Amazing Kids! Magazine

Your May L.O.L. (Laugh Out Loud! Humor Column)

By Brandon Kuske, LOL Editor

 

Q & A’s

Q. What do you call an old snowman?
A. Water!

Q. Why do artists constantly feel cold?
A. They’re often surrounded by drafts.

Q. Did you hear the joke about the roof?
A. Never mind, it’s over your head.

Knock Knock Jokes

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Yule log.
Yule log who?
Yule log the door after you let me in, right?

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Turnip.
Turnip who?
Turnip the volume, it’s too quiet in here!

Short Stories

By Ruby Mainieri, age 15, New York, New York

My parents couldn’t have picked a more feminine name for their young tom-boy. My name rang with loud syllables that might have just well screamed girl. But not all things turn out the way they were supposed to, because by age eight, I was on the opposite side of the girls store at Macy’s, picking out a red and white tornado t-shirt. Along with the shirt that I ended wearing out of the store, I also wore black Nike pants, with a white defining stripe along both sides, my Vans sneakers, with painted flames escalating from either end, and the best part, my favorite part… my little Hillary Clinton haircut, designed for the typical unisex look for someone over fifty. To my mind there was no doubt about it, I was the coolest kid in the world. But slowly and to my displeasure, not everyone thought the same.

The people who thought I was cool:
Nobody
Nobody
Nobody
My mom
Nobody
My dad?
Nobody
Me

I didn’t let this clip my wings, for I had things to take my mind off it. My crush, the cute little blonde haired, blue-eyed Robert Redford of my class, my teachers who loved me unconditionally, even as my behavioral levels escalated into more dire situations, my second year of tutoring and unfortunately not my last, as I would find that out later that year, and last, but definitely not least, me. I focused on my abilities to make friends quickly, and my very long apologies after yelling at them, ‘I’m not a little boy.’ I focused on the people who cared and who I could sense truly thought I was incredible – the people who didn’t judge me for dressing up like Peter Pan and my odd desire to always step on my shadow, the people who didn’t care if I dressed like a boy, but still had a crush on the little boy blue in my class, the people who knew this phase would come to an end… which brings me back to the beginning of my initial paragraph directed towards myself: my parents couldn’t have picked a more feminine name. Soon a mysterious girl befriended me after three years into my phase, and taught me how to be a girl. She said that if I wanted to be popular like everyone else in my class, there would have to be some immediate changes. And soon after my nauseating shopping trip on the girl’s side, and my undesired, but finally willing need to dress in pink, the list of people who thought I was cool grew. It was no longer just my parents and me on that list.

But the more mysterious girl tried to change me into her, the more distant I felt from the things that mattered before. I didn’t like stepping on my shadow and I didn’t like my cool flame shoes anymore, I started liking the things that didn’t matter and that was one of my worst mistakes. People started wanting to be my friends, and the self-centered part of me began to distance myself from them – until a day came when I met a friend. She was as strange as I was, because even then I still had my level of weirdness set on about seven, and she reminded me of something. I wasn’t meant to be like the rest of them, who never even cared about their shadows, or their tornado shirts. And even though the way I discovered that was a weird and pointless journey, I finally figured out something – I would never be the puppy who always got the milk from its mother, or the Tinker Bell of Neverland. I could be the runt of the litter and never get its milk (and thank God I didn’t given my very severe dairy allergy), I would always be Peter Pan who stepped on the shadow, and I always, to do this day, am proud of my middle-aged Hillary Clinton haircut. While all the other ducklings who thought I was strange and unordinary stayed the same during life and would go on to doing some pretty unforgettable things, I was the ugly duckling who turned into the swan. And in the end, isn’t that the coolest way to grow up?

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