It might become a theme this week to post entries from Humphrey's high school Senior Scrapbook. This one probably wont make you laugh as much, but even Humphrey has multiple sides. These tidbits might even lead us to a better understanding of how he became an idol in Mid-Atlantic if not east of the Mississippi.
Senior Year
Easily the best of my four years in high school. I was not able to play football becuase my shoulder was lodged in the "wedge" for four months and then a regular sling for another. Since I could not play football I began to hang out with some other people and allowed me to do things outside of my comfort zone.
With nothing to do and bored beyond belief I just started hanging out up at school, before school was even in. There were orientations and all that good stuff going on daily and there were always people there. Melissa, Sarah, April and Courtney let me tag along with them and we started to hang out after school got out and we all went to homecoming together. (Yes, Humphrey and four co-eds.) I won king and we went as a group so I didn't really have a date so I had Ben and Benjamin put me on their shoulders for the escort part. It was a good time.
We would tailgate before football games from noon till game time. It was so much fun and I learned how to cook...no one died from my cooking. We won the Central Region title over Patrick Henry and went to states for the first time. I was the leader of the student section, "King of the Cage." After football season, I started to work out for baseball and continued physical therapy. PT is the most painful thing I have ever done. I hate it with a passion. I didn't get to play very much this year but it's OK. I am a captain and I like to think that I have taught the other guys some lessons and hopefully they don't take the game for granted.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Humphrey's Thoughts on Soccer: Part II
Thousands of fans have e-mailed in with overwhelmingly positive feedback about the photoshoot. Many have asked why the Juicy Juice and Swiss Cake Rolls? As promised, here is the essay that Humphrey wrote in high school about soccer and baseball. Minimal editing has been done in order to better preserve the authenticity of the young lad's writing. (Video interview with Humphrey coming soon.)
Battle of the Balls: Soccer & Baseball, That Is
Baseball, America’s pastime. Soccer, America’s nickname for the imported game of futból. Americans had to come up with the name “soccer” because we already had a better game called football. There seems to be a consensus in our high school, or just with our soccer team, that baseball is boring and easy. Is that why the soccer stands are filled with only the parents of the players and students seeking extra credit and there are not enough seats in the bleachers or room along the fence line at baseball games? Is that why baseball practice ends an hour or two after soccer lets out? Soccer parents venture over to the concession stand and bathroom on an average of 4 times per game. Either they are obese, have a “growing problem not a going problem” or they are bored and watch to catch a glimpse of a real game.
Soccer players are quick to point out that baseball players are not athletic. That is crap. Most baseball players are athletic and although some appear unathletic, they use their unathletic looking qualities to perform their duties. A fat pitcher uses his weight to gain more momentum in order to throw the ball harder. As for soccer, all of them are athletic. They can run for extended periods of time. Congratulations. Baseball players also have the use of their hands. There have been studies and it turns out that soccer players eventually lose complete use of their hands when they reach the age of 57. This, along with the substantial loss of brain cells due to “heading” the ball, is most likely why soccer players are unintelligent and uncoordinated (Not based on actual statistical analysis).
Now, let’s talk talent. Soccer, going back to the athlete portion, if you were to stick a decent athlete out on the soccer field then they would do all right. All that would be neede to turn an athlete into a good player would be a couple lessons on how to move around and where to be when the ball goes from one end to the other. Baseball, on the other hand, requires years of practice just to be an average player. It is not a game that someone can just decide, “Hey, I want to play baseball now.” There are not many pick up baseball games because most kids have not acquired the skills to play such an advanced game. Mass amounts of skill are needed to hit a 5 ¼ ounce ball traveling anywhere from 75 to 95 miles per hour. Ability and expertise are needed to throw a ball 60 feet over a 17 inch plate anywhere from 75 to 95 miles per hour consistently, while throwing a variety of different pitches. The easiest part of baseball is fielding, and even that is not as easy as it looks. A lot of footwork is involved that puts the fielder in a position to throw the ball to the appropriate base and making the throw is not an easy task either. When baseball players “kick” or “boot” a ball, it is an error.
In soccer the coach has around two to three decisions to make the entire game. He or she will make a couple substitutions and has 90 minutes decide where to go eat after the game. If they are lucky when the game has reached its conclusion there will be a soccer mom waiting with Juicy Juice boxes and Little Debbie snacks. A baseball coach has a million things going on during the game and it is not just the head coach, but the assistant coaches also. They must be good at getting into peoples heads. They must out think the opposing coaches and players. Situations exist where a player should be moved ten feet in a direction based on the type of swing the batter has, that will prevent extra bases. The coaches let the players know what a pitcher’s pick-off move is like and his rythym in order for the base runner to get better jumps to steal a bag or advance an extra base. The third base coach has to give signs, which is a very complex process. Opposing coaches and players are always watching the third base coach to try to figure out his signs. To prevent this, a coach usually has an indicator he has to touch first or something such as the third thing he touches is the sign. He also employs a wipe off, which whatever sign he just gave was wiped off and he goes through the whole process again in order to keep the other team guessing. The pitching coach relays signs to the catcher who relays them to the pitcher to tell him what pitch to throw. This is very important because if the coach were to give the same signs in the same sequence or situation, the batters would know what pitch is coming and that would increase their chances of getting a hit. Good pitching coaches vary the pitch sequence and never allow the batter to get comfortable in the batter’s box. In the time baseball coaches do all the above, soccer coaches have consumed a juice box, eaten an orange at halftime, decided on going to Applebee’s, and one player substitution.
As much as the coaching staff does for a baseball team, none of that would matter without intelligent players to execute the situations correctly. When I say intelligent, that does not mean classroom grades, it means baseball intelligence. I believe our team IQ is 6, but that does not stop us from being smart on the field. For every play of the game, and at every position on the field, there is a place a player has to be. On a ground ball to the short stop the first baseman has to go to first to catch the ball, the second baseman goes to cover second, the third baseman and left fielder both break towards the ball, the center fielder breaks in toward the infield, and the catcher and right fielder back up first base. Everyone has a duty and the duties change depending on where the ball is hit, how many runners are on base, what bases they are on, how many out there are, the score of the game, etc.
All in all, soccer wishes it could be like baseball in America. So much so, that they named their professional soccer league (Major League Soccer) after Major League Baseball. Europe sent their best soccer player, David Beckham, over here to America to try to bring popularity to the sport. It worked…for about a week. Soccer will never be like baseball, in our high school or anywhere else in America for that matter. As much as I love the Little Debbie snacks and juice boxes, you will never find me on a soccer field, unless we are conditioning for baseball.
Battle of the Balls: Soccer & Baseball, That Is
Baseball, America’s pastime. Soccer, America’s nickname for the imported game of futból. Americans had to come up with the name “soccer” because we already had a better game called football. There seems to be a consensus in our high school, or just with our soccer team, that baseball is boring and easy. Is that why the soccer stands are filled with only the parents of the players and students seeking extra credit and there are not enough seats in the bleachers or room along the fence line at baseball games? Is that why baseball practice ends an hour or two after soccer lets out? Soccer parents venture over to the concession stand and bathroom on an average of 4 times per game. Either they are obese, have a “growing problem not a going problem” or they are bored and watch to catch a glimpse of a real game.
Soccer players are quick to point out that baseball players are not athletic. That is crap. Most baseball players are athletic and although some appear unathletic, they use their unathletic looking qualities to perform their duties. A fat pitcher uses his weight to gain more momentum in order to throw the ball harder. As for soccer, all of them are athletic. They can run for extended periods of time. Congratulations. Baseball players also have the use of their hands. There have been studies and it turns out that soccer players eventually lose complete use of their hands when they reach the age of 57. This, along with the substantial loss of brain cells due to “heading” the ball, is most likely why soccer players are unintelligent and uncoordinated (Not based on actual statistical analysis).
Now, let’s talk talent. Soccer, going back to the athlete portion, if you were to stick a decent athlete out on the soccer field then they would do all right. All that would be neede to turn an athlete into a good player would be a couple lessons on how to move around and where to be when the ball goes from one end to the other. Baseball, on the other hand, requires years of practice just to be an average player. It is not a game that someone can just decide, “Hey, I want to play baseball now.” There are not many pick up baseball games because most kids have not acquired the skills to play such an advanced game. Mass amounts of skill are needed to hit a 5 ¼ ounce ball traveling anywhere from 75 to 95 miles per hour. Ability and expertise are needed to throw a ball 60 feet over a 17 inch plate anywhere from 75 to 95 miles per hour consistently, while throwing a variety of different pitches. The easiest part of baseball is fielding, and even that is not as easy as it looks. A lot of footwork is involved that puts the fielder in a position to throw the ball to the appropriate base and making the throw is not an easy task either. When baseball players “kick” or “boot” a ball, it is an error.
In soccer the coach has around two to three decisions to make the entire game. He or she will make a couple substitutions and has 90 minutes decide where to go eat after the game. If they are lucky when the game has reached its conclusion there will be a soccer mom waiting with Juicy Juice boxes and Little Debbie snacks. A baseball coach has a million things going on during the game and it is not just the head coach, but the assistant coaches also. They must be good at getting into peoples heads. They must out think the opposing coaches and players. Situations exist where a player should be moved ten feet in a direction based on the type of swing the batter has, that will prevent extra bases. The coaches let the players know what a pitcher’s pick-off move is like and his rythym in order for the base runner to get better jumps to steal a bag or advance an extra base. The third base coach has to give signs, which is a very complex process. Opposing coaches and players are always watching the third base coach to try to figure out his signs. To prevent this, a coach usually has an indicator he has to touch first or something such as the third thing he touches is the sign. He also employs a wipe off, which whatever sign he just gave was wiped off and he goes through the whole process again in order to keep the other team guessing. The pitching coach relays signs to the catcher who relays them to the pitcher to tell him what pitch to throw. This is very important because if the coach were to give the same signs in the same sequence or situation, the batters would know what pitch is coming and that would increase their chances of getting a hit. Good pitching coaches vary the pitch sequence and never allow the batter to get comfortable in the batter’s box. In the time baseball coaches do all the above, soccer coaches have consumed a juice box, eaten an orange at halftime, decided on going to Applebee’s, and one player substitution.
As much as the coaching staff does for a baseball team, none of that would matter without intelligent players to execute the situations correctly. When I say intelligent, that does not mean classroom grades, it means baseball intelligence. I believe our team IQ is 6, but that does not stop us from being smart on the field. For every play of the game, and at every position on the field, there is a place a player has to be. On a ground ball to the short stop the first baseman has to go to first to catch the ball, the second baseman goes to cover second, the third baseman and left fielder both break towards the ball, the center fielder breaks in toward the infield, and the catcher and right fielder back up first base. Everyone has a duty and the duties change depending on where the ball is hit, how many runners are on base, what bases they are on, how many out there are, the score of the game, etc.
All in all, soccer wishes it could be like baseball in America. So much so, that they named their professional soccer league (Major League Soccer) after Major League Baseball. Europe sent their best soccer player, David Beckham, over here to America to try to bring popularity to the sport. It worked…for about a week. Soccer will never be like baseball, in our high school or anywhere else in America for that matter. As much as I love the Little Debbie snacks and juice boxes, you will never find me on a soccer field, unless we are conditioning for baseball.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Humphrey's Thoughts on Soccer: Part 1
I have now been living with Humphrey's parents for over two weeks and his mother Bernise dug up an old collection of essays he wrote in his senior year of high school.
There is one about soccer which is the focus of the globe right now as South Africa hosts the World Cup. But before we get to Humphrey's thoughts on the original football, I'll describe this collection of writing.
The cover page simply says SENIOR SCRAPBOOK. For whatever reason, he decided to write everything in size 14, all caps, Castellar. The choice of this stencil-looking font is questionable, but I assume that he was trying to write as little as possible and the font stretched things out.
Bernise keeps everything and it came as no surprise to me that she also bound the essays with three red and white shoelace-lookin' strings. Humphrey's first essay follows. It has not been edited. He doesn't fully understand commas but it is fine writing for a senior in high school.
WHO AM I?
THIS IS HUMPHREY I AM IN MY SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL AT HANGOVER. THIS IS MRS. MCMILLAN'S CLASS, END OF THE YEAR PROJECT. A LITTLE ABOUT MYSELF. I HAVE MANY LEATHER BOUND BOOKS, MY APARTMENT SMELLS OF RICH MAHOGANY, I GO OUT WITH MERLIN OLSON, ON OCCASION. I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE ASKING YOURSELF. AND THE ANSWER IS YES. I HAVE A NICKNAME FOR MY STOMACH. IT'S CALLED THE OCTAGON. BUT I ALSO NICKNAMED MY LEGS. MY LEFT ONE IS JAMES WESTFALL AND MY RIGHT ONE IS DR. KENNETH NOISEWATER. I'M ALL ABOUT HAVING FUN. YOU KNOW, GET A COUPLE OF COCKTAILS IN ME, START A FIRE IN SOMEONE’S KITCHEN, MAYBE GO TO SEA WORLD, TAKE MY PANTS OFF. PEOPLE SEEM TO LIKE ME BECAUSE I AM POLITE, AND I’M RARELY LATE. I LIKE TO EAT ICE CREAM AND I REALLY ENJOY A NICE PAIR OF SLACKS. ON A FUNNIER NOTE, I LIVE IN THE MAGNIFICENT TOWN OF MECHANICSVILLE, JUST NORTH OF RICHMOND. I WILL BE ATTENDING JAMES MADISON UNIVERSITY IN HARRISONBURG, VIRGINIA, IN THE FALL. I PLAN TO STUDY HISTORY AND EVENTUALLY BECOME A HIGH SCHOOL HISTORY TEACHER. I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO BECOME A BASEBALL COACH AT THE HIGH SCHOOL LEVEL.
“FRANNIE MAC” IS PROBABLY PISSED THAT I ‘WASTED’ A PAGE BUT IT IS COOL BECAUSE THIS IS WHO I AM. I DON’T ACTUALLY DO HALF OF THAT STUFF I LISTED ABOVE BUT CHANNEL FOUR NEWS IS A BIG PART OF MY LIFE AND MOM YOUR PROBABLY PISSED RIGHT NOW TOO, BUT THIS IS MY BOOK NOT YOURS, EVEN THOUGH I WILL HAND IT TO YOU ONCE I GET BACK FROM FRANNIE MAC (YES THAT RHYMES) AND I WILL MOST LIKELY NEVER SEE IT AGAIN.
He seems to be afraid of using paragraphs and he may also be bi-polar (thinks he is Ron Burgundy).
Credit is due to "Frannie Mac" because it was she who suggested Hangin' with Humphrey look into the high school writing. On the Hangin' with Humphrey facebook page, the web savvy co-ed wrote this: "As "Humphrey's" former English teacher, I suggest that you consider posting a few of his old essays, ranging in topics from why soccer sucks to the history of the toilet. True gems, I assure you."
Thanks Frannie Mac.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
There is one about soccer which is the focus of the globe right now as South Africa hosts the World Cup. But before we get to Humphrey's thoughts on the original football, I'll describe this collection of writing.
The cover page simply says SENIOR SCRAPBOOK. For whatever reason, he decided to write everything in size 14, all caps, Castellar. The choice of this stencil-looking font is questionable, but I assume that he was trying to write as little as possible and the font stretched things out.
Bernise keeps everything and it came as no surprise to me that she also bound the essays with three red and white shoelace-lookin' strings. Humphrey's first essay follows. It has not been edited. He doesn't fully understand commas but it is fine writing for a senior in high school.
WHO AM I?
THIS IS HUMPHREY I AM IN MY SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL AT HANGOVER. THIS IS MRS. MCMILLAN'S CLASS, END OF THE YEAR PROJECT. A LITTLE ABOUT MYSELF. I HAVE MANY LEATHER BOUND BOOKS, MY APARTMENT SMELLS OF RICH MAHOGANY, I GO OUT WITH MERLIN OLSON, ON OCCASION. I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE ASKING YOURSELF. AND THE ANSWER IS YES. I HAVE A NICKNAME FOR MY STOMACH. IT'S CALLED THE OCTAGON. BUT I ALSO NICKNAMED MY LEGS. MY LEFT ONE IS JAMES WESTFALL AND MY RIGHT ONE IS DR. KENNETH NOISEWATER. I'M ALL ABOUT HAVING FUN. YOU KNOW, GET A COUPLE OF COCKTAILS IN ME, START A FIRE IN SOMEONE’S KITCHEN, MAYBE GO TO SEA WORLD, TAKE MY PANTS OFF. PEOPLE SEEM TO LIKE ME BECAUSE I AM POLITE, AND I’M RARELY LATE. I LIKE TO EAT ICE CREAM AND I REALLY ENJOY A NICE PAIR OF SLACKS. ON A FUNNIER NOTE, I LIVE IN THE MAGNIFICENT TOWN OF MECHANICSVILLE, JUST NORTH OF RICHMOND. I WILL BE ATTENDING JAMES MADISON UNIVERSITY IN HARRISONBURG, VIRGINIA, IN THE FALL. I PLAN TO STUDY HISTORY AND EVENTUALLY BECOME A HIGH SCHOOL HISTORY TEACHER. I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO BECOME A BASEBALL COACH AT THE HIGH SCHOOL LEVEL.
“FRANNIE MAC” IS PROBABLY PISSED THAT I ‘WASTED’ A PAGE BUT IT IS COOL BECAUSE THIS IS WHO I AM. I DON’T ACTUALLY DO HALF OF THAT STUFF I LISTED ABOVE BUT CHANNEL FOUR NEWS IS A BIG PART OF MY LIFE AND MOM YOUR PROBABLY PISSED RIGHT NOW TOO, BUT THIS IS MY BOOK NOT YOURS, EVEN THOUGH I WILL HAND IT TO YOU ONCE I GET BACK FROM FRANNIE MAC (YES THAT RHYMES) AND I WILL MOST LIKELY NEVER SEE IT AGAIN.
He seems to be afraid of using paragraphs and he may also be bi-polar (thinks he is Ron Burgundy).
Credit is due to "Frannie Mac" because it was she who suggested Hangin' with Humphrey look into the high school writing. On the Hangin' with Humphrey facebook page, the web savvy co-ed wrote this: "As "Humphrey's" former English teacher, I suggest that you consider posting a few of his old essays, ranging in topics from why soccer sucks to the history of the toilet. True gems, I assure you."
Thanks Frannie Mac.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Class of 1960? Hell Yeah!
First I will start off by expressing my deepest regrets. Not only have I started a new job, but for about a month now Jersey Mike and I have been working on the infrastructure of Hangin' with Humphrey.
From what I hear, Hangin' with Humphrey droughts are catastrophic for some of the biggest fans. Rumor has it that a few co-eds have simply stopped menstruating. Without rousing stories of their favorite celebrity, there reproductive organs no longer function as a result of negative libidos. As a result guys are resorting to activity once thought to be shared by only Pat and Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris.
Anyhow, shall we get back to the tale of that sunny Friday when Humphrey legitimized himself as a bona fide performer? I think so. (See the previous post from late May if you need refreshing.)
Upon leaving the classroom, which is now one of the most legendary on campus, Humphrey and I decided to briefly set up shop in the third floor hallway of Harrison Hall. Well, one of our 40 bottles actually decided to set up shop. Somehow it crawled out of Humphrey's satchel and stood upright in the walkway.
As passersby strode though, Humphrey and I politely warned people of the hallway's suspicious obstacle.
"Watch out co-eds! There's a 40 bottle there."
"Careful ahead. Someone left there 40 bottle in the hallway again."
"Guys be careful, will ya? Some kids got in this morning and were drinking in the hallway."
Thanks to Humphrey's thoughtfulness -- which I'm fast learning came from his beautiful mother Bernise... but more on that another day -- no one was hurt from tripping over that 40 bottle.
But before we left the building a squirreley lookin' professor popped out of his classroom and questioned me and Humphrey.
"Is that yours?" the academic asked us while pointing to that suspicious, and delicious, bottle.
"No sir," we said in unison, trying our hardest to keep straight expressions.
"Have you guys been drinking?" Poindexter followed up.
"Not at all sir. We saw someone put that bottle there and run. We were just warning people about it."
"OK. Well you guys don't seem drunk."
Hmmm... I don't think we'll ever know what that guy was thinking. In any case, we booked it out of there and decided not to push our luck -- at least not until we got down to the Quad.
The Adventure continues on the Quad
When we got down to the Quad, we were still feelin' pretty good so we decided to strut our stuff down that main stretch in front of the iconic Wilson Hall. Wilson Hall wasn't the only icon though. Mind you, Humphrey was still glowing in his gold Guido shirt and daisy dukes. (I didn't look too bad in my cut-off Ride Me T-shirt and anatomically correct blue corduroys.)
Believe it or not, we weren't the only ones admiring our attire. Countless co-eds whistled at us and two special ladies even locked our arms. It may have been the other way around but Betty Lou and Evelyn were smitten.
Those aren't common names of our generation, you say. Well that's because these silver co-eds were a part of a campus tour for the Class of 1960!
They were thoroughly enjoying our company and even there husbands took to us. Humphrey called them dolls and told them how beautiful they were and their husbands asked us where we were from, what we study, etc.
Then in typical JMU fashion, one of the nerdy tour guides had to meddle. He was an 2005 graduate, according to his cool name tag. He told us that we needed to leave the tour and not bother the ladies. I had no idea that the class of 2005 was the only class in JMU history to not produce fun people with senses of humor.
We obliged after apologizing to Betty Lou and Evelyn for having to split so soon. They promised that they would see us later that night in Ashby Crossing for a three kegger. Either they stood us up or their own partying days at the Normal School are catching up to them.
It was a quite the morning. Well needed naps ensued.
From what I hear, Hangin' with Humphrey droughts are catastrophic for some of the biggest fans. Rumor has it that a few co-eds have simply stopped menstruating. Without rousing stories of their favorite celebrity, there reproductive organs no longer function as a result of negative libidos. As a result guys are resorting to activity once thought to be shared by only Pat and Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris.
Anyhow, shall we get back to the tale of that sunny Friday when Humphrey legitimized himself as a bona fide performer? I think so. (See the previous post from late May if you need refreshing.)
Upon leaving the classroom, which is now one of the most legendary on campus, Humphrey and I decided to briefly set up shop in the third floor hallway of Harrison Hall. Well, one of our 40 bottles actually decided to set up shop. Somehow it crawled out of Humphrey's satchel and stood upright in the walkway.
As passersby strode though, Humphrey and I politely warned people of the hallway's suspicious obstacle.
"Watch out co-eds! There's a 40 bottle there."
"Careful ahead. Someone left there 40 bottle in the hallway again."
"Guys be careful, will ya? Some kids got in this morning and were drinking in the hallway."
Thanks to Humphrey's thoughtfulness -- which I'm fast learning came from his beautiful mother Bernise... but more on that another day -- no one was hurt from tripping over that 40 bottle.
But before we left the building a squirreley lookin' professor popped out of his classroom and questioned me and Humphrey.
"Is that yours?" the academic asked us while pointing to that suspicious, and delicious, bottle.
"No sir," we said in unison, trying our hardest to keep straight expressions.
"Have you guys been drinking?" Poindexter followed up.
"Not at all sir. We saw someone put that bottle there and run. We were just warning people about it."
"OK. Well you guys don't seem drunk."
Hmmm... I don't think we'll ever know what that guy was thinking. In any case, we booked it out of there and decided not to push our luck -- at least not until we got down to the Quad.
The Adventure continues on the Quad
When we got down to the Quad, we were still feelin' pretty good so we decided to strut our stuff down that main stretch in front of the iconic Wilson Hall. Wilson Hall wasn't the only icon though. Mind you, Humphrey was still glowing in his gold Guido shirt and daisy dukes. (I didn't look too bad in my cut-off Ride Me T-shirt and anatomically correct blue corduroys.)
Believe it or not, we weren't the only ones admiring our attire. Countless co-eds whistled at us and two special ladies even locked our arms. It may have been the other way around but Betty Lou and Evelyn were smitten.
Those aren't common names of our generation, you say. Well that's because these silver co-eds were a part of a campus tour for the Class of 1960!
They were thoroughly enjoying our company and even there husbands took to us. Humphrey called them dolls and told them how beautiful they were and their husbands asked us where we were from, what we study, etc.
Then in typical JMU fashion, one of the nerdy tour guides had to meddle. He was an 2005 graduate, according to his cool name tag. He told us that we needed to leave the tour and not bother the ladies. I had no idea that the class of 2005 was the only class in JMU history to not produce fun people with senses of humor.
We obliged after apologizing to Betty Lou and Evelyn for having to split so soon. They promised that they would see us later that night in Ashby Crossing for a three kegger. Either they stood us up or their own partying days at the Normal School are catching up to them.
It was a quite the morning. Well needed naps ensued.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Interpretive Dance: The Full Story
It was early on a Friday morning -- the last Friday morning that I would ever attend a college class. The sun was shining and it was a perfect day in Harrisonburg.
As promised earlier in the semester, Humphrey and I were preparing to dazzle my Popular Writing course with an interpretive dance. (Read back story here.)
I crawled out of bed at 6:25 a.m., grabbed my backpack and moseyed over to Humphrey's place. Humphrey was still fast asleep, but he shook off a wild Thursday night and joined me in the community room. (He lamented that he felt violated because a number of co-eds in the Fox Hills region had grabbed his buttocks Thursday evening without even asking. "I'm not a piece of ass!" he said.) I was worried that he would go too hard and not be on top of his game in the morning. How wrong was I.
As planned, we popped in Rudy and popped open a couple of 40-ounce bottles. As far as I know they had apple juice in them. For the next two hours we drank two of these apple juice-looking drinks each and enjoyed the rousing tale of one Daniel E. "Rudy" Ruettiger. Humphrey snacked on some leftover dinner from the night before and heated up a chicken pot pie, a breakfast of champions in its own right. As Rudy did up-downs, we also limbered up and began to focus on our performance, which was slated to begin at 9:15 in Harrison Hall.
We boarded the bus to campus around 8:35 with no shame. Humphrey donned the daisy dukes and the gold Guido shirt and I rocked the anatomically correct blue corduroys with the "Ride Me" belly shirt. If my memory serves me right, we sat next to the lovely Donna and Brittani (two of Humphrey's biggest fans). Yeah, we received a few death stares and looks of condemnation, but we had an audience to please and, frankly, we looked damn good.
The beautiful Donna (left) and Brittani below. I can speak for Humphrey in saying that we wish we had met these fine ladies earlier in the semester.
When we got to the Quad, we still had a few sips to finish up, so we asked a co-ed to inform the beautiful professor to cue up Meat Loaf's "I Would Do Anything for Love." The class also moved the desks to the edges of the room, unaware of the treat they were about to receive. We waited in the hallway of the third floor greeting passersby and stretching our godly physiques.
Then we were called into the class. Humphrey took over at this point and the co-eds went wild. I felt like I was at an N*SYNC concert the way the co-eds began squealing when they recognized the stout dreamboat that had filled their dreams every night since the inception of this very blog. If his gold shirt wasn't enough, he began to glow all over in the eyes of these naïve nymphs.
As Meat Loaf belted out one of the most influential tunes of all time, we shuffled out one of the most influential dances of all time. Humphrey took the lead and gracefully criss-crossed the room as if he was gliding on skates. "I would do anything for love," Meat Loaf crooned as we mouthed along with him. "But I won't do that. No, I won't do that." On the word "that" we clenched our fists and looked deep into the co-eds' eyes. A few co-eds were lucky enough to experience one of Humphrey's famous moves: the pop, lock and drop.
The "pop, lock and drop" is not to be employed by the clumsy and not to be employed upon the faint of heart. People can get injured. Humphrey often starts the move by pointing to a non-existent quarter that he dropped on the ground. He drops it right in front of unsuspecting co-eds. He then bends at the waist, bends at the knees and pops his tuckus gracefully up toward the co-ed's pelvis. The order of the words in the move don't make perfect sense, but Humphrey has assured me that it is fine because we live in America. A few co-eds have fainted due to the shock of being selected as recipients of the "pop, lock and drop." (They should feel blessed to have such an experience with a budding American legend, but many fail to realize that Humphrey is generous with the "pop, lock and drop," and most co-eds in his path experience the pleasure when the night is right."
After about three minutes and 20 seconds of gliding through the room and delivering intimate interaction through our dance, Meat Loaf and his choir of background singers signaled the climax (no pun intended, though a few co-eds, including one Becca, were seen with orgasmic-like expressions across their faces.)
Many co-eds took out their phones and began taking video of the performance. Humphrey's neighbors even showed up to take their own motion photography of the event. Crazy-hair Erin and Lydia took time out of their busy Fridays and postponed buying their fourth keg of the week to support Humphrey. Erin later remarked that she hadn't seen anything so perfect other than her mother Patti's breasts.
Crazy-hair Erin took these photos.
The climax of the song begins when Meat Loaf's choir of angelic voices, known as the Paula Deens, begin singing the chorus. Like a thunderous crescendo, the song picks up and Humphrey and I do a move I learned from my brother called "Crazy Legs." As detailed in previous posts, "Crazy Legs" is mainly a fast shuffling of the feet. It can be done with rotations and goes well with a few leaps thrown in. Humphrey has in just a few months already mastered the leap, in which one foot is thrown back and the eyes shoot up toward the sky. The beautiful professor even grabbed the hands of few students, gentlemen and co-eds alike, and made them bust a move or two.
Just when the co-eds thought, much like Lorraine Crosby (Meat Loaf's co-vocalist in the song), that "it would all turn to dust and we'd all fall down!" they were hit with an encore performance to Meat Loaf's "You Took the Words Right Out of my Mouth." It was as if "there was a fog crawling over the sand." Humphrey listened to each of those co-ed's "heart and heard the whole world turning." As the song ended, the dancing continued as the beautiful professor was gracefully jostled between our finely groomed midriffs. (Some compared it to the party-boy move made famous by Chris Kattan and Will Ferrell.) She pretended to push us away and escape the melodic movements of our torsos, but we could tell she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
The experience in that Harrison classroom ended with greeting of fans and the beautiful professor asking the friendly Humphrey what the exigence of the dance is?
If I can borrow an adjective of the great Chip Tarketon, unlicensed attorney at law, the portly fellow answered her question in true Humphrey fashion: "I don't speak Spanish."
Stay tuned. More to follow on what happened after that epic class.
As promised earlier in the semester, Humphrey and I were preparing to dazzle my Popular Writing course with an interpretive dance. (Read back story here.)
I crawled out of bed at 6:25 a.m., grabbed my backpack and moseyed over to Humphrey's place. Humphrey was still fast asleep, but he shook off a wild Thursday night and joined me in the community room. (He lamented that he felt violated because a number of co-eds in the Fox Hills region had grabbed his buttocks Thursday evening without even asking. "I'm not a piece of ass!" he said.) I was worried that he would go too hard and not be on top of his game in the morning. How wrong was I.
As planned, we popped in Rudy and popped open a couple of 40-ounce bottles. As far as I know they had apple juice in them. For the next two hours we drank two of these apple juice-looking drinks each and enjoyed the rousing tale of one Daniel E. "Rudy" Ruettiger. Humphrey snacked on some leftover dinner from the night before and heated up a chicken pot pie, a breakfast of champions in its own right. As Rudy did up-downs, we also limbered up and began to focus on our performance, which was slated to begin at 9:15 in Harrison Hall.
We boarded the bus to campus around 8:35 with no shame. Humphrey donned the daisy dukes and the gold Guido shirt and I rocked the anatomically correct blue corduroys with the "Ride Me" belly shirt. If my memory serves me right, we sat next to the lovely Donna and Brittani (two of Humphrey's biggest fans). Yeah, we received a few death stares and looks of condemnation, but we had an audience to please and, frankly, we looked damn good.
The beautiful Donna (left) and Brittani below. I can speak for Humphrey in saying that we wish we had met these fine ladies earlier in the semester.
When we got to the Quad, we still had a few sips to finish up, so we asked a co-ed to inform the beautiful professor to cue up Meat Loaf's "I Would Do Anything for Love." The class also moved the desks to the edges of the room, unaware of the treat they were about to receive. We waited in the hallway of the third floor greeting passersby and stretching our godly physiques.
Then we were called into the class. Humphrey took over at this point and the co-eds went wild. I felt like I was at an N*SYNC concert the way the co-eds began squealing when they recognized the stout dreamboat that had filled their dreams every night since the inception of this very blog. If his gold shirt wasn't enough, he began to glow all over in the eyes of these naïve nymphs.
As Meat Loaf belted out one of the most influential tunes of all time, we shuffled out one of the most influential dances of all time. Humphrey took the lead and gracefully criss-crossed the room as if he was gliding on skates. "I would do anything for love," Meat Loaf crooned as we mouthed along with him. "But I won't do that. No, I won't do that." On the word "that" we clenched our fists and looked deep into the co-eds' eyes. A few co-eds were lucky enough to experience one of Humphrey's famous moves: the pop, lock and drop.
The "pop, lock and drop" is not to be employed by the clumsy and not to be employed upon the faint of heart. People can get injured. Humphrey often starts the move by pointing to a non-existent quarter that he dropped on the ground. He drops it right in front of unsuspecting co-eds. He then bends at the waist, bends at the knees and pops his tuckus gracefully up toward the co-ed's pelvis. The order of the words in the move don't make perfect sense, but Humphrey has assured me that it is fine because we live in America. A few co-eds have fainted due to the shock of being selected as recipients of the "pop, lock and drop." (They should feel blessed to have such an experience with a budding American legend, but many fail to realize that Humphrey is generous with the "pop, lock and drop," and most co-eds in his path experience the pleasure when the night is right."
After about three minutes and 20 seconds of gliding through the room and delivering intimate interaction through our dance, Meat Loaf and his choir of background singers signaled the climax (no pun intended, though a few co-eds, including one Becca, were seen with orgasmic-like expressions across their faces.)
Many co-eds took out their phones and began taking video of the performance. Humphrey's neighbors even showed up to take their own motion photography of the event. Crazy-hair Erin and Lydia took time out of their busy Fridays and postponed buying their fourth keg of the week to support Humphrey. Erin later remarked that she hadn't seen anything so perfect other than her mother Patti's breasts.
Crazy-hair Erin took these photos.
The climax of the song begins when Meat Loaf's choir of angelic voices, known as the Paula Deens, begin singing the chorus. Like a thunderous crescendo, the song picks up and Humphrey and I do a move I learned from my brother called "Crazy Legs." As detailed in previous posts, "Crazy Legs" is mainly a fast shuffling of the feet. It can be done with rotations and goes well with a few leaps thrown in. Humphrey has in just a few months already mastered the leap, in which one foot is thrown back and the eyes shoot up toward the sky. The beautiful professor even grabbed the hands of few students, gentlemen and co-eds alike, and made them bust a move or two.
Just when the co-eds thought, much like Lorraine Crosby (Meat Loaf's co-vocalist in the song), that "it would all turn to dust and we'd all fall down!" they were hit with an encore performance to Meat Loaf's "You Took the Words Right Out of my Mouth." It was as if "there was a fog crawling over the sand." Humphrey listened to each of those co-ed's "heart and heard the whole world turning." As the song ended, the dancing continued as the beautiful professor was gracefully jostled between our finely groomed midriffs. (Some compared it to the party-boy move made famous by Chris Kattan and Will Ferrell.) She pretended to push us away and escape the melodic movements of our torsos, but we could tell she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
The experience in that Harrison classroom ended with greeting of fans and the beautiful professor asking the friendly Humphrey what the exigence of the dance is?
If I can borrow an adjective of the great Chip Tarketon, unlicensed attorney at law, the portly fellow answered her question in true Humphrey fashion: "I don't speak Spanish."
Stay tuned. More to follow on what happened after that epic class.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Hw/H Announces New Hire!
We are pleased here at Hangin' with Humphrey to announce that Jersey Mike, the shadester of all shadesters, will replace me as chief editor and writer next semester.
Jersey Mike, of the Pennington Prep School, is a creative kid with loads of potential. He is known to be a great thespian and though his writing may be raw we are confident that his background in acting will bring him along. Read more about Jersey Mike here.
Jersey Mike and co-ed.
I will still be writing through the summer as I will soon be Livin' with Humphrey. Mike was a favorite to become chief editor and writer when discussions began at the board meeting last week. Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris, and Brad are runners-up and you may see some of their writing in the future. (I'm just kidding about Brad. He has dysgraphia.)
Mike solidified his position with some very solid writing today in a facebook-message discussion among some of the characters in Hangin' with Humphrey. You can read that discussion below. Mike will be interning all summer and providing that he passes a drug test (suggested by Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris), he will take over in the fall.
Enjoy the conversation and for a special fan named Meredith, Humphrey makes a mighty return in this conversation.
The discussion that instilled full confidence in Jersey Mike
9:59 a.m. — Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris: Check it out. I'm making it big time. Haha. http://www.theboxershow.com/pages/boxerintern.html
11:20 — Jersey Mike: My man.
11:42 — Me: Sorry Harold, but I need to expand on this a little bit. Shannon is one of six sisters! Holy shit. She grew up on a farm, which means she can raise animals, myself included. She wants to be a motivational speaker. She is motivating me already. Hot Damn. She works for the census, which means she can count all my babies she's gonna pop out. She is all about dreaming which means she's got a shot at the title and not every gal gets that. I guess I'll wrap this tirade up by saying, Harold if you don't get me going with our friend Shannon, I will beat your ass!
12:03 — Jersey Mike: Harold, it would be selfish not to set Tim up with "said co-ed". After all he has done for you. Tim, maybe she is moving up on the draft board? It seems her stock may have risen after an impressive performance at the combine, but there are still individual "workouts" to be scheduled... Only time will tell.
12:07 — Me: Too true. Said co-ed is quite high on the draft board, but I'm willing to trade her rights to Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris, in the rare instance of a break up with Kelsey. (I just double checked to make sure she wasn't a part of this thread.) Such a trade will be costly though and might require a multiple team action that would include the rights to Julie for a night and a month extension on Brad's drought. I love free agency!
12:46 — Jersey Mike: (This is the one that really shows Mike's promise.) This time of year is always so exciting! Our four-month summer break is the time when teams need to add talent, or in some cases (Pat), rebuild. After a disappointing 2009-2010 campaign, Pat is really looking to step his game up. What looked like a promising year for Charles, never truly got its legs. Although he has some pieces in place, i.e. his blue eyes which he has locked up long term, and his incredible boyish under the age of 13 charm, it seems some things may need to change. First, facial hair. It is possible Pat will pick up Bosley for the face as he is an Unrestricted Free Agent. Second, Pat may look to change his known associates, who embarrass him whenever an opportunity presents itself. There should be more traction to this story as the weeks progress.
Tim, I would be willing to trade Marly (Jersey Mike's exclusive co-ed) for a 6th round pick this year and a 7th next year. I could also include Terry's expiring contract. This could help in your multi-team deal. In addition, due to Terry's contract status, I will soon have the rights to a co-ed by the name of Chrissy. Although I will see what this co-ed has to offer..........., I am interested in trading her once I am through. Maybe a trade of Chrissy to Brad could aid his dry spell? I predict she jumps around from team to team.
12:49 — Me: Hahahahahahahahahaaha. There is no response to that. And ladies and gentlemen, Mike Lang has just been hired as a writer for Hangin' with Humphrey. Kid has talent.
12:59 — Humphrey: Mike,
You seem to have the TIm-given gift of writing. We will have to draw up a contract to become Humphrey's personal writer. As for me, I trade away all my picks for beer. This works in reverse order. While all the co-eds who surround me look much better, I seem to fall right off their draft boards with every ounce of golden refreshment that trickles down my esoufagus (disregard spelling, I have less brain cells than most people my age).
Love your beer mentor.
1:03 — Me: Humphrey,
Co-eds don't have draft boards.
1:17 — Jersey Mike: Can we put this chat in the blog? ASAP?
1:18 — Me: Already in the works. Wow. Mike even thinks like me. He is a dream. Albeit a sketchy one.
1:34 — Jersey Mike: Shadiness is my claim to fame, and I am riding that noise to the top.
1:36 — Me: Mike, clearly we are the only ones with lives on this drab Thursday afternoon.
1:51 — Jersey Mike: Right? I want to hear input of others... Although we did get a guest appearance from Humph himself. I'm actually at the gym, but bored.
2:49 — Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris: I have been enjoying this back and forth for the past few hours while relaxing after a hard days work at the radio station, but after hearing this topic come up I must add my input. I wholeheartedly agree with Mike's inheritance of chief blog-writer of Hangin' with Humphrey in Tim's absence.
I believe Mike so far fills the requirements of employment written in the Hangin' with Humphrey business code. I must stress, however, that there is a possibility of random drug testing once hired, so be aware of this. As much as I would love to read Mike's beautifully woven tales of Humphrey, the influence of illegal substances could hinder his ability in performing his tasks. With all this covered, I believe it is up to a simple vote to officially grant Mike the job.
Mike, you have big shoes to fill.
8:59 — Humphrey: Sorry i had a drinking break. my mistake earlier about women draft boards. me of all people should now they dont have rights. what i meant to say is the more i drink the more likely they will consider my actions on the verge of sexual harassment. in regards to the drug testing: 1. hopefully alcohol will not show up. 2. mikes sketchability antics will be able to falsify what ever would show up in the case that anything had shown up (not saying that anything would, we're respectable folks in 1825) 3. peeing in 40oz. OE bottles will replace the small cups usually used, and if its cool consider me miles davis.
back to beer. love you all
Humphrey
p.s. tims shoes arent that big physically but metaphorically..yes.
Jersey Mike, of the Pennington Prep School, is a creative kid with loads of potential. He is known to be a great thespian and though his writing may be raw we are confident that his background in acting will bring him along. Read more about Jersey Mike here.
Jersey Mike and co-ed.
I will still be writing through the summer as I will soon be Livin' with Humphrey. Mike was a favorite to become chief editor and writer when discussions began at the board meeting last week. Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris, and Brad are runners-up and you may see some of their writing in the future. (I'm just kidding about Brad. He has dysgraphia.)
Mike solidified his position with some very solid writing today in a facebook-message discussion among some of the characters in Hangin' with Humphrey. You can read that discussion below. Mike will be interning all summer and providing that he passes a drug test (suggested by Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris), he will take over in the fall.
Enjoy the conversation and for a special fan named Meredith, Humphrey makes a mighty return in this conversation.
The discussion that instilled full confidence in Jersey Mike
9:59 a.m. — Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris: Check it out. I'm making it big time. Haha. http://www.theboxershow.com/pages/boxerintern.html
11:20 — Jersey Mike: My man.
11:42 — Me: Sorry Harold, but I need to expand on this a little bit. Shannon is one of six sisters! Holy shit. She grew up on a farm, which means she can raise animals, myself included. She wants to be a motivational speaker. She is motivating me already. Hot Damn. She works for the census, which means she can count all my babies she's gonna pop out. She is all about dreaming which means she's got a shot at the title and not every gal gets that. I guess I'll wrap this tirade up by saying, Harold if you don't get me going with our friend Shannon, I will beat your ass!
12:03 — Jersey Mike: Harold, it would be selfish not to set Tim up with "said co-ed". After all he has done for you. Tim, maybe she is moving up on the draft board? It seems her stock may have risen after an impressive performance at the combine, but there are still individual "workouts" to be scheduled... Only time will tell.
12:07 — Me: Too true. Said co-ed is quite high on the draft board, but I'm willing to trade her rights to Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris, in the rare instance of a break up with Kelsey. (I just double checked to make sure she wasn't a part of this thread.) Such a trade will be costly though and might require a multiple team action that would include the rights to Julie for a night and a month extension on Brad's drought. I love free agency!
12:46 — Jersey Mike: (This is the one that really shows Mike's promise.) This time of year is always so exciting! Our four-month summer break is the time when teams need to add talent, or in some cases (Pat), rebuild. After a disappointing 2009-2010 campaign, Pat is really looking to step his game up. What looked like a promising year for Charles, never truly got its legs. Although he has some pieces in place, i.e. his blue eyes which he has locked up long term, and his incredible boyish under the age of 13 charm, it seems some things may need to change. First, facial hair. It is possible Pat will pick up Bosley for the face as he is an Unrestricted Free Agent. Second, Pat may look to change his known associates, who embarrass him whenever an opportunity presents itself. There should be more traction to this story as the weeks progress.
Tim, I would be willing to trade Marly (Jersey Mike's exclusive co-ed) for a 6th round pick this year and a 7th next year. I could also include Terry's expiring contract. This could help in your multi-team deal. In addition, due to Terry's contract status, I will soon have the rights to a co-ed by the name of Chrissy. Although I will see what this co-ed has to offer..........., I am interested in trading her once I am through. Maybe a trade of Chrissy to Brad could aid his dry spell? I predict she jumps around from team to team.
12:49 — Me: Hahahahahahahahahaaha. There is no response to that. And ladies and gentlemen, Mike Lang has just been hired as a writer for Hangin' with Humphrey. Kid has talent.
12:59 — Humphrey: Mike,
You seem to have the TIm-given gift of writing. We will have to draw up a contract to become Humphrey's personal writer. As for me, I trade away all my picks for beer. This works in reverse order. While all the co-eds who surround me look much better, I seem to fall right off their draft boards with every ounce of golden refreshment that trickles down my esoufagus (disregard spelling, I have less brain cells than most people my age).
Love your beer mentor.
1:03 — Me: Humphrey,
Co-eds don't have draft boards.
1:17 — Jersey Mike: Can we put this chat in the blog? ASAP?
1:18 — Me: Already in the works. Wow. Mike even thinks like me. He is a dream. Albeit a sketchy one.
1:34 — Jersey Mike: Shadiness is my claim to fame, and I am riding that noise to the top.
1:36 — Me: Mike, clearly we are the only ones with lives on this drab Thursday afternoon.
1:51 — Jersey Mike: Right? I want to hear input of others... Although we did get a guest appearance from Humph himself. I'm actually at the gym, but bored.
2:49 — Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris: I have been enjoying this back and forth for the past few hours while relaxing after a hard days work at the radio station, but after hearing this topic come up I must add my input. I wholeheartedly agree with Mike's inheritance of chief blog-writer of Hangin' with Humphrey in Tim's absence.
I believe Mike so far fills the requirements of employment written in the Hangin' with Humphrey business code. I must stress, however, that there is a possibility of random drug testing once hired, so be aware of this. As much as I would love to read Mike's beautifully woven tales of Humphrey, the influence of illegal substances could hinder his ability in performing his tasks. With all this covered, I believe it is up to a simple vote to officially grant Mike the job.
Mike, you have big shoes to fill.
8:59 — Humphrey: Sorry i had a drinking break. my mistake earlier about women draft boards. me of all people should now they dont have rights. what i meant to say is the more i drink the more likely they will consider my actions on the verge of sexual harassment. in regards to the drug testing: 1. hopefully alcohol will not show up. 2. mikes sketchability antics will be able to falsify what ever would show up in the case that anything had shown up (not saying that anything would, we're respectable folks in 1825) 3. peeing in 40oz. OE bottles will replace the small cups usually used, and if its cool consider me miles davis.
back to beer. love you all
Humphrey
p.s. tims shoes arent that big physically but metaphorically..yes.
"It isn't irreconsipensiple." Part 2
"Humphrey! Humphrey! What are you doing?" said a giggling Big Chris. "I'm ragin' bro." The Tower of Babel followed this with gibberish that even Jimmy Gibberish wouldn't say. He really did sound like Stevie Janowski, the sidekick of HBO star Kenny Powers. (No that does not mean that by any stretch of the imagination that Pat is playing Kenny Powers to Big Chris' Stevie Janowski. That analogy is simply inapplicable.)
Best of Stevie
Humphrey told me today that he remembered the conversation like this.
"I told him to chug another beer and I'll time him and he said no because I told him to go to bed, but he wasn't gonna go to bed because i told him to chug beer...this happened about 4 times.
"And that the low man wins. That's why the bouncer won."
After the phone call, Big Chris could be found in those poor girls' kitchen devouring food at an inhuman level. The kid's appetite is never-ending and it gets worse when he rages. For example, he would eat two buffets during the average weekday and about an hour after the dinner buffet, he would beg people to go to Wendy's or Hardees with him (Pat usually obliges and they get Blizzards from DQ). One Sunday evening after two buffets, he spent $13 of his mom's money on Hardees. This was after he had already broken two phones, his $1,000 lap top, he spent a night in the slammer (not that I'm one to talk) and before he punched and cracked his windshield. I can't wait to meet this proud mother. She is up for canonization. (If you don't know that word, look it up. Humphrey is Catholic and American and so am I.)
Big Chris was shoving Scoops Tostitos into his mouth. Full handfuls, shoveled into his mouth like he had never eaten before. This was just an appetizer as 6-foot-4-and-275-pound guy was flipping 50 Lil' Smokies in a skillet. And that was just the second appetizer because a large pizza from Dave's Taverna Express was on the way.
I texted Humphrey: "He just shoved tostitos in his mouth and said I eat more than anything with a full mouth."
After eating we started the trek home. It has rained a good deal in the past couple of days, so going through the clearing in the woods probably wasn't the best idea. My Puma Argentina sneakers were covered in muck and Big Chris was wearing sandals that popped off every step.
"God damn it!" he was screaming. "You whore!" he yelled at either his feet or his sandals. I'm not sure we'll ever know. "My feet are too big!" This continued for much of the walk, though for some reason he refused to put his sandals back on after we cleared the mud.
Once we were out of the mud and walking the final stretch to Stone Gate, he said, "I smell like shit! I'm covered in brownies." He was covered in mud, but was still thinking about eating brownies. He told me that I should have listened to him.
Back at his apartment, we put the brownies on the counter and the half gallon of milk that he had smeared with his muddy hands. "Look at my leg," Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, said. "What part would you say you would look under sinction? I mean sanction." Your guess is as good as mine.
I remember much of this because I was texting drafts as he spoke. One of my last drafts reads: "He just filled a pitcher of water and said 'This isn't brownie. It's more than brownie.' He is saying totally incomprehensible shit. I can't record anymore."
When I told the strapping young gentlemen, that is Big Chris, that he was incomprehensible, he responded.
"It isn't irreconsipensiple shit."
Best of Stevie
Humphrey told me today that he remembered the conversation like this.
"I told him to chug another beer and I'll time him and he said no because I told him to go to bed, but he wasn't gonna go to bed because i told him to chug beer...this happened about 4 times.
"And that the low man wins. That's why the bouncer won."
After the phone call, Big Chris could be found in those poor girls' kitchen devouring food at an inhuman level. The kid's appetite is never-ending and it gets worse when he rages. For example, he would eat two buffets during the average weekday and about an hour after the dinner buffet, he would beg people to go to Wendy's or Hardees with him (Pat usually obliges and they get Blizzards from DQ). One Sunday evening after two buffets, he spent $13 of his mom's money on Hardees. This was after he had already broken two phones, his $1,000 lap top, he spent a night in the slammer (not that I'm one to talk) and before he punched and cracked his windshield. I can't wait to meet this proud mother. She is up for canonization. (If you don't know that word, look it up. Humphrey is Catholic and American and so am I.)
Big Chris was shoving Scoops Tostitos into his mouth. Full handfuls, shoveled into his mouth like he had never eaten before. This was just an appetizer as 6-foot-4-and-275-pound guy was flipping 50 Lil' Smokies in a skillet. And that was just the second appetizer because a large pizza from Dave's Taverna Express was on the way.
I texted Humphrey: "He just shoved tostitos in his mouth and said I eat more than anything with a full mouth."
After eating we started the trek home. It has rained a good deal in the past couple of days, so going through the clearing in the woods probably wasn't the best idea. My Puma Argentina sneakers were covered in muck and Big Chris was wearing sandals that popped off every step.
"God damn it!" he was screaming. "You whore!" he yelled at either his feet or his sandals. I'm not sure we'll ever know. "My feet are too big!" This continued for much of the walk, though for some reason he refused to put his sandals back on after we cleared the mud.
Once we were out of the mud and walking the final stretch to Stone Gate, he said, "I smell like shit! I'm covered in brownies." He was covered in mud, but was still thinking about eating brownies. He told me that I should have listened to him.
Back at his apartment, we put the brownies on the counter and the half gallon of milk that he had smeared with his muddy hands. "Look at my leg," Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, said. "What part would you say you would look under sinction? I mean sanction." Your guess is as good as mine.
I remember much of this because I was texting drafts as he spoke. One of my last drafts reads: "He just filled a pitcher of water and said 'This isn't brownie. It's more than brownie.' He is saying totally incomprehensible shit. I can't record anymore."
When I told the strapping young gentlemen, that is Big Chris, that he was incomprehensible, he responded.
"It isn't irreconsipensiple shit."
"It isn't irreconsipensiple." Part 1
I know fans are waiting to hear about the last couple of weeks of school and Humphrey's happenings, but I need to talk a little bit about Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, first.
As Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, and I trudged through the muddy trail that sort of connects Ashby Crossing Apartments to Stone Gate Apartments, I told him that we should eat some of the brownies I made yesterday when we get back to Stone Gate.
"No way you made them through all of this," Big Chris said. The confused 6-foot-8 giant — also known by some as Jump Ball, Dirk Nowitsky, Big Dick Chris, Sunshine, Stevie Janowski and Pat's bitch — was getting the brownies and the mud we were walking through mixed up.
"She didn't do all of this," he then said. My best guess at this point was that he thought a co-ed we know walked through the mud while baking brownies.
To understand how he got to this state we need to rewind about four hours when Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, showed up to Ashby to hang out with a friend of his. This friend will remain nameless out of fear for my life. Said friend is 6-foot-4 and about 275 pounds. Said friend likes to "RAGE!" Said friend once implored me to punch him in the face. I didn't.
They were doing some raging all right. When I showed up to that Ashby apartment, after watching the Canadiens whoop up on the sorry Pens, Big Chris was on his way to "one of those nights." "One of those nights" usually means that he gets very repetitive, his voice gets slightly higher and he usually giggles at everything. Though the slightest ruffling of this Big Bird's feathers can get him quite angry. He doesn't like to be interrupted and even if no one has said anything he barks, "Do you want my opinion?!" (Random thought...if Big Chris was Big Bird would that make Pat, Snuffleupagus? Humphrey knows what I'm talking about because he represents the street. See previous post.)
Pat and Big Chris
So after we hung out at 6-foot-4-and-about-275-pound guy's lady friend's establishment for awhile, about 12 people piled into three cabs in hopes of some dancing at a local watering hole. I was looking forward to this myself because watching Big Chris dance is amusing. He has to crouch to get his waste to the level of the co-eds and he is usually at least a foot taller. He also gets a serious look on his face and kind of purses his lips. I wish I knew what was going through his mind.
Big Chris (Presumably picking a co-ed to dance with)
There was no dancing to be done at this local watering hole. As we waited outside the place in a line of about 20 people we could see that neither the patio nor the inside was close to capacity. Apparently the bouncers were only showing preference to Bridgewater folk. Last I checked the bar was in Harrisonburg city limits, but as Big Chris, Humphrey and the young men will learn over the years, Harrisonburg's bar scene is nearly non-existent.
Big Chris thought he would just walk by the bouncer, who was much rounder and could easily handle business. As Big Chris tried to sneak by, the bouncer clotheslined him and pushed him back outside. Our group was asked to leave or the cops would be called.
We gave Humphrey a call when we got back to Ashby. The rotund rabblerouser is currently in Atlanta with his family. His brother Patrick is playing one of his last home series for Georgia Tech and the family is hoping to get another photo of everyone in jeans and white shirts.
Humphrey put us on speaker phone and some of the ball players guffawed at Big Chris as he bellowed into the phone.
As Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, and I trudged through the muddy trail that sort of connects Ashby Crossing Apartments to Stone Gate Apartments, I told him that we should eat some of the brownies I made yesterday when we get back to Stone Gate.
"No way you made them through all of this," Big Chris said. The confused 6-foot-8 giant — also known by some as Jump Ball, Dirk Nowitsky, Big Dick Chris, Sunshine, Stevie Janowski and Pat's bitch — was getting the brownies and the mud we were walking through mixed up.
"She didn't do all of this," he then said. My best guess at this point was that he thought a co-ed we know walked through the mud while baking brownies.
To understand how he got to this state we need to rewind about four hours when Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, showed up to Ashby to hang out with a friend of his. This friend will remain nameless out of fear for my life. Said friend is 6-foot-4 and about 275 pounds. Said friend likes to "RAGE!" Said friend once implored me to punch him in the face. I didn't.
They were doing some raging all right. When I showed up to that Ashby apartment, after watching the Canadiens whoop up on the sorry Pens, Big Chris was on his way to "one of those nights." "One of those nights" usually means that he gets very repetitive, his voice gets slightly higher and he usually giggles at everything. Though the slightest ruffling of this Big Bird's feathers can get him quite angry. He doesn't like to be interrupted and even if no one has said anything he barks, "Do you want my opinion?!" (Random thought...if Big Chris was Big Bird would that make Pat, Snuffleupagus? Humphrey knows what I'm talking about because he represents the street. See previous post.)
Pat and Big Chris
So after we hung out at 6-foot-4-and-about-275-pound guy's lady friend's establishment for awhile, about 12 people piled into three cabs in hopes of some dancing at a local watering hole. I was looking forward to this myself because watching Big Chris dance is amusing. He has to crouch to get his waste to the level of the co-eds and he is usually at least a foot taller. He also gets a serious look on his face and kind of purses his lips. I wish I knew what was going through his mind.
Big Chris (Presumably picking a co-ed to dance with)
There was no dancing to be done at this local watering hole. As we waited outside the place in a line of about 20 people we could see that neither the patio nor the inside was close to capacity. Apparently the bouncers were only showing preference to Bridgewater folk. Last I checked the bar was in Harrisonburg city limits, but as Big Chris, Humphrey and the young men will learn over the years, Harrisonburg's bar scene is nearly non-existent.
Big Chris thought he would just walk by the bouncer, who was much rounder and could easily handle business. As Big Chris tried to sneak by, the bouncer clotheslined him and pushed him back outside. Our group was asked to leave or the cops would be called.
We gave Humphrey a call when we got back to Ashby. The rotund rabblerouser is currently in Atlanta with his family. His brother Patrick is playing one of his last home series for Georgia Tech and the family is hoping to get another photo of everyone in jeans and white shirts.
Humphrey put us on speaker phone and some of the ball players guffawed at Big Chris as he bellowed into the phone.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
More Stories Coming Soon!
Because of finals week, we're a little behind on posting some entertaining stories from last weekend.
Check back in tonight or tomorrow. I won't leave you hanging completely. Enjoy this picture. Humphrey represents the Street!
Check back in tonight or tomorrow. I won't leave you hanging completely. Enjoy this picture. Humphrey represents the Street!
Friday, April 30, 2010
Interpetive Dance: Oh, it Happened!
For those of you who thought Humphrey and I weren't going to sac up and do it. Feast your eyes. (Though you should know this was the encore and the earliest stuff was better.) The end is the best where we try to party-boy my fiery professor. She loves it! She wanted it!
This was my last class period ever in college. I think I did it well. Thank you Humphrey for helpin' me do it up.
After the performance, some professor in the hallway looked at us and said, "Are you guys drunk?"
Some nerve that asshole had asking us if we left that Olde English 40 bottle in the middle of the hallway! We were making sure people didn't trip over it.
This was my last class period ever in college. I think I did it well. Thank you Humphrey for helpin' me do it up.
After the performance, some professor in the hallway looked at us and said, "Are you guys drunk?"
Some nerve that asshole had asking us if we left that Olde English 40 bottle in the middle of the hallway! We were making sure people didn't trip over it.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Legends Have Lapses (No H in Team)
Much has been made over the last couple of days about how Humphrey's flag football team, Dickinthe4skins, was snubbed of at least one game at the end of the season. After attending three of the matches and playing sparingly in two of them (I'm the second coming of George Plimpton), I must say that Humphrey struggled to be the leader of this team.
This blog has been and usually will be a glorification of one of the finest Americans to ever diet on Natural Light, but when Humphrey comes up short — and it seldom happens — I believe it is important to point that out. I know for some it stings to read this, but he is at least half human being.
In last week's game against an impressive all-Asian squad, Humphrey got off to a hot start under center. It was an amusing start too, as he dressed as Ace Ventura, Pet Detective. His hair has grown rather long — he is going for a mullet next week — and he gelled it up just like Jim Carrey in those great American films. He also donned an Hawaiian shirt with jeans tucked into his woolly tube socks.
He played Ace well, replacing BLUE 32! snap counts with BUMBLEBEE TUNA! BUMBLEBEE TUNA! and EINHORN IS A MAN! It seemed to be working as the other team was caught off guard by his charisma and commitment to the game and his character. On the game's first play he comfortably slung a 30-yard touchdown pass to a streaking Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris. It was a shootout through the first half as both teams struck often. Dickinthe4skins trailed by a score or two at the break. Humphrey had managed to keep the team in the game against a far quicker and as he put it "sneakier" opponent. He was having fun in the process.
Humphrey plays well out of the shotgun as it's just a few steps in from the snaps he took as a punter for Hanover High School, where he became Henrico County's most prolific boot of all time.
The second half was a different story. Possibly bogged down from swigging an Olde English before the game, he went from being an accurate Peyton Manning to an erratic Jake Plummer. He went from the top of Mel Kiper Jr.'s draft board to barely looking at getting a practice invite from the Scottish Claymores of the now defunct NFL Europe experiment. (Though it's debatable if his love for the American sport is enough to see him go abroad in order to continue playing it.) He went from being the leading candidate for the head of the Players' Association to leading candidate for the head of the Washed-Up Punters' Association. Humphrey failed the Dickinthe4skins as the team's once fearless leader.
He came to the sidelines after throwing pick-6s and tried to hide his dismay with comedy. "They're so sneaky and quick," Humphrey said. "Feels like Pearl Harbor out there."
Instead of rallying his troops and finding a solution to the quickness of Team Flagrats, Humphrey reverted to cheap talk with the officials. They were amused, but not enough to add points for the Dickinthe4skins. The final score was an embarrassing 63-41.
It is important to note that there is no I in team. There is no H for that matter, either. Humphrey only has the E and the M and that means at best the semi-human Humphrey was half the team. Everyone else was to blame as well.
Co-ed Kristin, a once legendary defensive tackle, wasn't even at the game as far as I remember, opting to study instead. (Below, Kristin and Humphrey team-worked for a nice catch a couple of weekends ago.)
Co-ed Becca, a starter for the JMU club Ultimate Frisbee team the Bitch Monkeys, couldn't snag much of anything. Her usually soft hands with the disk turned into stone with the pigskin. (Co-ed Becca is below, far left, with a team she apparently cares more about.)
Co-ed Lauryn, a nice gal with solid hands, lacked focus as she could only think about selfishly ruining another co-ed's birthday party on Saturday because she didn't plan her own. (The Birthday impostor is below with Humphrey.)
Zach, a striking young chap from Chincoteague, was anything but a galloping horse that his home island is known for. He was spent most of the 10 p.m. game trying to fine-tune his tan under the 1,000-watt stadium bulbs. (Zach also lifeguards.)
Chris, a balding young fella — not to be confused with Big Chris — was too busy texting his girlfriend Kelsey (a wonderful co-ed, I must add), hoping to secure some afternoon delight in the back of her car as soon as she got into town on Saturday afternoon. The rendezvous happened, so I guess you can't blame him too much. (This picture below is likely post-rendezvous because if he had lost balance, no chance at any delight for a long while.)
Mike, the sketchy cat from Jersey mentioned in the previous blog, played hard, but forgot that we were playing football at times. During one crucial third down, he stopped mid-play and pretended to be holding a skull as he acted out the part of Hamlet, or something like that. (Mike, below, "acting" with his "friend" Jesse.)
Myself, a sack specialist, was a disgrace to Daniel E. "Rudy" Ruettiger. After recording a monster sack the previous week, I was worthless. Even when the sizable Asian played quarterback he left me diving for nothing as he continued to prove that his race is the quickest and shiftiest to ever play. (Below is me. No. 45.)
Spectators also deserve some of the blame. Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, and Pat — two gargantuan young chaps, in their own ways — gave little support and instead played grabass. (A picture of the two can't be located because they're always playing grabass.)
Brad, a confusing young chap, is Humphrey's only roommate not on the team. He is still nursing an ankle injury, but his support could have gone a long way. Sadly, the most likely reason he wasn't at the game is that he was masturbating to Merlin, a two-year old British television series about a wizard. (...Yeah.) (Brad, below and left, getting ready to watch Merlin before kicking Zach out of the room.)
In the end it was a collective failure. Ace didn't save the day and Dan Marino didn't back to the big game. April 20, 2010 is day that will live in infamy.
This blog has been and usually will be a glorification of one of the finest Americans to ever diet on Natural Light, but when Humphrey comes up short — and it seldom happens — I believe it is important to point that out. I know for some it stings to read this, but he is at least half human being.
In last week's game against an impressive all-Asian squad, Humphrey got off to a hot start under center. It was an amusing start too, as he dressed as Ace Ventura, Pet Detective. His hair has grown rather long — he is going for a mullet next week — and he gelled it up just like Jim Carrey in those great American films. He also donned an Hawaiian shirt with jeans tucked into his woolly tube socks.
He played Ace well, replacing BLUE 32! snap counts with BUMBLEBEE TUNA! BUMBLEBEE TUNA! and EINHORN IS A MAN! It seemed to be working as the other team was caught off guard by his charisma and commitment to the game and his character. On the game's first play he comfortably slung a 30-yard touchdown pass to a streaking Chris, not to be confused with Big Chris. It was a shootout through the first half as both teams struck often. Dickinthe4skins trailed by a score or two at the break. Humphrey had managed to keep the team in the game against a far quicker and as he put it "sneakier" opponent. He was having fun in the process.
Humphrey plays well out of the shotgun as it's just a few steps in from the snaps he took as a punter for Hanover High School, where he became Henrico County's most prolific boot of all time.
The second half was a different story. Possibly bogged down from swigging an Olde English before the game, he went from being an accurate Peyton Manning to an erratic Jake Plummer. He went from the top of Mel Kiper Jr.'s draft board to barely looking at getting a practice invite from the Scottish Claymores of the now defunct NFL Europe experiment. (Though it's debatable if his love for the American sport is enough to see him go abroad in order to continue playing it.) He went from being the leading candidate for the head of the Players' Association to leading candidate for the head of the Washed-Up Punters' Association. Humphrey failed the Dickinthe4skins as the team's once fearless leader.
He came to the sidelines after throwing pick-6s and tried to hide his dismay with comedy. "They're so sneaky and quick," Humphrey said. "Feels like Pearl Harbor out there."
Instead of rallying his troops and finding a solution to the quickness of Team Flagrats, Humphrey reverted to cheap talk with the officials. They were amused, but not enough to add points for the Dickinthe4skins. The final score was an embarrassing 63-41.
It is important to note that there is no I in team. There is no H for that matter, either. Humphrey only has the E and the M and that means at best the semi-human Humphrey was half the team. Everyone else was to blame as well.
Co-ed Kristin, a once legendary defensive tackle, wasn't even at the game as far as I remember, opting to study instead. (Below, Kristin and Humphrey team-worked for a nice catch a couple of weekends ago.)
Co-ed Becca, a starter for the JMU club Ultimate Frisbee team the Bitch Monkeys, couldn't snag much of anything. Her usually soft hands with the disk turned into stone with the pigskin. (Co-ed Becca is below, far left, with a team she apparently cares more about.)
Co-ed Lauryn, a nice gal with solid hands, lacked focus as she could only think about selfishly ruining another co-ed's birthday party on Saturday because she didn't plan her own. (The Birthday impostor is below with Humphrey.)
Zach, a striking young chap from Chincoteague, was anything but a galloping horse that his home island is known for. He was spent most of the 10 p.m. game trying to fine-tune his tan under the 1,000-watt stadium bulbs. (Zach also lifeguards.)
Chris, a balding young fella — not to be confused with Big Chris — was too busy texting his girlfriend Kelsey (a wonderful co-ed, I must add), hoping to secure some afternoon delight in the back of her car as soon as she got into town on Saturday afternoon. The rendezvous happened, so I guess you can't blame him too much. (This picture below is likely post-rendezvous because if he had lost balance, no chance at any delight for a long while.)
Mike, the sketchy cat from Jersey mentioned in the previous blog, played hard, but forgot that we were playing football at times. During one crucial third down, he stopped mid-play and pretended to be holding a skull as he acted out the part of Hamlet, or something like that. (Mike, below, "acting" with his "friend" Jesse.)
Myself, a sack specialist, was a disgrace to Daniel E. "Rudy" Ruettiger. After recording a monster sack the previous week, I was worthless. Even when the sizable Asian played quarterback he left me diving for nothing as he continued to prove that his race is the quickest and shiftiest to ever play. (Below is me. No. 45.)
Spectators also deserve some of the blame. Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, and Pat — two gargantuan young chaps, in their own ways — gave little support and instead played grabass. (A picture of the two can't be located because they're always playing grabass.)
Brad, a confusing young chap, is Humphrey's only roommate not on the team. He is still nursing an ankle injury, but his support could have gone a long way. Sadly, the most likely reason he wasn't at the game is that he was masturbating to Merlin, a two-year old British television series about a wizard. (...Yeah.) (Brad, below and left, getting ready to watch Merlin before kicking Zach out of the room.)
In the end it was a collective failure. Ace didn't save the day and Dan Marino didn't back to the big game. April 20, 2010 is day that will live in infamy.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
UPDATE: Dickinthe4skins Uncircumcision Hopes Flaccid
I just wanted to update everyone. Dickinthe4skins, Humphrey's 4-on-4 flag football team, will not play another game. Like we thought yesterday, there is no playoffs for the Co Rec 1 league.
But myself and (unlicensed) attorney at law Chip Tarkenton were both miffed, to put it lightly, yesterday at the lack of opportunity the team was afforded.
I received a text message today from Jersey Mike saying that he spoke with an anonymous UREC source. Anonymous sources will seldom be used on this highly journalisticly sound publication, but it is the only new information we have. I am especially uncomfortable quoting this anonymous source because the news gatherer who talked to the source is not exactly an example of integrity.
Jersey Mike, known to most for his sketchy Jersey ways, must be taken with a grain of salt. He isn't greasy or overly tan, like Zach, but he reportedly has ties to the Mafia. That would explain why he sneakily moves around Harrisonburg, popping up at random times with his aviators on. The only reason I'm slightly inclined to trust him is because the kid really trusts himself.
Shortly after a near-death experience on Saturday evening, Mike assured me that he trusts himself. "Trust me," he said in his soft voice, only fitting of an aspiring mobster. "I don't really trust anyone else, but I trust myself. Trust me. Don't take the bus, the driver is drunk too." There is a good chance that it is all an act because Mike was quite the thespian in high school. He is regarded by some as the best high school actor in New Jersey history.
But he really is so sketchy that I'm trying to find a picture on facebook with no luck. I've searched a variety of ways his name could be worded but no profiles are showing up. I've even searched mutual friends' friends list but he apparently has his profile on the most heightened levels of secrecy.
He just walked in the room. "Yeah, I make it as hard as possible for people to find me." Surprise, surprise.
But according to Mike's text: "I quote from an anonymous urec source that they messed up our schedule. Corec 1 doesn't have playoffs. But the folks at urec expected us to win the championship."
I have also heard that the beautiful co-ed Kristin, former defensive tackle, is regrouping today. For a while last night she was considering admitting herself to psych ward, but thanks to loving support from Humphrey, the guys and her beautiful co-ed roommates Amanda, Lauren and Lisa (freak), she is healing faster than expected from the emotional scars of another botched football experience. It really is a shame that it has come to this. I invite everyone to join the blog as followers and discuss your thoughts on the situation. Chip is more than welcome to give the readers some legal follow up.
Oh, and I've been granted access to the virtual world of Jersey Mike. Here he is.
Thoughts on Mike:
Brad (the kid with the big nose for new readers) -- "Sketchy mothafucka."
Zach (tan kid who sometimes wears capris) -- "Brad took my line."
Humphrey (no description necessary) -- "Mike's just there... in the corner."
Brad -- "He's in theater. What a fag."
But myself and (unlicensed) attorney at law Chip Tarkenton were both miffed, to put it lightly, yesterday at the lack of opportunity the team was afforded.
I received a text message today from Jersey Mike saying that he spoke with an anonymous UREC source. Anonymous sources will seldom be used on this highly journalisticly sound publication, but it is the only new information we have. I am especially uncomfortable quoting this anonymous source because the news gatherer who talked to the source is not exactly an example of integrity.
Jersey Mike, known to most for his sketchy Jersey ways, must be taken with a grain of salt. He isn't greasy or overly tan, like Zach, but he reportedly has ties to the Mafia. That would explain why he sneakily moves around Harrisonburg, popping up at random times with his aviators on. The only reason I'm slightly inclined to trust him is because the kid really trusts himself.
Shortly after a near-death experience on Saturday evening, Mike assured me that he trusts himself. "Trust me," he said in his soft voice, only fitting of an aspiring mobster. "I don't really trust anyone else, but I trust myself. Trust me. Don't take the bus, the driver is drunk too." There is a good chance that it is all an act because Mike was quite the thespian in high school. He is regarded by some as the best high school actor in New Jersey history.
But he really is so sketchy that I'm trying to find a picture on facebook with no luck. I've searched a variety of ways his name could be worded but no profiles are showing up. I've even searched mutual friends' friends list but he apparently has his profile on the most heightened levels of secrecy.
He just walked in the room. "Yeah, I make it as hard as possible for people to find me." Surprise, surprise.
But according to Mike's text: "I quote from an anonymous urec source that they messed up our schedule. Corec 1 doesn't have playoffs. But the folks at urec expected us to win the championship."
I have also heard that the beautiful co-ed Kristin, former defensive tackle, is regrouping today. For a while last night she was considering admitting herself to psych ward, but thanks to loving support from Humphrey, the guys and her beautiful co-ed roommates Amanda, Lauren and Lisa (freak), she is healing faster than expected from the emotional scars of another botched football experience. It really is a shame that it has come to this. I invite everyone to join the blog as followers and discuss your thoughts on the situation. Chip is more than welcome to give the readers some legal follow up.
Oh, and I've been granted access to the virtual world of Jersey Mike. Here he is.
Thoughts on Mike:
Brad (the kid with the big nose for new readers) -- "Sketchy mothafucka."
Zach (tan kid who sometimes wears capris) -- "Brad took my line."
Humphrey (no description necessary) -- "Mike's just there... in the corner."
Brad -- "He's in theater. What a fag."
Interpretive Dance Latest
I was the recipient of a spirited e-mail yesterday from a JMU professor soon to be big-time novelist!
Not a co-ed, but a woman, this fiery writer and professor, got right to the point. The e-mail was titled "Interpretive Dance."
"Tim,
1. Are we going to get the interpretative dance? What are the results of the poll?"
Talk about pressure with only two class periods remaining.
I'm going to say, yes, her class is going to get an interpretative dance on Friday morning at about 9:15. I had already posted the results of the poll and 47 percent of the 34 voters believe Humphrey should do the dance in his daisy dukes and gold guido shirt. Humphrey has already planned around the dance and will not be able to go to work on Friday.
Here is a glimpse of Humphrey's sexy gold top, underneath an Hawaiian shirt.
Here is a shot of the last time Humphrey and I performed the dance. (Notice former defensive tackle co-ed Kristin, mentioned in the previous post, actively grinding against Humphrey's rump.)
Not a co-ed, but a woman, this fiery writer and professor, got right to the point. The e-mail was titled "Interpretive Dance."
"Tim,
1. Are we going to get the interpretative dance? What are the results of the poll?"
Talk about pressure with only two class periods remaining.
I'm going to say, yes, her class is going to get an interpretative dance on Friday morning at about 9:15. I had already posted the results of the poll and 47 percent of the 34 voters believe Humphrey should do the dance in his daisy dukes and gold guido shirt. Humphrey has already planned around the dance and will not be able to go to work on Friday.
Here is a glimpse of Humphrey's sexy gold top, underneath an Hawaiian shirt.
Here is a shot of the last time Humphrey and I performed the dance. (Notice former defensive tackle co-ed Kristin, mentioned in the previous post, actively grinding against Humphrey's rump.)
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
SPECIAL: 'Attorney' Weighs In
This letter was originally posted as a comment to the last post. I want to encourage readers to start discussions by commenting on the blog posts. Facebook is good, but we'll drive more people to the blog if everyone becomes a follower (see right and it's easy). The following is in regards to the Dickinthe4skins being left out of the playoffs. Thank you very much for your input Mr. Tarkenton.
Tim,
I'm Chip Tarkenton, a prestigious amateur lawyer specializing in cases that violate intramural sports liberties, and having accidentally stumbled upon your blog in an attempt to check the birth date of former vice president Hubert Humphrey, I believe we have a case here.
Like former Vice President Humphrey, it's evident that we're dealing with another great American here. No, your Humphrey didn't rise from modest beginnings in South Dakota to ascend to the second highest position of power in our great country, but its clear that your Humphrey stands for similar principles; America, football, co-eds, and 'Doin it live.' And America. And that's something we can build on.
V.P. Humphrey
What we have here, boys, is a prime example of intramural sports discrimination. If you scramble up the letters of UREC and add DOMMNIST to it do you know what you get? RED COMMUNIST! This isn't Vietcong University, this is AMERICA we're talking about here! Pardon me if I sound old fashioned but I still believe in a great American world where a portly young man with striking blue eyes can get liquored up and participate in Playoff Intramural AMERICAN Football. This spirited young Patriot they call Humphrey should be worried about a pass rush, not a gross violation of his constitutional rights, clearly protected in the Articles of Confederation. Sign me up boys, let's show these fascist pigs that when you fuck with the Red, White, and Blue, you're always gonna lose.
Chip Tarkenton
(Unlicensed) Attorney at Law
1830L Putter Court, America.
Tim,
I'm Chip Tarkenton, a prestigious amateur lawyer specializing in cases that violate intramural sports liberties, and having accidentally stumbled upon your blog in an attempt to check the birth date of former vice president Hubert Humphrey, I believe we have a case here.
Like former Vice President Humphrey, it's evident that we're dealing with another great American here. No, your Humphrey didn't rise from modest beginnings in South Dakota to ascend to the second highest position of power in our great country, but its clear that your Humphrey stands for similar principles; America, football, co-eds, and 'Doin it live.' And America. And that's something we can build on.
V.P. Humphrey
What we have here, boys, is a prime example of intramural sports discrimination. If you scramble up the letters of UREC and add DOMMNIST to it do you know what you get? RED COMMUNIST! This isn't Vietcong University, this is AMERICA we're talking about here! Pardon me if I sound old fashioned but I still believe in a great American world where a portly young man with striking blue eyes can get liquored up and participate in Playoff Intramural AMERICAN Football. This spirited young Patriot they call Humphrey should be worried about a pass rush, not a gross violation of his constitutional rights, clearly protected in the Articles of Confederation. Sign me up boys, let's show these fascist pigs that when you fuck with the Red, White, and Blue, you're always gonna lose.
Chip Tarkenton
(Unlicensed) Attorney at Law
1830L Putter Court, America.
BREAKING NEWS: Dickinthe4skins Circumsized from Playoffs
I was just prepared to write about how Humphrey's lack of leadership led to the Dickinthe4skins being left out of the flag football playoffs, but something smells fishy (and it clearly has nothing to do with the Dickinthe4skins).
After looking at the standings of the Co Rec 1 league (that's the lowest level league that includes co-eds) I realized that Dickinthe4skins should absolutely be playing tonight. Nothing like some good ol' investigative journalism to get me going.
If you click the previous link, you will first notice that Co Rec 1 isn't included under the brackets section of this Spring's 4-on-4 leagues. This could be a mistake on the part of UREC or, like I suspect, Co Rec 1 was purposefully not included in playoff action. I will look into whether this violates Title IX and is a clear discrimination against co-eds trying to participate in America's pigskin pastime.
(Humphrey's best friend and football legend Benjamin Rogers of Hampden-Sydney is baffled by this breaking news.)
To think that James Madison University, a beacon for equality, would stand for such an affront to co-eds. I know Humphrey is personally offended as he and the Captain of Dickinthe4skins, Zach, made a point to join the never-ending plight of co-eds in this country. One co-ed of Dickinthe4skins, the beautiful Kristin from Sandwich, Mass., even had a small stint as a defensive tackle in secondary school.
Beautiful co-ed Kristin
All of Kristin's memories have now come flooding back. She is reportedly sitting in a Carrier Library nook, bawling her eyes out with her chauvinistic coaches ringing in her ears. "Kristin, you'll never make it in the trenches weighing 100 pounds and standing 5-foot-4. You don't have the guts to get fat enough! Take your blond ponytail back to the locker bay where you can help the other co-eds plan a 'Mass' pregnancy scandal!" She thought by coming to JMU she would have a shot at playing for a football title without the sting of discrimination that has hindered our beautiful nation to this day. (Humphrey is currently en-route to comfort her. *Take note Pat, you don't have to be in the friends' zone, damn it!)
But I digress. Tonight must be some sort of consolation game for the top four teams in Co Rec 1. But the problem is that Dickinthe4skins finished fourth, not the Honey Combs. Dickinthe4skins not only finished with more wins at 2-3 (Honey Combs are 1-3), but for Mathematicians like Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, that's a higher winning percentage at .400 compared to the Honey Combs' .250. The only way that Dickinthe4skins could have finished last is if they had a shoddy sportsmanship rating. Not so. They sit proudly with a 3.41 rating, good enough for third in the league. That's higher than the Honey Combs (3.15) and the Flagrats (3.18). Humphrey is a big reason for that rating, as he constantly compliments the zebras and puts them in stitches with his lively snap counts. "Bumblebee Tuna, Bumblebee Tuna!"
I have notified Humphrey and Captain Dick (Zach) about this unfortunate, and some might say tragic, development. Humphrey is enraged and likely trying to console Kristin. Poor guy can barely keep his composure right now. Captain Dick and Jersey Mike are going to see what UREC says.
Captain Dick's thoughts via text message: "they are scared of an upset then again its not really an upset when you have a 'rudy-like' figure in tim."
Could be Captain Dick. Could be.
(More to come when developments break.)
After looking at the standings of the Co Rec 1 league (that's the lowest level league that includes co-eds) I realized that Dickinthe4skins should absolutely be playing tonight. Nothing like some good ol' investigative journalism to get me going.
If you click the previous link, you will first notice that Co Rec 1 isn't included under the brackets section of this Spring's 4-on-4 leagues. This could be a mistake on the part of UREC or, like I suspect, Co Rec 1 was purposefully not included in playoff action. I will look into whether this violates Title IX and is a clear discrimination against co-eds trying to participate in America's pigskin pastime.
(Humphrey's best friend and football legend Benjamin Rogers of Hampden-Sydney is baffled by this breaking news.)
To think that James Madison University, a beacon for equality, would stand for such an affront to co-eds. I know Humphrey is personally offended as he and the Captain of Dickinthe4skins, Zach, made a point to join the never-ending plight of co-eds in this country. One co-ed of Dickinthe4skins, the beautiful Kristin from Sandwich, Mass., even had a small stint as a defensive tackle in secondary school.
Beautiful co-ed Kristin
All of Kristin's memories have now come flooding back. She is reportedly sitting in a Carrier Library nook, bawling her eyes out with her chauvinistic coaches ringing in her ears. "Kristin, you'll never make it in the trenches weighing 100 pounds and standing 5-foot-4. You don't have the guts to get fat enough! Take your blond ponytail back to the locker bay where you can help the other co-eds plan a 'Mass' pregnancy scandal!" She thought by coming to JMU she would have a shot at playing for a football title without the sting of discrimination that has hindered our beautiful nation to this day. (Humphrey is currently en-route to comfort her. *Take note Pat, you don't have to be in the friends' zone, damn it!)
But I digress. Tonight must be some sort of consolation game for the top four teams in Co Rec 1. But the problem is that Dickinthe4skins finished fourth, not the Honey Combs. Dickinthe4skins not only finished with more wins at 2-3 (Honey Combs are 1-3), but for Mathematicians like Big Chris, not to be confused with Chris, that's a higher winning percentage at .400 compared to the Honey Combs' .250. The only way that Dickinthe4skins could have finished last is if they had a shoddy sportsmanship rating. Not so. They sit proudly with a 3.41 rating, good enough for third in the league. That's higher than the Honey Combs (3.15) and the Flagrats (3.18). Humphrey is a big reason for that rating, as he constantly compliments the zebras and puts them in stitches with his lively snap counts. "Bumblebee Tuna, Bumblebee Tuna!"
I have notified Humphrey and Captain Dick (Zach) about this unfortunate, and some might say tragic, development. Humphrey is enraged and likely trying to console Kristin. Poor guy can barely keep his composure right now. Captain Dick and Jersey Mike are going to see what UREC says.
Captain Dick's thoughts via text message: "they are scared of an upset then again its not really an upset when you have a 'rudy-like' figure in tim."
Could be Captain Dick. Could be.
(More to come when developments break.)
Monday, April 19, 2010
Fast Food Mommas
Humphrey is no stranger to fast food. He loves good deals and knows where to find them. Taco Bell is one of those places.
Though Humphrey makes a hefty salary working for a used car dealer, he is American and he likes his bargains. It's tough to beat the 89 cent Beefy Five Layer Burrito. He usually gets three and trust me that's a mighty meal for less than three bones.
But the spawn of Big Rick isn't convinced that he can get this 89 cent deal just anytime. After all, he is American and part of being American is being a sheep when it comes to consumerism.
Yes, every time without fail, Humphrey goes up to the co-ed working the register and asks if Denise is working.
The first time I witnessed this it was a sunny Saturday morning in Harrisonburg. Accompanied by a less-observant Mike from Jersey (Mike is sketchy and might have been checking out a co-ed far younger than legal), Humphrey proudly walked up to a smiling co-ed named Sara. He gracefully placed his meaty left forearm upon the counter and politely leaned in, "Is Denise here?"
Aware of the Taco Bell commercial, Sara smiled politely, humoring Humphrey. He then asked about the 89 cent burrito.
"Is that cool? Is that still cool?" He said, still leaning against the counter with one beat up Sperry shoe crossed behind the other leg. As he reiterated this a couple of times, he kind of nodded his head each time as it was cocked a little to the left. Sara was clearly charmed by his suave moves. Bingo! She gives him the burritos for 89 cents.
"You're a doll," he said to the now near orgasming Sara.
I was ecstatic. Was she going to give me the same deal? She did, but the fun didn't stop there. As we waited for our little baggies of steaming shit, I mean refried beans, a seasoned veteran of the Taco Bell force greeted us. Roberta, a sweet old woman who looks like the maid in Billy Madison, smiled at us.
Just when I thought I was gonna hear a deep voice chuckle, "Humphrey, you can help me shave my armpits," Humphrey spoke up and said, "How's it goin' Roberta?"
"I'm fine," she said, as jolly as her cousin from Billy Madison.
Humphrey continued on his charm offensive that often paralyzes co-eds of all ages. Like I said, Roberta is a vet. In fact she told us that she's been in the exact location on Route 33 for 20 years. (She said the place used to be Bojangles, or some shit.) But even she fell for the Humphrey Hustle.
"Roberta, how about putting a couple of free tacos in our bag?" he said with a wink and that same nodding motion he won Sara over with.
Sure enough, Roberta came back and whispered in a sexy voice, "I put a couple tacos in there." She then licked her lips and crinkled her nose at Humphrey. OK, that didn't really happen, but it would have been awesome.
What made this performance all that more impressive was that it came before that outdoor soirée, when he nearly stole the flexible co-ed from his smooth, Sinatraesque neighbor Chip Tarkenton.
And just mere nights before he had been shot down by a haughty co-ed named Tonya at McDonald's. He called her doll after ordering a couple of McChicken sandwiches. Let's just say she wasn't "Lovin' it."
Humphrey, usually incredibly respectful of co-eds, was hurt by Tonya's dismissal and loudly mumbled in the parking lot, "Bitch." He hasn't been back to McDonald's.
But Sara and Roberta and those 89 cent burritos are doin' Humphrey well.
Though Humphrey makes a hefty salary working for a used car dealer, he is American and he likes his bargains. It's tough to beat the 89 cent Beefy Five Layer Burrito. He usually gets three and trust me that's a mighty meal for less than three bones.
But the spawn of Big Rick isn't convinced that he can get this 89 cent deal just anytime. After all, he is American and part of being American is being a sheep when it comes to consumerism.
Yes, every time without fail, Humphrey goes up to the co-ed working the register and asks if Denise is working.
The first time I witnessed this it was a sunny Saturday morning in Harrisonburg. Accompanied by a less-observant Mike from Jersey (Mike is sketchy and might have been checking out a co-ed far younger than legal), Humphrey proudly walked up to a smiling co-ed named Sara. He gracefully placed his meaty left forearm upon the counter and politely leaned in, "Is Denise here?"
Aware of the Taco Bell commercial, Sara smiled politely, humoring Humphrey. He then asked about the 89 cent burrito.
"Is that cool? Is that still cool?" He said, still leaning against the counter with one beat up Sperry shoe crossed behind the other leg. As he reiterated this a couple of times, he kind of nodded his head each time as it was cocked a little to the left. Sara was clearly charmed by his suave moves. Bingo! She gives him the burritos for 89 cents.
"You're a doll," he said to the now near orgasming Sara.
I was ecstatic. Was she going to give me the same deal? She did, but the fun didn't stop there. As we waited for our little baggies of steaming shit, I mean refried beans, a seasoned veteran of the Taco Bell force greeted us. Roberta, a sweet old woman who looks like the maid in Billy Madison, smiled at us.
Just when I thought I was gonna hear a deep voice chuckle, "Humphrey, you can help me shave my armpits," Humphrey spoke up and said, "How's it goin' Roberta?"
"I'm fine," she said, as jolly as her cousin from Billy Madison.
Humphrey continued on his charm offensive that often paralyzes co-eds of all ages. Like I said, Roberta is a vet. In fact she told us that she's been in the exact location on Route 33 for 20 years. (She said the place used to be Bojangles, or some shit.) But even she fell for the Humphrey Hustle.
"Roberta, how about putting a couple of free tacos in our bag?" he said with a wink and that same nodding motion he won Sara over with.
Sure enough, Roberta came back and whispered in a sexy voice, "I put a couple tacos in there." She then licked her lips and crinkled her nose at Humphrey. OK, that didn't really happen, but it would have been awesome.
What made this performance all that more impressive was that it came before that outdoor soirée, when he nearly stole the flexible co-ed from his smooth, Sinatraesque neighbor Chip Tarkenton.
And just mere nights before he had been shot down by a haughty co-ed named Tonya at McDonald's. He called her doll after ordering a couple of McChicken sandwiches. Let's just say she wasn't "Lovin' it."
Humphrey, usually incredibly respectful of co-eds, was hurt by Tonya's dismissal and loudly mumbled in the parking lot, "Bitch." He hasn't been back to McDonald's.
But Sara and Roberta and those 89 cent burritos are doin' Humphrey well.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Springfest/WWHD Part 3: Cystic Fibrosis
Let's just say jail sucks!
As soon as I got into Holding Cell 3 a bunch of annoying freshmen and sophomores from various state schools greeted me. Some were even from Westfield! (My home area). I made a point to not identify themselves because they were so annoying.
I was in that stinkin' cell for 14 hours! I was booked around 6 p.m., and didn't get released until around 8:30 a.m. Not fun at all, especially when you only blow a .08, which might be the legal limit for driving, but trust me when I say it's not drunk at all.
So, for the first two hours, one annoying kid from Tech banged on the windows. He wanted the guards to know that he had CYSTIC FIBROSIS. I've never been a vengeful person in my life, but I now hope that anyone I dislike strongly gets a strong case of CYSTIC FIBROSIS. This dumbass banged on the window for two hours, making Cs and Fs with his hands to signal CYSTIC FIBROSIS. He would often get confused on whether his letters were backwards. The dumbass never got his medicine he was clamoring for, but for two hours! -- FUCK YOU GUARDS! I HAVE CYSTIC FIBROSIS! CYSTIC FIBROSIS! CYSTIC FIBROSIS! CYSTIC FIBROSIS!
I am not even exaggerating. I felt a lot better today when I saw this kid getting arrested in a video, which has since been taken down. Haha. I bet his friends and many people pressured him to remove it because many are paranoid of getting identified in the next few days.
Other highlights of my night in the slammer included seeing a whole cell of dudes from Chantilly, who don't go to college. Hahaha. Poor guys were totally being scrutinized because of the color of their skin. Not cool.
There was a crazy old drunk in the other cell next to me, who had to be strapped down to a chair. At 3 a.m. he was still yelling at the correction officers, particularly one blond co-ed.
"BITCH, BITCH," he would yell. It really wasn't funny because I couldn't get any sleep on the cold floor in my T-shirt. He kept at it though. "GOD DAMN. GOD DAMN. BITCH. GET ME OUT HERE. DAMN IT, THIS HURTS. BITCH. BITCH."
I finally got out in the morning after almost no sleep. Jail really sucks. I was worried at 6:30 a.m., that I would never get out because one of my dumb cellmates from Westfield! was talking shit to the guards.
"You can s my d," he said. (I cleansed that quote for the younger readers like Lovings.) I'm thinking to myself, "What the hell are you doing? That is not going to get any of us out of here quicker."
I was released at about 8:30 a.m., and was excited to hear that the dumbass I just mentioned was going to have to stay a couple of extra hours. Sadly, they let him go at the same time as me. DAMN! I really wanted his annoying ass to stay.
I almost forgot about the shitty breakfast they tried to serve us. Disgusting.
Long story short, don't ever go to jail. If you have friends who are police, don't approach them while they're in SWAT gear. They're probably jacked up on Red Bull or Jooze and don't have time for anyone.
Thanks Humphrey for letting me out of your sight.
As soon as I got into Holding Cell 3 a bunch of annoying freshmen and sophomores from various state schools greeted me. Some were even from Westfield! (My home area). I made a point to not identify themselves because they were so annoying.
I was in that stinkin' cell for 14 hours! I was booked around 6 p.m., and didn't get released until around 8:30 a.m. Not fun at all, especially when you only blow a .08, which might be the legal limit for driving, but trust me when I say it's not drunk at all.
So, for the first two hours, one annoying kid from Tech banged on the windows. He wanted the guards to know that he had CYSTIC FIBROSIS. I've never been a vengeful person in my life, but I now hope that anyone I dislike strongly gets a strong case of CYSTIC FIBROSIS. This dumbass banged on the window for two hours, making Cs and Fs with his hands to signal CYSTIC FIBROSIS. He would often get confused on whether his letters were backwards. The dumbass never got his medicine he was clamoring for, but for two hours! -- FUCK YOU GUARDS! I HAVE CYSTIC FIBROSIS! CYSTIC FIBROSIS! CYSTIC FIBROSIS! CYSTIC FIBROSIS!
I am not even exaggerating. I felt a lot better today when I saw this kid getting arrested in a video, which has since been taken down. Haha. I bet his friends and many people pressured him to remove it because many are paranoid of getting identified in the next few days.
Other highlights of my night in the slammer included seeing a whole cell of dudes from Chantilly, who don't go to college. Hahaha. Poor guys were totally being scrutinized because of the color of their skin. Not cool.
There was a crazy old drunk in the other cell next to me, who had to be strapped down to a chair. At 3 a.m. he was still yelling at the correction officers, particularly one blond co-ed.
"BITCH, BITCH," he would yell. It really wasn't funny because I couldn't get any sleep on the cold floor in my T-shirt. He kept at it though. "GOD DAMN. GOD DAMN. BITCH. GET ME OUT HERE. DAMN IT, THIS HURTS. BITCH. BITCH."
I finally got out in the morning after almost no sleep. Jail really sucks. I was worried at 6:30 a.m., that I would never get out because one of my dumb cellmates from Westfield! was talking shit to the guards.
"You can s my d," he said. (I cleansed that quote for the younger readers like Lovings.) I'm thinking to myself, "What the hell are you doing? That is not going to get any of us out of here quicker."
I was released at about 8:30 a.m., and was excited to hear that the dumbass I just mentioned was going to have to stay a couple of extra hours. Sadly, they let him go at the same time as me. DAMN! I really wanted his annoying ass to stay.
I almost forgot about the shitty breakfast they tried to serve us. Disgusting.
Long story short, don't ever go to jail. If you have friends who are police, don't approach them while they're in SWAT gear. They're probably jacked up on Red Bull or Jooze and don't have time for anyone.
Thanks Humphrey for letting me out of your sight.
Springfest/WWHD Part 2: Leaving Humphrey
He simply was taking too long. That shouldn't matter anyone who follows this disciple should know that WWHD (What Would Humphrey Do?). I'll tell you what, he would have continued slapping fives and not deserted his friends, unless of course there was the far-outside shot that he might land a co-ed.
Like an idiot, I left him and wandered down the Village Lane, finding Pat (the other hopeless lover), Zach (the slightly homo Mark Sanchez) Chris -- not to be confused with Big Chris -- (the ever-balding) and Mike (that kid from Jersey). Then I ran into Jenna. She is a wily co-ed, who graduated a year ago and her mother is best friends with mine. Jenna is bad news.
So, for awhile I just hung out with Jenna and tried to impress people for her sake. She was hanging with a dude with mean mutton chops. (Our moms probably want us to wed.)
Things got crazy! Asshole students and non-students started throwing beer cans and bottles at each other. Then SWAT moved in and these same assholes, many who didn't get caught, decided it would be smart to throw at the people trying to keep peace.
SWAT moved people away from Village Lane toward Port Republic Road. I was standing with Jenna near the staircase by the Texaco. I noticed a police officer, who had been an arresting officer when my brother and roommates got a gun pulled on them in October. Naturally, being the inquisitive and friendly journalist I am, I thought I would go say hi to the officer. He clearly didn't know who I was and took his baton, shoved it into my chest, knocking me down the hill. I was quickly apprehended by another officer.
I asked the officer if I could speak with a high ranking officer I know. He said yes, but, of course, took me straight to a car and then to jail.
WWHD? Would have stuck with his boys.
See part 3.
Like an idiot, I left him and wandered down the Village Lane, finding Pat (the other hopeless lover), Zach (the slightly homo Mark Sanchez) Chris -- not to be confused with Big Chris -- (the ever-balding) and Mike (that kid from Jersey). Then I ran into Jenna. She is a wily co-ed, who graduated a year ago and her mother is best friends with mine. Jenna is bad news.
So, for awhile I just hung out with Jenna and tried to impress people for her sake. She was hanging with a dude with mean mutton chops. (Our moms probably want us to wed.)
Things got crazy! Asshole students and non-students started throwing beer cans and bottles at each other. Then SWAT moved in and these same assholes, many who didn't get caught, decided it would be smart to throw at the people trying to keep peace.
SWAT moved people away from Village Lane toward Port Republic Road. I was standing with Jenna near the staircase by the Texaco. I noticed a police officer, who had been an arresting officer when my brother and roommates got a gun pulled on them in October. Naturally, being the inquisitive and friendly journalist I am, I thought I would go say hi to the officer. He clearly didn't know who I was and took his baton, shoved it into my chest, knocking me down the hill. I was quickly apprehended by another officer.
I asked the officer if I could speak with a high ranking officer I know. He said yes, but, of course, took me straight to a car and then to jail.
WWHD? Would have stuck with his boys.
See part 3.
Springfest/WWHD Part 1: Early Mistake
As you all know, Harrisonburg was a fiasco on Saturday. Believe it or not, Humphrey had nothing to do with it.
But do believe this -- my incarceration had everything to do with Humphrey.
The day started off brilliantly. My brother had the hot spot in Stone Gate with some kegs and eggs action. A little beer pong was being played and Humphrey was pretty much wearing the same outfit he wore the night before at the dance majors' formal. We looked great that night.
Humphrey was putting on a show as usual. Serenading co-eds left and right, the jolly fella even mesmerized my visiting sisters.
Jenn texted me tonight saying: "i wish i used the f word because i want to use the phrase "fuck it do it live... i'm serious, i keep saying it in my head."
(As I type this at Humphrey's desk, I'm incredibly disappointed that Big Rick -- a great Catholic and a legend -- consented to a picture hanging at this very desk. The beautiful family is dressed in white shirts and jeans in corny poses. C'mon Rick, I expect better. And they apparently did this crap every year. Denise actually told me about this Sunday. "I'm sure your mom understands this," she said. "I just tell them take it and get it over with.")
So after hanging at my brother's place, Humphrey moved on to the noteworthy Chip Tarkenton's place for some shots. (Chip below. Yeah, I know he does well, but with a pick-up line like, "Yo, Baby!" who wouldn't?)
Bad idea? Maybe not. Humphrey was on his game. Tarkenton's flexible, female companion Devon was feeding Humphrey shots, in hopes of laying him later. As we eventually moved out toward Ashby and the Block Party on Village Lane, Humphrey was feelin' it. He looked like Ron Burgundy and people were diggin' it.
Here's where things went wrong, at least for me. Humphrey was holding me and my sisters up as we moved through the Manor. The kid had to stop every five seconds and slap high-five with everyone!
After awhile I decided to split ways from burgundy-clad stud. Bad idea? Yes.
See part 2.
But do believe this -- my incarceration had everything to do with Humphrey.
The day started off brilliantly. My brother had the hot spot in Stone Gate with some kegs and eggs action. A little beer pong was being played and Humphrey was pretty much wearing the same outfit he wore the night before at the dance majors' formal. We looked great that night.
Humphrey was putting on a show as usual. Serenading co-eds left and right, the jolly fella even mesmerized my visiting sisters.
Jenn texted me tonight saying: "i wish i used the f word because i want to use the phrase "fuck it do it live... i'm serious, i keep saying it in my head."
(As I type this at Humphrey's desk, I'm incredibly disappointed that Big Rick -- a great Catholic and a legend -- consented to a picture hanging at this very desk. The beautiful family is dressed in white shirts and jeans in corny poses. C'mon Rick, I expect better. And they apparently did this crap every year. Denise actually told me about this Sunday. "I'm sure your mom understands this," she said. "I just tell them take it and get it over with.")
So after hanging at my brother's place, Humphrey moved on to the noteworthy Chip Tarkenton's place for some shots. (Chip below. Yeah, I know he does well, but with a pick-up line like, "Yo, Baby!" who wouldn't?)
Bad idea? Maybe not. Humphrey was on his game. Tarkenton's flexible, female companion Devon was feeding Humphrey shots, in hopes of laying him later. As we eventually moved out toward Ashby and the Block Party on Village Lane, Humphrey was feelin' it. He looked like Ron Burgundy and people were diggin' it.
Here's where things went wrong, at least for me. Humphrey was holding me and my sisters up as we moved through the Manor. The kid had to stop every five seconds and slap high-five with everyone!
After awhile I decided to split ways from burgundy-clad stud. Bad idea? Yes.
See part 2.
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Poll Closed!
The interpretive dance will still be happening. The time and date is yet to be determined but the people voted.
In a landslide (16 votes of 34), the people think Humphrey should do the dance in his daisy dukes and Guido shirt.
Thank you everybody for voting. Without your never-ending support, Hangin' with Humphrey would not be possible.
Cheers.
In a landslide (16 votes of 34), the people think Humphrey should do the dance in his daisy dukes and Guido shirt.
Thank you everybody for voting. Without your never-ending support, Hangin' with Humphrey would not be possible.
Cheers.
Big Rick
What can I say? I met Humphrey's esteemed father yesterday and the man lives up to the billing. He is legendary, and I'm saying this after only one meeting.
Humphrey and I went to the University of Virginia for the rubber match between the Cavs and the Yellow Jackets of Georgia Tech. Humphrey's older brother is a senior pitcher at Tech and pitched quite well in 1 and 1/3 innings. (Runners were already on base when he came in during the 9-1 loss, so the two runs that scored while he was on the mound were credited to the bum before him, I believe. Patrick then smoked slider after sexy slider passed the Cavaliers.
As we watched the game, Big Rick entertained us with tons of one liners. He is a big fan of Wedding Crashers and Chaz, played by Will Ferrell. Rick is strongly considering crashing some funerals.
With a Longhorn pouch in lip, Rick poked fun at U.Va., which is easy but funny nonetheless. He also discussed how troublesome it was raising Humphrey and Patrick with the likes of Chad Atkinson, Drew Sullivan and Chris Lovings in the neighborhood. (They're standing around Humphrey in that order from the left side of your screen to the right.)
If you've ever met either of these guys, you would really feel for Rick and his beautiful wife Denise.
So after the game, we escaped U.Va. and its annoying Whoo! cheers during Dave Matthews Band songs. (I was especially disappointed with a sign in the outfield that read 'Hooland or something like that. The point is that Hoo was abbreviating Wahoo and any good copy editor would have known that the apostrophe should have been facing the left not the right. Top public university in the country?)
We then went to Subway for a delicious early evening dinner. Rick and Denise treated us and Rick was especially pumped to share some Kit-Kats. Humphrey also did a great job of introducing me as one of the people to get arrested on Saturday during the JMU Springfest/Riot madness. Thanks Humphrey! Rick and Denise were great about it and incredibly supportive when I assured them I wasn't actually one of the rioters...more to come on a splendid night in jail.
I would encourage readers to comment on Big Rick. Many of you have known him far longer and can offer some better insight into how Humphrey and Rick compliment each other.
Humphrey and I went to the University of Virginia for the rubber match between the Cavs and the Yellow Jackets of Georgia Tech. Humphrey's older brother is a senior pitcher at Tech and pitched quite well in 1 and 1/3 innings. (Runners were already on base when he came in during the 9-1 loss, so the two runs that scored while he was on the mound were credited to the bum before him, I believe. Patrick then smoked slider after sexy slider passed the Cavaliers.
As we watched the game, Big Rick entertained us with tons of one liners. He is a big fan of Wedding Crashers and Chaz, played by Will Ferrell. Rick is strongly considering crashing some funerals.
With a Longhorn pouch in lip, Rick poked fun at U.Va., which is easy but funny nonetheless. He also discussed how troublesome it was raising Humphrey and Patrick with the likes of Chad Atkinson, Drew Sullivan and Chris Lovings in the neighborhood. (They're standing around Humphrey in that order from the left side of your screen to the right.)
If you've ever met either of these guys, you would really feel for Rick and his beautiful wife Denise.
So after the game, we escaped U.Va. and its annoying Whoo! cheers during Dave Matthews Band songs. (I was especially disappointed with a sign in the outfield that read 'Hooland or something like that. The point is that Hoo was abbreviating Wahoo and any good copy editor would have known that the apostrophe should have been facing the left not the right. Top public university in the country?)
We then went to Subway for a delicious early evening dinner. Rick and Denise treated us and Rick was especially pumped to share some Kit-Kats. Humphrey also did a great job of introducing me as one of the people to get arrested on Saturday during the JMU Springfest/Riot madness. Thanks Humphrey! Rick and Denise were great about it and incredibly supportive when I assured them I wasn't actually one of the rioters...more to come on a splendid night in jail.
I would encourage readers to comment on Big Rick. Many of you have known him far longer and can offer some better insight into how Humphrey and Rick compliment each other.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Animals, eh?
Hangin' with Humphrey was discussed in my popular writing class this morning and what do you know, another blog in the class is related.
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
Belated Highlights from NCAA Championship
So, other than Chris -- not to be confused with Big Chris -- everyone was pulling for Butler on Monday night. Chris pretended to be pulling for the Bulldogs, but it was clear that he wanted his girlfriend's school to win. The anxiety of trying to fit in, but also please his girlfriend (who wasn't even there) was only making him bald faster.
But Humphrey was on his game as usual, like Ricky Bobby and Cal Knoughton Jr.. He immediately took umbrage with Clark Kellogg's feel good sentiment toward Butler.
"There's no losers here tonight," said Kellogg, who should not be commentating the Final Four over the legendary Gus Johnson.
Humphrey said, "Yeah, there is. And they're in 64th place like everybody else because if you ain't first you're last."
He also questioned Coach K's status as the U.S.A. basketball coach. "How can he coach the American team with a last name like shevshevshesheska."
Shake and Bake.
But Humphrey was on his game as usual, like Ricky Bobby and Cal Knoughton Jr.. He immediately took umbrage with Clark Kellogg's feel good sentiment toward Butler.
"There's no losers here tonight," said Kellogg, who should not be commentating the Final Four over the legendary Gus Johnson.
Humphrey said, "Yeah, there is. And they're in 64th place like everybody else because if you ain't first you're last."
He also questioned Coach K's status as the U.S.A. basketball coach. "How can he coach the American team with a last name like shevshevshesheska."
Shake and Bake.
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