, championed by David French. Upon his return, he was a significantly changed person, although he never wrote the book he planed during his stay there.

After High School, Edward attended Adams State College for three and a half years, ran for their cross-country team, was unappriciated and instead danced with Semillas de la Tierra for the entire duration of his stay there. However, he transfered in the middle of his college career to Western State College of Colorado, the affirmed rival of Adams State, where he currently studies Geology and writes biographies for himself on Wikies because he doesn't yet have a good job.

Early Writing Career
Edward's early writing career saw little success. But that is mainly because little has been finished yet. Nothing but a few short stories and poems and such. And he hasn't found a good free-lance job or anything.

Rise to Success
...Hasn't happened yet. But it will, by Jove, if I have to drag it to the top of Mt. St. Hellens and throw it into the fire! At least I'll make the bloody paper!

Planned Projects
Edward wants to build a man-powered air-craft. NASA achieved the feat in the 12 June 1979 with the Gossamer Albatross (which flew across the English channel) as did the MIT Aeronautics and Astronautics Department with the MIT Daedalus in 1988 (which flew 74 miles in nearly four hours). So it is possible.

Bowling for the Gutter
Alone up on a hill

and surrounded by krill

lived an ol' mother Hubbard with her grandma's will

She don't know what to do

she don't know what to say

she only knows that this has been one rotten day.

Her grandma was dead!

Suffocated by a lid

to a jar of peanut butter and fresh sea squid.

Now she had some money,

for the first time in her life,

sadly what came with it was unbearable strife.

She thought: "perhaps to feel

a bit better than a heel

I'll go out and buy a bunch of stuff and a meal."

And so that's what she did

but she still felt really bad.

She couldn't help but think about the loss she had.

Alone and lonely! She felt so lost and dopey.

She paid for some 'favor' but she just felt like a whore

And cried for her granny.

Still all alone.

Now all that money gone.

she spent it all on stuff repossessed by drones.

But she still had her house,

and her dog had a bone.

"The only thing the repos didn't fine!" she'd moan.

Everyday she would go swim

in the Lake of Living Dead

"Oxymorons make me feel so good." she said

They made her laugh a little,

though never for very long.

Soon she would continue her lamenting song.

Convinced she couldn't stand it

she bought guns from a bandit.

She knew what she would do; now here's the grim tangent:

she shot her poor ol' dog

and she shot herself too

Now a slug's in her brain and a note's in her shoe.

Alone and lonely! She felt just too mopy!

She didn't like her life that day so she threw it all away

Her note was real cloudy:

It said: "There once was a land

where dolphins would stand

and people would swim to eat out of your hand.

The light there was dark,

the cats there would bark

even though that's such a cliché remark.

I want to go to the top

and if you try to me stop

then I guess this effort will just be a giant flop.

But if you let me go,

then I'll tell you this I know:

it's really really hard to keep your ducks in a row."

The English Language
Hust! To you speeche ich ne wilt herknen.

Hoolsom as the noblesse I spaken.

Thy langage langour is lewed and nice,

Thy kinrede peple junglen to no gainen!

Harken to me! Harken to this advice;

Speak more correctly or thou shalt pay the price!

I think'st thou know'st what shall be so;

You'll dwell in the sewer and eat not but mice.

The language we speak is not dead so it grows.

If not for Shakespeare we would never read Poe.

Be that as it may, I like it where it is.

It may change for the better but I do not know.

What'cha on about? Givin me a quiz?

DubyaTeeEhf, I aint gonna take no jizz.

Ya fogies think ya zen but Im th next gen

So take off Im goin' back ta my biz.