四六级考试网

My dad’s a secret agent.He’s an undercover spy.He’s the world’s best detective.He’s the perfect private eye.He’s a Pinkerton, a gumshoe,He’s a snoop and he’s a sleuth.He’s unrivaled at detectingand uncovering the truth.He’s got eyesight like an eagle.He’s got hearing like a bat.He can out-smell any bloodhound.He’s as stealthy as a cat.He can locate nearly anythingwith elementary ease.But no matter how he looks and looksmy dad can’t find his keys!

I don’t care how nice you ask methere is one thing I won’t eat.I don’t care how much you add to itto try to make it sweet.Not a giant pot of honey.Not a dozen jars of jelly.Not a sixteen-pack of soda popwill get one in my belly.Use a tank of maple syrupor a truckload full of fudge.Bring a hundred cans of frostingbut you will not make me budge.Try a thousand pounds of chocolateor a million tons of sugar.I don’t care how much you sweeten it,I will not eat a booger.

Brandon Branson’s backpackis unusually large.He drags it into schoolthe way a tugboat drags a barge.The main compartment holdsabout a hundred hardback books.The outside has a zillionlittle pockets, strap and hooks.Inside it has his calculators,one for every class,plus eighty markers, pens and pencils,adding to it’s mass.It holds his new harmonicaplus three or four kazoos,his binder and his lunchboxand an extra pair of shoes.Of course it has his mittenswith his winter coat and hat,a soccer ball, a basketball,a baseball glove and bat.A CD player, headphones,and a TV, with remote,a telephone, computer,and another hat and coat.His skateboard and his scooterhave their own equipment rack.It even has a space to parkhis bicycle in back.A teacher found it in the halltoday at 1:15,She looked around for Brandonwho was nowhere to be seen.She got some other teacherswho considered it and frowned,then groaned and moaned and pulledand dragged it off to lost and found.They struggled through the doorwayfeeling out of breath and strained,and all of them were curiousto see what it contained.They cautiously unzipped itand they pulled it open wide,and there was Brandon Bransonnapping happily inside.

Don’t bring camels in the classroom.Don’t bring scorpions to school.Don’t bring rhinos, rats, or reindeer.Don’t bring mice or moose or mule.Pull your penguin off the playground.Put your python in a tree.Place your platypus whereveryou think platypi should be.Lose your leopard and your lemur.Leave your llama and your leech.Take your tiger, toad and toucananywhere but where they teach.Send your wombat and your weaselwith your wasp and wolverine.Hide your hedgehog and hyenawhere you’re sure they won’t be seen.Please get rid of your gorilla.Please kick out your kangaroo.No the teacher didn’t mean itwhen she called the class a “zoo”.

A fish in a spaceship is flying through school.A dinosaur’s dancing on top of a stool.The library’s loaded with orange baboons,in purple tuxedos with bows and balloons.The pigs on the playground are having a racewhile pencils parade in their linens and lace.As camels do cartwheels and elephants fly,bananas are baking a broccoli pie.A hundred gorillas are painting the walls,while robots on rockets careen through the halls.Tomatoes are teaching in all of the classes.Or maybe, just maybe, I need some new glasses.

Our substitute is strange becausehe looks a lot like Santa Claus.In fact, the moment he walked inwe thought that he was Santa’s twin.We wouldn’t think it quite so weird,if it was just his snowy beard.But also he has big, black bootsand wears these fuzzy bright red suits.He’s got a rather rounded gutthat’s like a bowl of you-know-what.And when he laughs, it’s deep and lowand sounds a lot like “Ho! Ho! Ho!”He asks us all if we’ve been goodand sleeping when we know we should.He talks of reindeers, sleighs and elves,and tells us to behave ourselves.And when it’s time for us to gohe dashes out into the snow.But yesterday we figured outjust what our sub is all about.We know just why he leaves so quick,and why he’s dressed like Old Saint Nickin hat and coat and boots and all:He’s working evenings at the mall.

My wristwatch has no minute handupon it’s empty face,and where the hour hand should bethere’s nothing there but space.My wristwatch simply won’t tell time.It’s useless as can be.I can’t tell if it’s half past fiveor seventeen till three.It could be nearly midnightor it could be ten till four.Without an hour or minute handI’m not sure anymore.My wristwatch isn’t working outthe way that I had planned.I guess that I deserved this, though:I bought it secondhand.

Here at school our seats arealphabetically assigned.A’s and B’s are right up frontwhile Z’s are way behind.Aaron sits up front in class.Zack is in the back.Aaron’s always first in line.The last is always Zack.Zack, in fact, is always lastfor every little thing.Last for snack, and last to leaveand last one on the swing.You’d think it’s bad, but you should seethe sparkle in his eyeswhen the cafeteriaserves mystery meat surprise.

I like to pretend to be like myself.It’s harder than you would suppose.I frequently say things that I would say.I often will wear my own clothes.I put on my sneakers and brush my hairexactly the way that I’d do,and sometimes I wear my own underwearand no one has even a clue.I walk just exactly the way I’d walkand go to the places I’d go.I play with the people who play with meand say things that only I’d know.I do a remarkable job sometimesand everyone thinks that I’m me.They can’t tell that really I’m not myself,but only pretending to be.So next time you see me I might not bethe person you think that you see.I often pretend to be like myself.It’s fun to pretend to be me.