Descriptive Writing

Descriptive Writing

He stared in horror at the assignment for the day in his English composition course. How was he going to do this? He should have paid more attention in class, not thinking about

Rosie's round rump sitting right in front of him. The fact was, however, Rosie's rump inspired him, far more than Shakespeare ever could. His English teacher, Ms. Barnes, glared at

him(18 yr old) over her shoulders, as her rump perched upon the wooden back of the seat directly adjacent his cheek.He was torn as to move millimeters to the left or to the right.

And that, my loved ones, is how Colonel Rumpcheeks got his name. Though he went on to fight and win many a battle in that hell we call The Sahara, he never let the shame of that

time tarnish his medals. He had conquered the desert, unfazed by countless mirages that seemed to mock his resolve until a real oasis appeared before Colonel Rumpcheeks' eyes:

"Oy vey, gevalt!" he said. Colonel Rumpcheeks, (not up on his Yiddish) nodded to conceal this lack. "Er...yep." he agreed hesitantly, "You...betcha!" Rumpcheeks was not impressed.

The truth was that Colonel Rumcheeks had seen it all already. Nothing could impress him after having seen the End of It All. A "You... betcha" from him was merely a throat clearing

guttural tic of his, even if it was inappropriate and uncalled for, or just had nothing to do with what Col. Rumcheeks' party had been conversing about (like YouTube suggestions).