"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."
Thursday, May 13, 2010
"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.)
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