The Facepalm

Publishing Veritas Academy's finest facepalm moments

Month: May, 2013

“A plague on both your houses!”

by facepalmforever

Mr. Donaldson and I will be dueling after the end-of-school assembly on the deck in the village to determine who will win this year’s assassins game. Come watch the fun.


The American Dream, According to Holcomb

by facepalmforever

“The reality of the American dream is that you might end up dead in your pool.”

Overheard at the Redcloud Meeting

by facepalmforever

Student: “I told him I loved him. Isn’t that how it’s done? You send it in a text to his best friend?”

Lost in the Bloom, by Hope Harrod

by facepalmforever

You are standing under the shadow of the large sycamore tree. Beneath the thing that symbolizes everything good that has happened in your life. The tree that is about to change your entire world. Here you and your love first met, first kissed, and now if she says yes, will get married. Your heart is pounding so fast you fear that it may fly out of your chest.

You know she will be here any second. Your blood goes still as you see her walking up the hill towards you. Her hair glistens like gold as she walks toward you and when she sees you her face brightens. You smile at her, suddenly all your fear is gone.

You shouldn’t have done all of this,” she said referring to the picnic you had made.

I wanted to. Here, come sit. I made your favorite,” you replied. You two then began eating the picnic you had made with the help of some of her friends. You then pulled out the knife you had used to cut the cheese and apples with and began absentmindedly whittling both your and her initials into the tree.

What are you doing?” she giggled, trying to look around your shoulder.

You’ll see,” a smile widens across your face as you finish your masterpiece, and as she leans in to look, you kneel on one knee and pull open the box that hasn’t left your pocket for days. “Will you marry me?”

Your heart stops beating for a single moment as you look at her eyes, fixed on the sparkling ring. She gasps, and embraces you in a hug. For a moment you hold your breath not sure of what her answer was, but when she places a kiss on your lips you relax and your heart shouts for joy. She said yes.

She pulls away from the kiss,“There is one thing we have to do first though,” she says. She takes the knife from you, adding a heart to the tree.

You smile as she finishes whittling, and that same smile is present on your face on your wedding day. As you now watch her walk down the aisle, the smile grows as if it is trying to consume your entire face. The rest of the day went by in a blur, and the only thing you remember every detail of is when she looked into your eyes and said, “I do”.

As you look at the pictures from your wedding, you decide that the love that was present that night wasn’t fully captured. The way your heart sped up as she walked down the aisle, the way your hand tingled when she touched it, and how she sparkled, all weren’t apparent in those images you had before you. The way that she kissed you, a kiss of pure love, when you revealed your wedding gift to her also wasn’t captured in any photo. Her face lit up with joy when you showed her the cottage you had helped build. The small little cottage, on top of the hill looking down on a large sycamore tree. The place you both now call home.

You hear the door slam. “Honey is that you?”

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Reliable Narrator, by Hannah Peterson

by facepalmforever

“Careful!” I barked. “Those tubes are fragile!”

The woman, Sin, smirked at me through long, thick eyelashes. “Am I ever anything but?”

“Yes,” I growled, unamused.

“When?” she pouted, setting down the set of tubes on the steel counter with a soft tink! and standing akimbo.

“You’re sloppy with the anesthesia. Remember specimen 0034—?” I broke off suddenly, a lump in my throat. “And the things you do…wholly unauthorized. I am in control here, but when you do things without my approval—“

Sin laughed, slithering up to me and thrusting her clipboard at my chest. “You’re not in control,” she said. “We are.”

“No matter,” I said, flicking the butt of my cigarette sharply into an empty Petri dish. “That does not mean you should recklessly destroy my work.”

Sin was about to protest, but Satan cut her off. “Listen to him,” he said, his hissing, sibilant voice sounding the very epitome of reason. “After all, he does know best.”

“I do,” I said firmly, taking the second rack of tubes from him—slicked with blood from the devil’s hands—and setting it down on the solid oak table. “Are these the latest samples?”

“From Specimen 0083,” Sin confirmed.

“Excellent,” I said, sitting down heavily at the table and crushing the rest of my cigarette in the Petri dish. “I can handle the tests from here, thank you.”

“Okay,” Satan said, picking up his gore-splattered sword and vacating my office chair which he had usurped as soon as he had come in. “Well, I’ll see you next week. Actually,” he said, turning back, his blazing eyes biting into me, “want to have dinner? Tomorrow night? The wife makes a mean casserole—”

“How about the Olive Garden on Eighth Street?” I interjected. I couldn’t refuse—to deny Satan would be to court torture—but I wasn’t about to allow the demon to drag me onto his own turf, especially under that chilling, twisted guise of friendliness.

“Sure,” Satan said, moving towards the door, checking his phone. “Um…is tonight okay? At nine?” His eyes were still glued to the small screen.

“Of course.” I said.

“See you,” the devil said again, then strolled out the door, whistling as he went.

I let out a sigh of profound relief, wiping beads of sweat from my forehead that I hadn’t realized were forming. The hellish heat was fading from the room, and the shaking in my hands was dying. I reached into my pocket, fishing out the second pack of the day and lighting a twenty-third cigarette—

“Don’t.” Sin said, her painted talons gripping my wrist.

“Why not?” I murmured, boldly jerking my hand away.

For a moment, she looked furious, then seemed to decide she didn’t care. “I need to talk to you about something.”

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by facepalmforever


I had you Hanenburg

by Mr. Donaldson

Should I...shouldn't I...

Should I…shouldn’t I…


Am I then reveng’d,
To take him in the doing of his work,
When he is fit and totally gonna have sympathy on his side?
Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent.
When he is fast asleep; or in his rage;
Or in th’ goofy pleasure of his bad movie club;
At gaming, eating, or about some act
That has no relish of salvation in’t-

When Thesis Angst Strikes

by facepalmforever

Sent to me in an e-mail:


Mr. Hanenburg,


Our government class today was pretty crazy, probably due to thesis nerves.

There was one part of our conversation that seemed worthy of the Veritas Facepalm.

It follows:


Senior Girl #1: I can’t roll my tongue into a taco.


Senior Girl #2: You know, that’s controlled by genes. Some people are physically unable to do it.


Senior Girl #1: Oh. (pause) I can pick my nose with my tongue…


Class: Whaaat? Ew!


Senior Girl #3: That skips a whole step!

I’ve preserved the identities of the girls, (it’s actually kindof fun to guess) but they are willing for the story to be published if it is appropriate for the Facepalm.