WHAT YOU DID AND WHAT YOU GOT

So are you "Pretty" or are you "Odd?" That's the question we poised to you. We knew you were all a pretty odd bunch, but if you were put on the spot, in which category would you feel more at home. The deal was though, you had to prove it to us. Whether you told us a story about some retarded thing you did or posted a picture proving how pretty you are didn't matter as long as you made a good case for yourself.

One lucky winner walked away with a sweet Panic at the Disco prize pack consisting of:

• An AUTOGRAPHED limited edition deluxe version of Pretty. Odd., which includes the full album on vinyl and CD, a documentary DVD, a 56-page triangle-fold booklet, a jigsaw puzzle, and more
• A copy of their 2005 debut album A Fever You Can't Sweat Out
• A Panic at the Disco poster

5 runners up also took home some Panic at the Disco merch:

• The Pretty. Odd. CD
• And a copy of the 2005 debut A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

WINNERS

Prize pack winner: 3:24

Loud. Aggressive. Excitable. Completely and utterly (in)sane.

These are only a few words I'd use to describe myself. It seems that ‘odd' wouldn't be enough to fully express the kind of person I am. Maybe it comes from the fact I was a complete outcast from kindergarten to the sixth grade; and when I say this, don't take it lightly, for I am telling the whole, 100% truth. I was awkwardly tall, hid behind thick, dark hair, and never dressed in a way that would be considered stylish. In class photos, you could always pick me out as the girl at the back that stood a foot taller than anyone else. I was quiet, and absolutely petrified at the thought of public speaking. Not to toot my own horn, but I was impressively intelligent during those years. But, rather than embrace all the knowledge I had locked up in that head of mine, I sat silently in school, not answering a single question the teacher asked aloud.

Fast forward four years to the present, where that shy, insecure girl has been replaced by one of the loudest, sure-of-herself young woman you'll probably ever meet. I'm known for the stupid things I do, and the even stupider things I say. Random outbursts, unnecessary comments, impolite remarks… I live for them. I'm quick to speak, mainly way before I think about what it is I'm saying. Once or twice this has gotten me in trouble, but what's a life if it's unlived? I've also been known to start drama, but hey, it's high school, isn't everyone? If I'm told to do one thing, it's almost certain I'm bound to do the opposite.

For my best friends birthday last year, instead of getting her something useful, I showed up at her house with a gigantic bag full of tissue paper. Inside was a 34" inflatable cactus, wearing fairy wings and a coconut bra. Littered around the bag were toy mice, toy snakes, toy planes, and a box of Kraft Dinner. While this may be a bag full of surprises for some, everything actually reflected some sort of inside joke the two of us shared. So, along with being random and pointless, it was also kinda sentimental. Insert ‘Awwweee' here.

So, let's check what good ol' Merriam-Webster thinks:

Hmm. Well, I am single, so I guess #1 makes sense. I'm not really a quantity of anything, nor am I an integer. Although 4 and 6 sound pretty dead-on. So, 3 outta 6 aint bad. If you ask me, that qualifies me for being Pretty Odd.

If you need even more proof, let me tell you a little story.

Once upon a time (Well, okay, maybe more like half an hour ago.), Jessica was on an epic quest to decide which fruit was the best of them all. She came down to three final choices; the apple, the orange, and the pear. After a long debate and several hours of thinking, she came to the conclusion that apples were just too hard. Now there was two. Being in a very happy mood, she decided that oranges were far too sour to be considered the World's Best Fruit. Now, the orange was outraged by this. So, to silence the angry acidic fruits complaining, Jessica decided the only way to deal with the situation would be to eat said crabby orange. This was probably not the best way to fix the problem, as the oranges complaints got louder and louder and louder, and more urgent, until Jessica heard it. A very quiet sob. The orange was crying! After a quick moment of thought, Jessica felt bad for the poor orange. He couldn't help being sour, it was something that all oranges were. So, in a flash, Jessica bandaged the crying fruit's wound and apologized. And they lived happily ever after.

Runner up: arbutus.

If you are not living on the edge, you are taking up too much space. I find it ironic that all of the posts ahead of mine are stating that they are odd, this quickly drops you into the world where you are unique, just like everyone else. Of course I am unique, therefore I am odd. Just because I am odd, I will let you walk near the side of the road that I dwell on. I awake at 5:53, but that is irrelevant. I walk the long way to get to my vocal jazz choir at school, only because I enjoy frolicking past the cemetery. By the end of class I have usually made it through a poppy seed muffin and a small cup of Tim Horton's steeped tea; we all have our own quirks. After English class, I have usually opened the odd book that we are reading and put it down three times; reading is for cult members, in which I am (also irrelevant.) Drama is over and I go to Tim Horton's for yet another steeped tea, if I am feeling risky I will go herbal, today I was not. After "photoshopping" different pictures in none other than photo class I consider going home. I have another class prior to photo, but French should be illegal. I take the twenty minute bus ride home, it is an indirect route that I am convinced saves me time: it does not. I go home and do my homework, possibly the only odd thing about me, and then watch a bit of television. After a few lame shows I get up the nerve to try something new, today it was learning Esperanto: harder than it sounds, nonetheless, "Saluton." I go to sleep at a relatively early hour and awake the next morning at 5:53, another unique day will begin, just like every other day.

Runner up: *;-Will

Bernstein's Most Horrible Adventure
by William Allen

Once upon a time in the Land of Glum there was a fish named Bernstein. Bernstein was different ever since he was born, from the fin above his eye to the small air bubble in his right gill. He was mocked and poked for swimming on his side, but poor Bernstein could not help it, nor could he defend himself.

One day he was glumly swimming along, rubbing against the side of his pet store tank, when the green, netted monster came down. This green monster had swooped down days before and took his friend Milfred, his only friend. Bernstein swam with all his sideways force trying to get away, but it was too late, the monster had already seen him.

By this time he was plopped into a bag and in a gray bearded man's deformed hands. He knew not where he was going; only that he didn't want to go.

As he would later learn by listening to a phone conversation that the man was having, he learned that the man's name was Andres Freminist, and he was not to be called Andres, or Mr.Freminist, he was to only be called Andres Freminist. It probably made him feel more professional, thought Bernstein.

Carrying a muddy shovel, a swell as some kind of container, which he set down beside a similar container, Andres Freminist would return home each day, and in his monotone voice whine to his new favorite black goldfish, Bernstein.

"I wish I was still dating that psychiatrist," said Andres Freminist in a gloomy voice, "she was the best thing that ever happened to me."

But Bernstein quietly muttered "Cool, don't care!" apparently Andres Freminist did not speak fish though.

Bernstein then knew he was not going to live like this forever; Andres Freminist would snort and snore every night, and poor Bernstein could hardly get a moment of rest. He had to make an escape!

He looked around and noticed he was in the perfect setting to do so, from the ladder running up the aquarium's side, to the pole running out the window. The only problem he would face was the lock Andres Freminist put on the aquarium every day while he went to work. He felt like the animals he saw while Andres Freminist walked past the zoo with him on the way home.

Bernstein had a plan though; judging by the muddy shovel that Andres Freminist would return home with each day, he was almost definatly a gravedigger, which meant the container he came in each day was most likely formaldehyde. Bernstein also knew that if formaldehyde happened to touch heated metal it would act like an acid and dissolve the metal.

To acquire this substance, Bernstein took a pipe from his aquarium and reached it out to this container, and siphoned it into a fish food bag that Andres Freminist had accidentally dropped into Bernstein's fish tank the other day.

His now had the materials he needed to make his escape. He would escape while Andres Freminist was at work! To set his plan into motion he carefully aimed the aquarium heater at the lock through the glass. He then filled the bubble pump with formaldehyde and shot it over the top of the aquarium, which was chicken wire, and onto the steel padlock.

Now all he had to do was wait; ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds. It was done!

Now, it was escape time. He swam sideways in an upward direction and hit the lid off. He swam up the ladder which proved useless, as fish don't need ladders. But none-the-less, he was at the edge. He then jumped and slid out of the window, down the pole, and into a dog bowl, which was full of glorious, semi-warm, water.

But he couldn't stay here, as Andres Freminist would be home any minute. He heard the car coming, so he tried to jump into the sewer but he froze in mid-air.

In the last moments of his life, he found out he was living in an Alaskan winter.

THE END

Runner up: Equinox,

Haha I'm Jordan.
I guess I could be pretty but more than anything I'm odd. MY friends tend to tell me on a daily basis. Not quirky, just plain odd.
So says the fact that where most people would find them gross, I find butt cracks adorable. And so says the fact that my OCD forces me to have everything perfectly organized. And when I say perfectly, there is no exaggeration. Anything with a flat edge must be in alignment with anything close to it also having a flat edge. In perfect alignment and in perfect distance from it, but never touching.
Im terribly outgoing and get a kick out of creeping people out. On a regular basis I get caught at work dancing, but not just dancing, mostly trotting around with my ass sticking out.
So says the fact that I call my mom when I know she won't be home to repetitively leave her messages entailing "YOU'RE AVOIDING ME AREN'T YOU! WELL IM JUST GOING TO CALL, AND CALL, AND CALL, AND CALL, AND CALL AND HARASS YOU. I'm going to call you while you're eating, call you while you're sleeping, call you while you're pooping, call you while you're reading, call you while you're thinking about oranges!"
Annnnnnd, my keyboard just decided to turn french. Awesome.
I DON'T KNOW HOW TO CHANGE IT BACK! DAMN IT. All my punctuation is going to be effed up. Damnnnnnnn, now I look like a retard :(
Anyways; this is my idea of a great sign pic, for my best friend of course. Writing her name on my hand simply would not suffice!

Runner up: [.x.Mcr.x.]

Odd.
to the max.

Runner up: the.batman

ODD

My lady-friend was complaing about her ribs hurting, so i told her in my best medical opinion, that she had a cat attached to her upper left rib.

Check to see the other entries in the Panic at the Disco thread.