i popped a baloon and it wilted then the little girl cried and wanted another so i went to h.e.b and bought her another one then she wanted some chocolate so i bought her some..and she ate it all up then she wanted milk and i got her that too..then she couldn’t find her baloon so she wanted another.
pop! you remember the weasel? i do i remember my father while he could walk telling me all about how in Church i used to run up and shout pop goes the weasel in the middle of service good times.
Pop isn’t what it once was. That is what some may say. But for Lola, pop was any- and everything. It was her whole life, something she couldn’t live without. And she didn’t. The day she woke up not hearing anything anymore, a corpse was found in the afternoon. It drowned in blood and next to it, there laid a knive.
the balloon burst with a loud pop and i jumped out of my seat. our science teacher was droning on about something having to do with that pop while holding the remains of the balloon in his hand. i hated science, and it hated me.
The sound of girly teen sensations and my childhood is identical to the sound of a cyst bursting the disgusting and fetid juice of rot upon the skin. Why is it that the hottest thing in the modern culture us referred to as pop? Or even pop culture? Like soda pop? Where I’m from we call every thing Coke.
There’s nothing more depressing than the silent sight of the bubble popping, nothing more heartbreaking. To see everything about that bubble dissipating into thin air is a sight I’d rather not see. That bubble had a short life; three, maybe four seconds. The intricacy of it’s design is too delicate to appreciate at first glance, yet that’s all you get – one glance and it’s gone forever.
one world, one love.
united under the will to do right. one aim, equality and the freedom to peruse happiness.
The freedom to sing what you want to sing, to dance how you want to dance and to love who you want to love.
i like to turn the pop music off
i also like to drink pop when i am hungover. other than that i like to drink water.
when you poke a baloon it goes POP
pop pop pop
like popcorn
or snap carackle and pop!!
One minute i was hanging upside down from the braches reading a battered, old copy of alice in wonderland, like i usually do when i’m bored and then the next thing i knew i was writhering in agony. I looked up at the tree branch from where i was hung moments ago then i searched for my book only to find a dislocated elbow.. “you would think i’d be used to it by now,” i thought aloud. I bit down on my fist and slammed my arm into the tree. An almighty pop told me it was back in place. “Now back to alice,” i said as i swung myself back up to my roost.
His head popped like a balloon that’s been connected to the helium valve for far too long. Brain matter rocketed in every direction; the majority of it landing right on his wife’s face.
No one had seen it coming that day. No one at all.
April is harvest season in Afghanistan. The poppies talk slender necks sway. Their heads ooze white milk. For tea? For spoons? “Wolf” he said, without looking up from his paper.
Jumps up and yells “POP”! I wish I had that kind of energy. My children, so little, so full of life. Every new word like brings them so much joy. Especially the fun words, like pop, zoom, all those action sounds. I wish I was 6 again.
I hate it when I stop and think, “Wow, I’m doing well. I am on the road to success.”
Because that’s when shit like this always pops out. I was finally in the clear – my grade was above a 93, enough for me to rank higher than ten in my class this marking period.
And then what? All it took was one symbol to ruin weeks of hard work.
goes the weasel bubbles float sometimes in the apperture of my mind but who blows them and whats inside gases escaping the man who lives in my head. writers block happens suddenly
I could be making popcorn, maybe. What’s that sound, that’s the sound of the kernels popping.
Or I could be popping bubble wrap. People say it’s supposed to be for keeping fragile objects safe when they’re shipped, bu everyone knows its true purpose.
Maybe I’m just cracking my knuckles, an annoying habit that I can’t seem to shake.
pop went the champagne bottle as i opened it at the party. we all each had a popsickle and were happy to get some champagne with it. this party was great, we all popped and could not stop. pop was also the name of the champagne, made by pommery.
Popcorn is an amazing food that only takes 5 min to cook in your microwave. You might want to stop the microwave when the “pop” sound come to an abrupt stop, this generally means that your popcorn is burning to a crisp.
In these days, we called it pop. But back when I was younger, living in another town, another time, they called it soda. Oh how I longed for the days in which a more civilized people called it soda. I want out of here- out of this retched place where they call it “pop”.
Pop. Pop pop pop. All I used to do was pop my gum. There was no stopping me. A pack was always with me and there was no stopping the constant popping and smacking. Berry, bubble, mint. Pop pop pop. Chew chew chew. Pop pop POP.
The pop of bubblegum, as the toy gun of a kid as the try to make a funny noise. POP. Part of the song in Chicago. As you fire a shot and someone’s world goes dark.
some people call it soda. some people call it a coke. i remember my neighbors used to cal it pop. i miss the oprea familly. they were from michigan and that is the word they used to call the cold bubbly sugary drink we love to drink on a summer day. andrew oprea was my best friend. he moved away last year back to mchigan. i miss him
DON’T think, just write you say. Write about the word Pop. What does it mean to us though? Just a simple little word with so many meanings, so many things that could happen. Just one word. One source of inspiration so brilliantly bright. Write.
Pop!! The sound of the balloon as it hit the very top of the tree tops. The little boy on the ground watched on with a grim face. He knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable. Yet he still held a little feeling of guilt for letting it go
*Pop* the sound pierced my ears like an earring. Pain gush into my head causing me to feel weak. My knee was gone, I didn’t want to look. I knew what it look like just by observing the pain. How was I too recover from this? My knee was everything, I was going places in life and now I’m faced with this. I’m demobilized. I shouldn’t be here in the first place. War is for fools. While everybody else bets on sports, the elite bet on human lifes. Wars are no longer started for protection of a nations assets, there started because the elite are bored. These elitist have experienced everything, and they can own anything, save our souls. But that doesn’t stop them from trying. I mean, thats why were here right. We are the sheep to the slaughter.
I call my father pop. It is short for papa. It is also what I called my grandfather, my father’s dad. It makes me feel like he’s still around. It makes me think of all the good memories.
And I hope it makes my dad do the same.
Pop goes the bubble. Have spent 2 days on a painting, scrapping to keep it together, and so it seems, I have failed. It’s remains should make an interesting backdrop for my next, always a side bonus for this type of failure.
i popped a baloon and it wilted then the little girl cried and wanted another so i went to h.e.b and bought her another one then she wanted some chocolate so i bought her some..and she ate it all up then she wanted milk and i got her that too..then she couldn’t find her baloon so she wanted another.
pop! you remember the weasel? i do i remember my father while he could walk telling me all about how in Church i used to run up and shout pop goes the weasel in the middle of service good times.
Pop isn’t what it once was. That is what some may say. But for Lola, pop was any- and everything. It was her whole life, something she couldn’t live without. And she didn’t. The day she woke up not hearing anything anymore, a corpse was found in the afternoon. It drowned in blood and next to it, there laid a knive.
the balloon burst with a loud pop and i jumped out of my seat. our science teacher was droning on about something having to do with that pop while holding the remains of the balloon in his hand. i hated science, and it hated me.
The sound of girly teen sensations and my childhood is identical to the sound of a cyst bursting the disgusting and fetid juice of rot upon the skin. Why is it that the hottest thing in the modern culture us referred to as pop? Or even pop culture? Like soda pop? Where I’m from we call every thing Coke.
There’s nothing more depressing than the silent sight of the bubble popping, nothing more heartbreaking. To see everything about that bubble dissipating into thin air is a sight I’d rather not see. That bubble had a short life; three, maybe four seconds. The intricacy of it’s design is too delicate to appreciate at first glance, yet that’s all you get – one glance and it’s gone forever.
one world, one love.
united under the will to do right. one aim, equality and the freedom to peruse happiness.
The freedom to sing what you want to sing, to dance how you want to dance and to love who you want to love.
magic story very thanks
i like to turn the pop music off
i also like to drink pop when i am hungover. other than that i like to drink water.
when you poke a baloon it goes POP
pop pop pop
like popcorn
or snap carackle and pop!!
it’s popping, the yellow corns, turning inside out, a strange meta morph. once hard and cold, now warm, soft, and white.
One minute i was hanging upside down from the braches reading a battered, old copy of alice in wonderland, like i usually do when i’m bored and then the next thing i knew i was writhering in agony. I looked up at the tree branch from where i was hung moments ago then i searched for my book only to find a dislocated elbow.. “you would think i’d be used to it by now,” i thought aloud. I bit down on my fist and slammed my arm into the tree. An almighty pop told me it was back in place. “Now back to alice,” i said as i swung myself back up to my roost.
Man today sucked. There was no pop left in the vending machine. Why was there no pop left? The dollar I had to spend was supposed to be for pop.
His head popped like a balloon that’s been connected to the helium valve for far too long. Brain matter rocketed in every direction; the majority of it landing right on his wife’s face.
No one had seen it coming that day. No one at all.
April is harvest season in Afghanistan. The poppies talk slender necks sway. Their heads ooze white milk. For tea? For spoons? “Wolf” he said, without looking up from his paper.
Jumps up and yells “POP”! I wish I had that kind of energy. My children, so little, so full of life. Every new word like brings them so much joy. Especially the fun words, like pop, zoom, all those action sounds. I wish I was 6 again.
I hate it when I stop and think, “Wow, I’m doing well. I am on the road to success.”
Because that’s when shit like this always pops out. I was finally in the clear – my grade was above a 93, enough for me to rank higher than ten in my class this marking period.
And then what? All it took was one symbol to ruin weeks of hard work.
Zero.
Pop.
goes the weasel bubbles float sometimes in the apperture of my mind but who blows them and whats inside gases escaping the man who lives in my head. writers block happens suddenly
Pop. It went pop.
The joint.
Went pop.
My dreams.
Went crack.
Dreams. They went crack.
Pop.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
“What are you doing?”
I could be making popcorn, maybe. What’s that sound, that’s the sound of the kernels popping.
Or I could be popping bubble wrap. People say it’s supposed to be for keeping fragile objects safe when they’re shipped, bu everyone knows its true purpose.
Maybe I’m just cracking my knuckles, an annoying habit that I can’t seem to shake.
Maybe you’re hearing things.
pop went the champagne bottle as i opened it at the party. we all each had a popsickle and were happy to get some champagne with it. this party was great, we all popped and could not stop. pop was also the name of the champagne, made by pommery.
you might think the world is easy but all sorts of bad things will pop out
coke blow music grandpa soda noise north old people yankees popcorn popculture blow up things blow pops
Hello good day
Popcorn is an amazing food that only takes 5 min to cook in your microwave. You might want to stop the microwave when the “pop” sound come to an abrupt stop, this generally means that your popcorn is burning to a crisp.
music is often quite shit but indie music has taken some great pop influences as of late
In these days, we called it pop. But back when I was younger, living in another town, another time, they called it soda. Oh how I longed for the days in which a more civilized people called it soda. I want out of here- out of this retched place where they call it “pop”.
A bubble. It is so frail. So fragile. It’ll pop at the slightest touch. Much like our own hearts.
Pop. Pop pop pop. All I used to do was pop my gum. There was no stopping me. A pack was always with me and there was no stopping the constant popping and smacking. Berry, bubble, mint. Pop pop pop. Chew chew chew. Pop pop POP.
The pop of bubblegum, as the toy gun of a kid as the try to make a funny noise. POP. Part of the song in Chicago. As you fire a shot and someone’s world goes dark.
some people call it soda. some people call it a coke. i remember my neighbors used to cal it pop. i miss the oprea familly. they were from michigan and that is the word they used to call the cold bubbly sugary drink we love to drink on a summer day. andrew oprea was my best friend. he moved away last year back to mchigan. i miss him
DON’T think, just write you say. Write about the word Pop. What does it mean to us though? Just a simple little word with so many meanings, so many things that could happen. Just one word. One source of inspiration so brilliantly bright. Write.
Pop!! The sound of the balloon as it hit the very top of the tree tops. The little boy on the ground watched on with a grim face. He knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable. Yet he still held a little feeling of guilt for letting it go
pop the bottle, pop the pills, pop your brain with a bullet.
*Pop* the sound pierced my ears like an earring. Pain gush into my head causing me to feel weak. My knee was gone, I didn’t want to look. I knew what it look like just by observing the pain. How was I too recover from this? My knee was everything, I was going places in life and now I’m faced with this. I’m demobilized. I shouldn’t be here in the first place. War is for fools. While everybody else bets on sports, the elite bet on human lifes. Wars are no longer started for protection of a nations assets, there started because the elite are bored. These elitist have experienced everything, and they can own anything, save our souls. But that doesn’t stop them from trying. I mean, thats why were here right. We are the sheep to the slaughter.
I call my father pop. It is short for papa. It is also what I called my grandfather, my father’s dad. It makes me feel like he’s still around. It makes me think of all the good memories.
And I hope it makes my dad do the same.
Pop goes the bubble. Have spent 2 days on a painting, scrapping to keep it together, and so it seems, I have failed. It’s remains should make an interesting backdrop for my next, always a side bonus for this type of failure.
i don’t like it anymore. it’s vain.
Excellent work, Nice Design
magic story very thanks
Jonny was here