I AM the Sniffer!!!

  Yes, gentle readers, you read the title correctly (I would be very disappointed in you if you didn't; reading is, after all, what you do, and what you are known for, and what you have been named after, and so it would be quite pathetic if you could not do it correctly).  I am the Sniffer!  Have no fear, Bebo, I will go to Mexico and never come back; I do, however, ask that you pay me thirty dollars and put me through accelerated Spanish classes for the illiterate first (it simply would not do for me to turn up, in all of my sniffing, diseased, achy and feverish majesty in the Land of the Mexi-fries and not know how to pronounce vital words like burrito or enchilada).  And, yes, Bebo, since I know that you were wondering, I only became ill (making my poor, innocent hobo-mother ill in the process) and turned Sniffish in order to annoy you.  It was my sole intention.  Don't you feel loved?!?
  On a more serious note, I, Hugo, also known as various variations of Horrible (including, but not limited to, Horrific, Horrendous, Horrid, and Horrifying), am officially the stupidest person in my Logic class.  Yes, ladies and gentlehobos, it is the day that we were all eagerly anticipating!  It is only the smilingest of good fortunes that has allowed it to happen so soon.  I rather suspect that that particular brand of positive influence was assisted mightily by sleep deprivation, fever, stuffy nose, compulsive sneezing, aches and pains and a nagging headache, but it would be uncharitable and graceless to refrain from giving it the lion's share of the credit.  That particular brand of good fortune must have known that making a complete and perfectly irremediable fool of myself in my favorite class was the one thing that would bump this day up from mere perfection to the level of the sublime. 
  Wow.  What a digression!  Usually it is Joe who complains about his health (and then I complain about Joe, and Bebo complains about both of us, and I retaliate by complaining about Bebo, and it is just the perfect triangle of cardboard-box-dwellers' love). 
  In Economics the other day (Wednesday, to be precise.  Unless it was Friday.  Or was it Monday???), I was present at the birth of a salubrious new term:  Hoboism.  Yes!  So, now, I can say to Bebo when he annoys me, "Gee, Bebo, you're such a hoboist!"  And when my mother accuses me of living in a pigsty, I can excuse myself: "But, Mama, what do you expect from a hoboist?!"  Or, when I do not complete my homework, fail a test, or behave like an utter buffoon in front of a whole lecture hall full of half-awake college students at eight o' clock in the morning, I have a blanket explanation that works every time:  "Sorry, I was too busy practicing hoboism to study/sleep!!!"
  Ah, how convenient it is to be a hoboist and live in a cardboard box!
  ~Hugo

Of Soup and Sniffers

Today I felt like I was drowining in a river of soup. I say soup because it seems to me that it should be extremly difficult to swim in soup, and you keep getting hit with chunks of things. Like meat. And corn. Sometimes carrots....
Just imagine that I, a pitiful, old hobo, am drowning in a river of homework, and it keeps sweeping over my head and I can't keep up. And then--BAM!! A test, a hard essay, and group project hits me like a chunk of salmon, and now, i'm not just drowning on the soup, i am suffering a consussion from the chunk. PLUS I am having issues with my beard. It keeps molting. Yes, like a chicken. Or the exoskeleton of a spider (thank you very much bio 160). So, don't tell Joe or Hugo, but i have been wearing beard extensions to keep up my five star image. Just imagine what it could do to my reputation if anyone found out that I, a prominant figure in the Hobo Community of Cardboard Boxes, have a patchy beard? It just wouldn't do.....
Today, I sat next to a sniffer. You know the kind. He just sorta sits there and then:
Sniff.
 Ignore it Bebo, just ignore it.
Sniff.
Roll of the eyes, grits teeth.
Sniff, sniff.
Fist clenches. Hobo ninja mode comes into effect and I am ready to slay the sniffer with one slice of my pudgy hobo hand.
Silence.
There. See, he is quiet now. You were just overreacting. You do that sometimes.
Sniff, sniff. Wipe.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

See? isn't that horrible? PLUS I was in the middle of a mid-midterm test and He sat RIGHT next to me! I could have puked. Or hurt him. Or given him ten bucks to flee to mexico and never come back. Wait. 20 bucks. He probably needs a passport.....

JoeWatch

   Here I am, on Write or Die, trying not to die. I hope this works, dear readers, and if it does NOT work, then I deeply apologize (what does than even MEAN?), and you can ignore my ramblings, for that is what I believe this will become.

     To start things off, let me brief you about my script. Ahem. (Shuffles, straighten, and holds papers.) Hello. Today, on JoeWatch, we have some interesting stories, comments, and other such things to cover. Bringing this to you live, I'm Joe of the three desperadoes, and THIS- (insert dramatic pause here) - is JoeWatch.

     Joe sat on his stump, his sad excuse for a bed, with his horrid rock pillows surrounding him, and said to himself on a late March day:

Joe, what will you do?

Script Frenzy starts soon.

You have no ideas.

You have no stuff.

You have no creative thoughts.

You have no much-

iness.

But I digress.

What will we write?

For you know I am you.

But I won't bite.

Oh, we shall surely lose!

Then it struck.

Life no longer sucked.

I knew what to write.

If only the time was right!

Because in Screnzy,

In order not to lose,

One must write in April,

Or suffer a guilty conscious...oo!

     That, dear readers, was what happened. But don't worry your little heads. I have been writing and writing and writing! (I really want to turn into a certain Seussian person right now... It's hard to come up with rhymes without any time to spare!) Now, though, I am rather behind in my script. I should have about 30 or more pages... I have 15. Alas! School has taken over my life! If only Bebo and Hugo could nod in agreement, but... Alas! (Again. I'm feeling rather dramatic and British with multiple personality disorder...) I have not seen my Hobo friends in almost a month! I miss them dearly. I hope they miss me...

     Now, time to move on to a different subject. My hobo friends. Because I am now driving myself, I have not seen them, and they tend to be too busy or lazy (LAZY!) to respond to my emails. Hugo, in particular, has somehow managed to scarcely get a word on language to me! Bebo and I have remedied our situation by joining SHE. It stands for the Secret Hobo Exchange. As Bebo said, you really shouldn't know about it. Really. Which is why all of this is COMPLETELY OFF THE RECORD. So keep quiet! Because I have never said that Bebo and I are spies for SHE. NEVER.

     And I have almost reached my word count! Do you want to know something? I love cats. And I think I'm allergic. They will be the death of me! (Possibly literally. Time will tell...)  And I would love to tell you guys to (if you feel like it), try out Write or Die. It's kinda awesome. But it's making me nervous since my computer is known to fail... Which is why it is imperative I transfer this to a document once I am done! Which I am. Done. Ha. Ha hee ha ha HAH! (http://writeordie.com/)

     Thank you for watching JoeWatch. This is Joe the Hobo, signing off!

Hmpf

  Bleagh.  Life.  Who on God's green earth really likes it?  I think that, if we were not possessed of a stupid and illogical fear of death, our little human species would have died out many millenia ago, because our sapient ancestors must, surely, have been aware of how much life sucks, and they would have wasted not a moment in ending it.  Therefore, those of us who are their posterity would never have suffered the intolerable burden of being forced to experience life, even for a short time.  It was awfully sadistic (not to mention self-destructive) of them not to commit suicide and protect us from being born...
Yes.  As my reader has undoubtedly noticed, I am extremely grumpy and tired.  I am off to the most boringest class upon the face of this quarter in approximately six minutes.  The teacher, I kid you not, puts up a Power Point of selected little bits from the indifferently executed textbook and then reads off of it.  Yes, dear friends, he commits the Cardinal Sin of Power Points!  He just sits there and reeeeeaaaaads!!!!!  Ah!!!  Monotonously!  Without expansion, enlivenment, or even necessary explanation!  Oh, he explains the things that I already understand, and expands on the things that are already so expanded that if they were human they would need, as one dude in the Bible did, an iron bedstead of astronomical proportions.  Gah!  Death By Slideshow!  If only it would kill me, then I wouldn't have to spend four-and-a-half hours per week enduring it...
I have to go.

~Hugo the HOOOOORRRRRRIIIIIIIBLE!

Of late nights and tired hobos....

Oh. Oh, oh. I am in a weird mood. PLUS i now enjoy staring at the two "Oh"s i just made and marveling at them. I don't know what about them makes them so attractive but it surely must be something. Well, dear readers, in case you were not aware, and i certainly hope you were not aware, Me and Joe are now spies. Yes, spies. for the SHE. Yes, that doesn't sound feminist at all... But it stands for something! It really does, and not something stupid like Federal Burou of Investigations. Pshhh. No Flair. No, oh readers, the SHE stands for something that evokes fear, mystery and something else into the hearts of all who hear it. Or read it. Or see it or feel it. Because, YES, it can be felt. It stands for the Secret Hobo Exchange. Do you like it?? I can't tell you what it is or that we are involved with it. But I already told you that. But as a true hobo, I am too lazy to hit the delete key. OR THE BACKSPACE BUTTON! i knew what you were thinking.....


Bebo the Hobo