CHIBATRON

One of the founders of Chibatron, Mikie Cherm is new to skating, just starting to learn and he just learned his first trick ladies and gentlemen! What a kook you say, maybe? Ok kinda. Check this baby out with a short part from Max Coletron with the boneless action!

High school art class is all about messing around with the free art supplies, and never really creating any art at all. Fun class, even better than ‘Dancing With the Stars’, or that one preposterous show I watched for the first time this weekend, ‘Bully Beatdown’. Hah, MTV is terrible, I wish they would throw some Michael Jackson back up there.
Anywho, heres the proof of our shenanigans.

>Victim: Kate Lefontron< >Photographer: R. Shinetron<

>Victim: Limatron< >Artist: Kate Lefontron< >Photographer: A. Perkitron<

Ophelia Gets Nostalgic:

Dear Chibatron Reader-

You may have read what I’ve had to say over these last couple posts, and you also may have realized that my commentary is purely one-sided. Well, while that may be true,  addressing a counterargument to any argument seems to be for the most part contradictory to one’s personal thoughts and opinions. (And you don’t need to incorporate one on the SAT essay so who needs counterarguments anyway) I shall stand by what I say and how I say it without considering the relevance in acknowledging the opposite side.  Now, as  the  title  preludes, I sit here on a Sunday evening reminiscing on  my weekend in all its glory, and coming to the ultimate realization of teenage angst.  Being one of the thousands of attendees of the much-awaited Coachella music festival, I was rather disappointed in seeing the overall true  lack of originality of my generation. Each teen girl donned some sort of the latest crocheted hipster trend, as the males showed off their skinny legs in American Apparel scandalously short shorts, clad with a sea of horizontal stripped tank tops and t-shirts.  Each person playing homage to the past generations of the 60s and 70s not only in their ensembles but in their recreational drug use as well. Though I came across many interesting people, people of whom I may have shared much in common with and may even continue a connection with…the general introduction was found over the greatest high we were all on. Life is never as fun; speaking, listening, dancing, laughing, is never as fun as when tripping on chemicals such as Acid, Mushrooms, or Ecstasy, as these chemicals were purely derived  in order to provide the experience of giving you immorality and what seems to be a never-ending bliss. However that bliss is too, unavoidably extinguished. And at that moment, the amount of ‘fun’  you experienced becomes based off the amount and strength of the drugs you may have ingested. Reflecting upon my own life and experiences, I came to realization that childhood ends when pure and natural fun can no longer be obtained without such synthetic enhancements.  Not to say that I disagree with experimenting with such psychedelics in order amplify one’s experience to the maximum, but  now more than ever does it seem to be that music, parties, and even people can not be enjoyed without such additives. However, it is merely a facade, you must see. As you are still the same person, in the same place, and doing the same thing, only now you may be sick, overtly tired, and often depressed.  What may be felt to be some of the moments appearing to the best night of your life thus far, also incorporates some of your worst. As this particular Saturday spent from 12-12 at Coachella I experienced the true epiphany of beauty in every form until I later found myself lying on grass that can only be cooled with self-reflection under the starry sky concluding with seventeen years of life experiences without anything to hold any pride in. I guess thats what drugs do to you. Life is a risky game.

Until next time,

Ophelia.

Todays pet spotlight is on sherman coleman, a nice sort of small poodle mix. he is a great dog with curly hair, and he always has a chipper attitude about things, and is very gentle with small children. overall sherman is a great dog and thats why he is the pet of the day

First you definitely do not want to land the way freddy does in this picture. In this perfectly timed masterpiece you can see the look of pain on Freddy’s face and the obvious pain he is going to be feeling for weeks to come.
Highlands rail-1
Freddy- 0
Leo Romero Fs Crooks- 100

Ophelia Does Not Chew Gum:

Today I was contemplating the seemingly unnecessary concept of chewing gum. Before you let your childish preconceived notions on the vitality of that stick of Orbit that may add to your taste buds and the transformation of your onion saturated breath take over your mind into your state of gum-loving life….consider this: chewing gum makes you look like a retard.  And I mean that literally for those of you who read that statement and deem me as politically incorrect. Seeing somebody violently chewing gum (which to the untrained gum-knowing eye, it appears that you are chewing on nothing for a dangerously long time.) makes you look mentally disabled.  Now if this is the look you are going for then I also encourage you to buy a blue-tooth ear piece and talk loudly to your Russian grandmother while chewing gum on the streets of San Fransisco.

Another downside for gum addicts is that they are usually also pretty ill-mannered. Now while this person may make their gum-chewing obvious rather than a questionable brain deficiency…whomever they converse with will also know what color and the general extent as to the size of the piece gum that they have wedged between their jaw. I mean tell me, dear chibatron gum addicts out there…is the gum really that good? If your breath is faulty why not just pop in an Altoid? Their condensed minty extravaganza  of a  breath neutralizer I would think is much more effective. Another intolerable act of a gum addict is the smacking. My own father suffers from this gum-smacking problem, and it causes me great pain. Not only because seeing a grown man in a suit smack his fruity gum like a lip-gloss wearing high school girl seems to be a bit of an oxymoron, but also because when asked why he insists on chewing his gum in such a fashion his only response will be: “I like to get the flavor out”.  He also chews his gum often for hours at a time (I assume only because he forgets he is chewing on it despite the sound effects he creates) which makes me also question why he seeks the extraction of the flavor so promptly. Though I am at a loss as to why anyone for that matter would continue chewing that precious piece even long after it loses its fruity charm.

The worst aspect of the gum-addicts out there are the side effects that they detrimentally cause to society. (Meaning to me, specifically) Not only is my school now covered with the array of black dots from the weathered wear of their previously chewed gum, but I am also now forced to vigilantly check the bottom surface of my desk when it comes time to duck and cover for my favorite class activity of earthquake drills for these strategically placed globs. Now, whether or not you read the entirety of my somewhat rampant rave about the undercover negative side of chewing gum, I hope you take much more consideration before fueling another $1.99 into that pack of Stride and the rapidly growing gum industry. (Because they don’t deserve their primarily advertised-based success.)

Until next time,

Ophelia.

not exactly what you were thinking but check out the face this kid is making.

Today I have decided to exert my weekly pedantic rant on a topic that greatly perturbs me. The formality of my childhood was most greatly caused by the overabundance of cocktail parties and wine tastings my parents dragged me to throughout my early years. Each monotonous party, although inhabited by a variety of guests from a plethora of countries, always led the conversation down the same bottleneck of a boring thematic conclusion. The decline of American society. I, myself, generally removed three generations from the average guest of the soiree, was always disconcerted by this such topic. All the middle-aged men and women seemed confident that they themselves had lived through the pinnacle of American society, enjoying all the benefits of a bustling economy, without any of the blunders. They would continue, to assert that each generation thereafter was a slow yet exponential decline of societal morals, productivity, and potential. Feeding their arguments with examples such as the growing rap epidemic, the shortening jean skirt, and the social-networking obsession, these people who surrounded me were unwavering in their belief that civilization and humanity as a whole was dwindling down a depressing path. Naturally, my thoughts of repulsion quickly took control of my juvenile mind as every issue these elders emotionally voiced seemed hypocritical and conceited. They had convinced themselves that they were the pinnacle of civilization, the cream of the crop, the top of the mountain, and no others would live up to what they had accomplished. Furthermore, to them, it was as if the sixties had never transpired, LSD had never flown freely among their youthful years, and hippies were a figment of their imagination. Early on, I discerned such negativity expressed towards my happy, peace-loving, recycling-savvy generation as jealousy. Jealousy that they couldn’t watch hours of free pornography on high resolution computer screens. Jealousy that they didn’t have pump-up sneakers. Jealousy that they didn’t have marshmallows in their cereal. Most of all, jealousy that they truly did not have too much fun. To conclude my seemingly endless rant, my general point, my eternal belief, is that my generation, the new generation, is the best, and by no means is declining, rather it is slowly trekking the perpetual incline to societal greatness. Posted below is an image to prove exactly what I have so eloquently defended, visual verification that my generation is not a degenerate one, confirmation that we still abide by our ancient societal standards and morals.

Ophelia Goes to School:

Any average high schooler will tell you– it is the last five minutes of your last class that is the longest. On this particular day, (by that I really mean today) not only did I have a ‘visiting teacher’ (*retired physics cronie) but she was also was from Geeoorgia, speaking in a slow southern drawl, and claimed to be ‘as old as dirt’. I spent the afternoon in my AP English class filling out the tedious multiple choice-ed questions from whatever racist 19th century author’s exerpt my teacher had put into his lesson plan. The class had gone by relatively quickly since I spent most of it wearing the spy glasses of the person next to me that allowed you to be able to see what’s behind you, and playing fun games like ‘what face am I making now?’ with the person behind me. It was about this time that I decided it was time for a quick clock check. It was 3:10! Only 5 minutes away from the glorious 3:15 when I could escape the oppressive cell they call High School. However, this was also a two-fold: as it was these last five minutes that were infamous for their longevity. So heres where my anecdote comes to an end and I get to my point, dear chibatron reader…this is what happens during the hour-long last five minutes sitting awkwardly in my seat like a little Minion girl waiting for the bell the ring:

2:10-2:10:30 - stare at the left hand of the clock thinking about what I wanted to eat after school. (a veggie-filled sandwich)

2:10:45-2:12 - noticed an unnecessarily long and globby piece of gum dangling from the bottom of the desk in front of me and thought about the chubby fingers that must have stuck it there.

2:12- attempt to send a secretive text message but there was no service.

2:12:30-2:13- watch the really indie girl next to me listen to her ipod and wonder what she was listening to…

2:13-2:14 - listen to the substitute teacher talk about how she was on her ‘mid-life (but really more like end of life) adventure’ and plans to relinquish her fear of heights by going on a hot air balloon with her daughter this summer.

2:14:10 - look at the at the clock…only a minute left!

2:14:20-2:14:45 - think about what it would be like if Joseph Stalin ever had a little puppy and what he would name it….

3:15 - my thoughts are interrupted as I hear my favorite sound of the bell. I throw my (very aerodynamic) massager bag over my shoulder while simultaneously power walking down the isle. (always dodge the slow ones that take their time getting out of their seats….one for all and all for one, ya know?)

Until next time,

Ophelia.

Todays pet comes to us in a little bundle of joy in the form of Pat Eulmi’s dog. Some sort of Shit-tzu mix, this guy is quite the cutie. His small and compact stature make him the perfect travel companion, and his docile and loving nature make him a great pet for all folks, young or old.