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.

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.

"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."

"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.

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!