Dude.
This blog.
This blog is defunct.
Like, seriously defunct. Like, the last post was three months ago defunct. Defunct in the sense that all three Desperadoes are currently living in wildly different geographical locations and keeping insanely busy and never sparing the merest instant for the poor old blog. To put it mildly, this word "defunct" that I've been throwing around doesn't even begin to cover the defunctness of The Merry Adventures of Three Bewhiskered Desperadoes. There is literally nothing happening here.
That is not to say that there is nothing happening anywhere else; in fact, that's exactly the reason why no one has visited this dusty corner of the Internet until I recently re-read the back issues and got all nostalgic and sh--er, stuff: WE'RE SOOOOOOOO BUSY!!!! Well, at least I am. I can't really speak for the other two. Joe and I only communicate via the technological version of Facebook, and Bebo only occasionally texts me, usually with tips on ways I can get into shenanigans with chewing gum. Oh, Bebo.
So, yeah, I am, as we say here in the part of North America where I'm living, hella busy. Dearest readers of mine, if anyone ever tells you that you can go to college full time, get good grades, hold down a job, participate in extracurricular activities, maintain a social life, prevent your family from getting completely and utterly fed up with you, sleep more or less as much as you need to, and also relax sometimes, laugh in his or her lying face. Seriously. My life is insane. I love it, though; it's honestly fun to be freaked out and frantically scrambling around all the time.
Right now, however, I am taking a moment at two in the morning to resurrect this dear old blog. We've all come such a very long way from where we were back in Fall of 2010 when we were three homeschoolers commuting to college in a maroon car. Joe and Bebo both have bright futures ahead of them, and they're working/studying to get there. I, of course, am far too busy to think about frivolous nonessentials like my future. It'll sort itself out. Eventually. I hope. It doesn't really bear thinking about.
In the interim, it's sunny! Sunny, I tell you! And warm! I already have a tan! It's only April, and I ALREADY HAVE A TAN!!! MWAH-HAH-HAH!!!! Over Spring Break, I went, reluctantly, back to the land of my nativity to visit Bebo and Joe. It was horrible. On the day I left, it snowed. I mean, seriously, Christmas Island (that's where we're from, right?!), snow? During Spring Break?
It was nice to see those two scruffy hobos, though. We got together and talked and laughed and ate food and threw things at each other and played absurd word games and almost got devoured by Bebo's Great Dane (for some reason, Daphney isn't amused when I chase Bebo's sibling across the room with a ball point pen, shrieking with laughter and making incoherent threats) and it was, generally, almost like old times. I felt seventeen again. This was extremely unusual, since I normally feel closer to twelve.
It was also nice to get back to my insane, sunshiny life, though. Which reminds me, I should probably sign off and go to sleep. I meant to spend the night catching up with an ethnography I'm reading for Anth, but, at the eleventh hour, it seemed like a scintillating idea to eat chocolate cookies and watch a revoltingly romantic movie instead (by the way, I was only watching it for, you know, science. So that I can relate to the kinds of people who like those kinds of things. I, personally, effing hate romance, and DON'T YOU FORGET IT!). Then, I was like, well, I'm awake and feeling sentimental anyway, so why not waste more of my precious sleepy time writing? Right?
So, here I am. I need to get up in, oh, two, two-and-a-half hours, so that I can go to school and do homework and attend class and table for one of my three or four clubs and attend the Inter-Club Council meeting and then go to work at my sweeeeeeeeet new job. Of course, in order to do that, I should probably go down in the first place.
Good night, y'all,
Your affectionate uncle,
~Hugo the Horrible
P.S. Yes. This is very badly written. Deal with it.
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