Shout-outs

It's been a while since I've given anyone any dap, and quite frankly BIMFites, you have impressed me very little recently. However, in a BIMFite nation of millions, mathematically there have to be a few standouts. You will notice that all of my shout-out recipients are ladies today. This is a symptom of a problem that I have as a famous blogger/sexual icon. Sometimes when a lady is grinding up on me at the clurb, buying me dranks, or asking for a ride in my G6 when it gets back from the shop(broken transpondster), I worry that she may not actually care about what's inside. You see, before I started BIMF, I only had to be suspicious of girls preying on me solely for my good looks and personality, but now I have to discern whether they're only around so they can be seen on the arm of a renowned blogger. So just know this ladies, I'm onto your games. And I refuse to compromise the integrity of my blog by exchanging sexual favors for shout-outs (note: this is entirely untrue). Onto the shout-outs!:

My first shout-out goes to a foxy fellow bulldawg alum and noted hoarder, the incomparable Melanie Cowles. So desperately in pursuit of a shout-out, and knowing that she needed to impress, I told her she simply had to high-five David Deaderick's face. As though shot out of a cannon aimed at BIMF immortality, Melanie flew across the room and put one across the reportedly "precious" Davey Jo's face. It went exactly like this:


It should be noted that Melanie later lost her shout-out by slapping me in the face, and was forced to slap David once again to get back into the +1 column. It should also be noted that I secretly enjoyed being slapped. Rawr!

Next up, someone who has been begging, pleading, throwing all dignity aside for a shout-out since first meeting me. You may know her as Bunny Rabbit or the girl that always has David attached to her face. It's the blonde temptress, from the noted party Mecca of Searcy, Arkansas. It's The Whitney Moffitt. Per my request, she marched up to her good friend at a bar, got in her face, and screamed, "Cathryn, you're a fucking anteater!" Though I would take that as a compliment, Cathryn didn't like it, and their friendship had to be mended at a later date. But as they saying goes, "friends come and go, but getting your name mentioned on a blog is forever... Kinda like a diamond but better." Also, Whitney gets another mini shout-out for doubling back to get something I allegedly forgot on a road trip. But in reality, she was happy to do it because she knew it would gain my approval. So she should really be thanking me. So you're welcome Whitney.

Next comes the sexiest of all sexy shout-outs. A lady whom I know well and have spent a great deal of time inside of, and so have all my friends. We practically go everywhere together. She's black and my parents are fine with it. It's Lucille, my beautiful Chevy Trailblazer.


Soo hot. Well, Lucille recently went over 100,000 miles. She was a little self-conscious about it, but I told her I was proud of her and that she didn't look a trip to the grocery store over 70,000. Props to you Lucille, after all these years you still drive me crazy. Killer pun, Kimbo out.

E-mail

(That's the unimbomber dumbasses)


So as we know, I consider myself somewhat of a vigilante when it comes to battling corruption in big business. We all remember the harrowing tale of my friends and I being denied drinks that we rightfully won by the dastardly assface bartender Erik. If Teddy Roosevelt(the trustbuster) and Robin Hood(Kevin Costner) were to bang, I would be their offspring. Furthermore, most of you can attest to the fact that there is no more evil, money-grubbing institution than a university. "Hey, look at me, I'm a college professor who doesn't give a fat frog's ass about anything cause I make thousands of dollars from the shitty textbook i wrote 20 years ago and make all my students buy. Oh and they won't be able to sell it back because we changed the picture on the front cover from a tree frog to a fucking giraffe." That was my impression of a teacher. Furthermore, UGA has a fun habit of only providing limited football tickets for their students, so freshman and sophomores only get to attend half of the games. They always seem like they're the shitty games too. Like Central Michigan and the annual field goal competition that is the South Carolina game. Not to mention how this fine institution of knowledge has lost my test scores on numerous occasions, dropped all of my classes because it falsely made me think that I had paid my meal plan, forgotten to include me on the graduation roster, then after graduating try to tell me that my study abroad credit did not count. Needless to say, earlier this year when I could not put money on my bulldog bucks to print things for class, my patience was running thin. Basically, the university decided that instead of putting money on directly like we did in the past, it would be better to give paypal 3 dollars for every transaction. I had had enough, so I thought I would send a little e-mail. It went something like this (see if you can figure out which part was the most offensive):

I wanted to let yall know that I am not a huge fan of your depositing system. I have been working on this for an hour now and I can't find where you go to actually deposit funds. I have read the instructions and there is no deposit hyperlink to click on. I am a senior, and I have never had problems in the past until now. I have been trying to print out my syllabi and class notes for a week now, but your nonsensical system has prevented me from doing so. You have 24 hours to fix this, or I'm going to be forced to take matters into my own hands.

See how I used the word "syllabi." Clearly I mean business if I'm using the proper Latin. Well, apparently some Johnny Pencil Pusher at Bulldog Bucks got all scared I was gonna come in and wreck everyone's shit (which I might have) and reported me. This is the e-mail I received:

Mr. Kimberlin:



I would like to meet with you to discuss an email that you sent to the UGA CARD Services Office. Please contact me at 706-542-1131 to set up a time to meet. This is an official directive and I want to thank you in advance for responding to this email. Please contact me if you have any questions or concerns.



Regards,

Brandon A. Frye, Ph.D.

Assistant Dean of Students

Office of Judicial Programs

University of Georgia

So I've gotten like 30 of these every week since I've been in college. Psssccht, Does it look like I care? (note: it doesn't). So I send this e-mail back:

Oh really Mr. Judicial man? Go fuck yourself. Do you have any idea who the fuck I am? Have you read BIMF? Bring me a turkey sub with extra spicy mustard by tomorrow and we can pretend this never happened...bitch

Okay BIMFites, perhaps I wasn't being real with you just then. Maybe I embellished. I can't lie to yall. Look at those faces. Okay here was the slightly less badass e-mail I sent back:

Mr. Frye,

I think I know the e-mail to which you are referring. To give you some context, I was in the midst of trying to deal with the new bulldog bucks account system, with which I had been struggling for a week straight. My friend and I were having the same problem, and so I jokingly sent that e-mail out of frustration, but in no way was being serious. I was actually just quoting a movie that my friend and I had just recently watched. Also, I didn't actually think that a real person would read my e-mail. I thought it was just going to a big server and that I would just get an auto-response back. I do apologize, I honestly didn't think twice about it, and was just light-heartedly venting my frustrations. However, I can see how now how it may have seemed somewhat alarming. I will know better next time. If you check my records, I have never had any black marks in high school or at UGA. I have never received anything more than a parking ticket as well. I would be more than happy to meet with you at any time of your choosing, and I will call you if I don't get a response to this e-mail. Once again, I'm very sorry for this misunderstanding, and I will choose my words much more carefully next time. Honestly, sometimes at this large university I become inclined to think that when I am trying to deal with administrative things that there is not a person on the other end, but I now know better.

Pretty hardcore still right? I let that guy know who's boss. Well I eventually had to go and meet with this character, and after seeing my large, muscular build and the predisposition for murder in my eyes, he wisely let me off with a pussified warning. He also volunteered to let me have straight A's for the remainder of my senior year, but my voracious love for academics would not allow me to accept. And what did we learn from all of this my children? The moral of the story is that you can pretty much do anything and get away with it. Sweet dreams kids.

The Worst Thing in the World

So this is my new segment that I'm trying. I often feel the need to vent about certain aspects of everyday life that I find particularly vexing. Are you asking how I can possibly do this segment more than once since there can only be one "worst thing in the world?" Well there's an easy answer to that: It's my blog so go fuck yourself. I'm gonna make this short and sweet, just like my recent love affair with your mother. My first worst thing in the world is the crowded grocery store.



Don't you hate it when you are just trying to go for a leisurely trip to the grocery and the place is just crawling with fucking human beings. It's gross really. And you have to maneuver your cart around people and some of them aren't even paying attention, so you have to be all like,"excuse me" and then you look like a self-important doucher. Then you are trying to pick out a decent avocado but you don't know how to really determine that shit. Should it be green, should it be soft? you start freaking out because you can feel the eyes of nearby shoppers silently passing judgment. Or what about when you go to the deodorant aisle. I usually try to pick from the deodorants with the coolest names(tiger's blood! red thunder! lumberjack!), but let's be honest, to make an informed decision you have to pop the top off and smell it. This is a very intimate moment that should not be witnessed by others, but when that damn grocery is crowded, once again there are people watching...judging. What about the person who gets behind you and you swear they're following you? You take a left turn by the yogurt, then bank hard right toward the tortilla chips, then you start doing moves that you know a sexy blonde Top Gun instructors will eventually deem "reckless," before you ending up sexing her. Before you know it, you've blacked out and woken up in the middle of the tampon aisle gasping for air. Some may call me paranoid, but I prefer to categorize myself as awesomely aware.

It's Back

Michael Jordan, Lance Armstrong, boomerangs, Jesus Christ. What do all these have in common? Their comebacks pale in comparison to the return of yours truly. Aww, are you offended already? Well we all knew Michael Jordan wasn't gonna make it playing baseball so back off, bitch. You missed my tough love didn't you? Quite frankly, I missed you too, and I didn't abandon you. In fact, if you look back at the hardest times in the past 9 months, when you saw only one set of footprints... too far? Don't worry, JC is a reader and he thinks I'm hilarious.

So I guess you want to know where I have been. There have been rumors circulating. Some say I was in the Tibet, teaching the Dalai Lama how to swear. Some thought I was in a Turkish prison for gun smuggling(I just kissed my bicep). Others insist I went on to pursue an ass-modeling career in Italy. All of these are legitimate guesses. And the truth, well, though I am your unquestioned leader and mentor, my shroud of mystery is my essence. So let your imagination run wild. But I know you will think twice next time you see a Calvin Klein boxer brief ad. And you should...

I know what you're thinking. Why now? Why come back after all this time? What left do you have to prove? You wowed audiences worldwide for 6 solid months with your deft prose, whimsical similes, and tales of adventure and wonderment. For the money? No, I have an entire bug jar full of quarters in my room. The fame? Gets old, just leave me be. The ladies? Well the term "multiple BIMFgasm" has been thrown around a bit and blogging is one of the sexiest professions, right behind IRS agent, but no, not that. THEN WHY? I do it for you. No don't look behind you. I mean you. For the people who need to know why Bill is sexy. For those who find all countries inferior to America. For the school teacher in Iowa to the crab Fisherman in Alaska to the cab driver in New York who doesn't even speak English but likes looking at pictures of whales. For the thousands of strangers sea to shining sea who came up to me in the streets and told me that they were hanging by a thread, with nothing to live for, and BIMF delivered them out of the darkness and into the light. That's who I do it for. Totally kidding, I do it for the ladies. Boom Chicka Boom Chicka wowww woww. Excuse me while I take an air guitar solo...

So what to expect? Some of the old favorites will be back including shout-out Tuesdays and the always controversial Whale Wednesdays. I am also going to do a new segment called "The Worst Thing in the World" where I bitch and complain about something mundane that happens to irritate me. Also, I have developed a recent affinity for anteaters, so if that crops up, don't be alarmed. Also, there will be general stories from my everyday life. I also want to get you, the sexy BIMF nation, involved more, so feel free to make suggestions and I will feel free to ignore them if they're stupid cause I'm the fucking boss. Oh and I have an especially fun e-mail that got me into a bit of trouble that I will share with you. But not tonight. You'll have to earn it cause I'm no slut.

As the voice of the BIMF nation I just want to say it's great to have me back. Thanks guys, you're too sweet. Be seeing you soon.

“If you love something let it go free. If it doesn't come back, you never had it. If it comes back, love it forever.”

Return of a Hero

What's up my largely Caucasian fanbase. Can you Americans feel it in the air? Do the trees seem to be standing a little taller? Do the flowers smell more sweet? Are all the ladies suddenly chock-full of sexual anticipation? Yes that can only mean one thing. Papa Bear's coming back to the states. Touchdown in the land of the Delta Blues will occur at 4:20(when i ironically will be coming down from being high in the sky, LOL!) PM on Thursday. Now, I don't really want to say I expect people to make a big deal about my triumphant return back home. I definitely don't want everyone showing up at the airport(I'm flying Delta) or my house(8650 Center Hill Road, Olive Branch, MS), with tears streaming down their faces and an American Flag to wrap around me. That would probably be excessive. And if you are a hot lady, which I know most of you are, showing up naked would be wildly inappropriate. So just don't, okay? I kind of picture my return being like this:


I don't really know how that applies to me. Am I Shadow in this situation or am I Chance? Because I know Bill is Sassy. Whatever you get what I mean. The point is, just let's not make it a huge deal about my coming back.

All that being said, I have decided to offer a prize to the first person to greet me face-to-face upon my return home. Some of the rules: The winner cannot be my mother or father. That would be lame. I also won't give you the prize if I feel that you haven't specifically come to see me. For instance, the pilot of the airplane I'm on can't just land and walk down the aisle and come claim his prize. That would be cheating. Also, if you happen to be at the airport picking up your Aunt Millie, no dice. This is about me, okay? Finally, one last thing. When you approach me, you must come up to me and say, "Yippee Kai Ay, motherfucka" a la American badass John McLean. You must say this.

This is not optional. If you have problems with profanity, then clearly you don't read my blog. Which makes it a moo point. Like a cow's opinion. It doesn't matter.

Whale Wednesday is tomorrow, and it's gonna be good. Oh and I will address the pressing question about the future of BIMF. Stay tuned.

Shout-Outs

So it seems like I publish the majority of my Shout outs on Wednesday instead of Tuesday, but when you are king of the BIMF nation you pretty much get to do whatever you want. I will admit, I believe my last post took everything out of me, as I immediately went into a sickness spiral right after. But I am a brave king, and will always be on the front lines of blogging for my people. Anyway, here are a few shout outs:

First, I think it's important that I shout out to all the mother's out there. I know, I know, I am usually either insulting or seducing your mothers, but you realize it's all in good fun. I'm a notorious mama's boy, and at age 22 I still get her to make me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. So shout outs to my mom who recently came all the way to Nice, France, to see her baby boy. If it were not for her, BIMF would not be in existence, and I shudder at the thought of that hideous alternate reality. Next, I came across this one man recently who really impressed me, and I felt that he should be put on the warrior board immediately. Just watch the magic:


Not only does he claim to be a gynecologist(hilarious profession), his name is Dr. Bummer, which makes me think his true calling was proctology. Oh, and a lot of people are looking forward to the release of Terminator this weekend, but for me that has been overshadowed by the opening of a somewhat different movie. This one's straight to DVD:


Fuck. Yes. It comes out right before I get back to the states, so I think I might have my parents make an emergency stop at best buy on the way home from the airport so that I can spend some good ole American greenbacks on a quality film.

A Vigilante

Hello my children. I know you probably feel neglected and cast aside recently, but don't worry. I am here now. I have recently been hit by a dirty whore of a sinus infection, but like Christina, I too am a fighter. One quick point to make about France: the other night Kyle, Paul, and I decided to get a late night snack at McDonald's. This endeavor took 45 metric minutes (60 seconds in a metric minute). On the flipside, Kyle and I just went to go get some antibiotics and nose spray for our shared sinus infection (I think we're going to name him Sarkozy). Anyway, this took about 2 minutes. One of the antibiotics would even have been a prescription back in the states. To sum up, McDonald's in the middle of the night....45 minutes and 10 euros, Prescription drugs during the day....2 minutes and 12 euros, studying abroad in an ass-backwards country....priceless.


Okay, so I need to share a long overdue tale of a party we had a while back. It was for our German friend Florian's birthday, and though we were glad to host a party for our dear friend, we couldn't help but get the feeling that our place had been chosen as the location before we even knew it. I just had an odd feeling about this party. But alas, the show must go on, and before we knew it, all of IPAG had shown up. Our place had been recently cleaned by Miss Jenna McFoxypants, but the guests soon took care of undoing her work. There were more bottles hitting the ground than if Bill were to wear rollerskates in a liquor store. Among the highlights of the evening were an idiot who chose to enter and exit via our window ledge resulting in a broken air conditioner, a girl passed out in our closet, a proposition of bathroom sex, and a visit from the police. All this being said, I think I would have let the night slide and chalk it up to the price of throwing a party. However, in the aftermath of the wreckage, I discovered two things that disturbed me very much. First, I couldn't help but notice my towel had made its way to the bathroom floor. Picking it up, I felt it was wet. Oh, but it was not soaked in water, it was soaked in urine. Some fucking animal thought it would be funny to piss all over my towel. The one that I use to dry myself. I have washed the towel over 7 times since then and I still prefer not to use it. However, what took the cake was not what I found but what I didn't find. I went up to use my computer which had been sitting on my bed and realized my headphones were no longer there. I knew I had them right before, and I have since checked every nook and cranny of our small abode, but they are gone. What kind of jackass comes to a party and steals shit? You are a guest in my home. I let you in. I trusted you to behave like a person but you decided that being a civil guest was not good enough. You had to plunder. This isn't the wild west. There are rules. Codes of conduct. If you had somehow managed to break into my place and Ethan Hunt your way to my headphones, I would have said, "touche to you sir." But this was just cowardly. If any of you know the whereabouts of this fuckhead, I would love to know. I have my suspicions. A few times I have even accused people to gauge their reactions, but I am not convinced of anyone yet. Oh and for class we had to write a poem about something French. I wrote about this villian:

A thief in our midst.
A rogue in the night.
Takes what he wants
Then he takes flight.
He does what he does not for good
He is no modern day Robin Hood.
Comes to my home and drinks my beer.
Then absconds with my means to hear
Springsteen, Spice Girls, Warren Zevon.
I miss you my friends now that you're gone.
Alas, no longer can I hear your melodic tones
Because that dastardly bitch swiped my headphones.