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.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, May 11, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, May 4, 2009
We were all "hey let's go camping, that should be nice" and Corsica was all "Not so fast my friends" and we were like, "Whoah"
"But the place which you have selected for your camp, though never so rough and grim, begins at once to have its attractions, and becomes a very centre of civilization to you: "Home is home, be it never so homely." ~Henry David Thoreau
Thanks, Henry, I'll take it from here. So here's the Corisca story:
We show up to Corsica at 8 in the evening after a 5 hour ferry ride. We try to buy alcohol, but the grocery closes at 8. We then go to some pizza place and get a pizza and some wine. A 20 minute winding cab ride follows. We arrive at the campgrounds around 9, and apparently the campground owners are gone by that point, and we have no way to rent a tent. We were forced to sleep on the ground all night. I decided to go very primal, and not bring blankets, pillows, or even a jacket to the camping trip. Maybe not the best idea: I was freezing the whole time, as Corsica got into probably the low 40's (Fahrenheit, you commies) at night. Were it not for the body heat of a few of my fellow campers, I may not be blogging today.
I would say I was awakened by the sunrise, however, to be awakened you must first be asleep, something which i did not achieve. Anyway, our fiery, round friend rose over the mountain tops, and I decided it was time to lead a mountain-climbing expedition. The "campground" where we stayed was in a very rural area that was basically just fields that were surrounded by mountains. Some may call them hills, but let's not get caught up with silly words. So five of us decided to set out from base camp(me, paul, phil, stephanie, and katie). The others were worthless and weak, and I now choose not to associate with them. The mountain was basically all brush on our ascent. The climb was sheer, and not for the faint of the heart, but we bushwacked our way up about 2/3 of the way and then traversed across to the ridge where there was less brush. At this point, the girls, decided they could take no more. Being the gentlemen that we all are, we decided their dizziness and dehydration were no reason for us not to summit. So we left them. Turned out to be a good choice because they lived and we heroically reached the time in a classic simul-summit where we all reached the top at once. A huge victory for the boys' team and for mankind in general. Oh, and it was then that I decided to rename the peak Mt. Kimberlinjaro.
We we arrived back at basecamp we were met with the news that the camp does not actually rent out tents. At this point, mother nature being the moody little bitch she is, it had gone from cold to really hot. We spent most of the day trying to nap, stay hydrated, and maintain morale. Nightfall came, and we managed to procure some wine from the camp director. We all drank pretty casually with the exception of one camper, Laura Rockett. Her drunkenness was funny for a few reasons. First, she is Irish and thus validating a stereotype by being the drunkest camper. And second, her last name is Rockett and I'm pretty sure at some point during the night I heard her say, "Houston we have liftoff!" So we all finally went to sleep, this time instead of in the grass we found a rather cramped cement cubby area that's sheltered on three sides. The girls once again took pity on me and let me sleep amongst them(Oh I know I'm good). No but seriously, it was the worst. I couldn't move because it was so cramped and I couldn't stretch out my feet either. On the bright side, through brute force I managed to wrestle away the blankets from my benefactors. We woke up the next morning, called the cab, and made like a bunch of shepherds: we got the flock out of there. Say it out loud, it's funny. We got on the big ferry and had a sleepy trip home.
I would say the general consensus of our trip was that everyone had a very fun and memorable time, but let's never fucking do it again. Kinda like when you fall off your roof putting up Christmas lights and manage to land safely on a bush. We bravely battled the elements, kept in good spirits, and I hardly even fantasized about which camper would be tastiest if that survival situation presented itself(sauteed bill with a side of katie). Good times guys.
(This stupid thing won't let me upload the pictures onto the blog right now but I'll get them later). Here's philosoraptor to hold you over.
Thanks, Henry, I'll take it from here. So here's the Corisca story:
We show up to Corsica at 8 in the evening after a 5 hour ferry ride. We try to buy alcohol, but the grocery closes at 8. We then go to some pizza place and get a pizza and some wine. A 20 minute winding cab ride follows. We arrive at the campgrounds around 9, and apparently the campground owners are gone by that point, and we have no way to rent a tent. We were forced to sleep on the ground all night. I decided to go very primal, and not bring blankets, pillows, or even a jacket to the camping trip. Maybe not the best idea: I was freezing the whole time, as Corsica got into probably the low 40's (Fahrenheit, you commies) at night. Were it not for the body heat of a few of my fellow campers, I may not be blogging today.
I would say I was awakened by the sunrise, however, to be awakened you must first be asleep, something which i did not achieve. Anyway, our fiery, round friend rose over the mountain tops, and I decided it was time to lead a mountain-climbing expedition. The "campground" where we stayed was in a very rural area that was basically just fields that were surrounded by mountains. Some may call them hills, but let's not get caught up with silly words. So five of us decided to set out from base camp(me, paul, phil, stephanie, and katie). The others were worthless and weak, and I now choose not to associate with them. The mountain was basically all brush on our ascent. The climb was sheer, and not for the faint of the heart, but we bushwacked our way up about 2/3 of the way and then traversed across to the ridge where there was less brush. At this point, the girls, decided they could take no more. Being the gentlemen that we all are, we decided their dizziness and dehydration were no reason for us not to summit. So we left them. Turned out to be a good choice because they lived and we heroically reached the time in a classic simul-summit where we all reached the top at once. A huge victory for the boys' team and for mankind in general. Oh, and it was then that I decided to rename the peak Mt. Kimberlinjaro.
We we arrived back at basecamp we were met with the news that the camp does not actually rent out tents. At this point, mother nature being the moody little bitch she is, it had gone from cold to really hot. We spent most of the day trying to nap, stay hydrated, and maintain morale. Nightfall came, and we managed to procure some wine from the camp director. We all drank pretty casually with the exception of one camper, Laura Rockett. Her drunkenness was funny for a few reasons. First, she is Irish and thus validating a stereotype by being the drunkest camper. And second, her last name is Rockett and I'm pretty sure at some point during the night I heard her say, "Houston we have liftoff!" So we all finally went to sleep, this time instead of in the grass we found a rather cramped cement cubby area that's sheltered on three sides. The girls once again took pity on me and let me sleep amongst them(Oh I know I'm good). No but seriously, it was the worst. I couldn't move because it was so cramped and I couldn't stretch out my feet either. On the bright side, through brute force I managed to wrestle away the blankets from my benefactors. We woke up the next morning, called the cab, and made like a bunch of shepherds: we got the flock out of there. Say it out loud, it's funny. We got on the big ferry and had a sleepy trip home.
I would say the general consensus of our trip was that everyone had a very fun and memorable time, but let's never fucking do it again. Kinda like when you fall off your roof putting up Christmas lights and manage to land safely on a bush. We bravely battled the elements, kept in good spirits, and I hardly even fantasized about which camper would be tastiest if that survival situation presented itself(sauteed bill with a side of katie). Good times guys.
(This stupid thing won't let me upload the pictures onto the blog right now but I'll get them later). Here's philosoraptor to hold you over.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
