Friday, October 18, 2013

A Horrible Birthday Excuse: The Almost-Concussion

     This is really a horrible blog, eh? We only use it as a random outlet of spontaneous content. Like to wish some Hugo hobo a birthday. (See what I did there in the first sentence? Eh? Eeeeeh?)
     Someone’s birthday is rather soon, and I find not nearly enough people are aware of it. Honestly, I forgot, and would have continued to forget if it weren’t for the book of the face. And to be quite truthful, both Hugo and I forgot Bebo’s birthday… This shall not happen again!
     So guess what, world? On Tuesday, wish Hugo a horrible birthday!!! In case I forget. Because I could likely get a concussion. Actually, I feel one coming on… I might slip off this couch very soon… Hugo, before I slip and forget, happy day of age change!

Your affectionate, clumsy friend/daughter/ex-carpooler,

Joe

Saturday, May 11, 2013

A Horrible Announcement


     Ahem. I have a horrible announcement, and it, surprisingly, has nothing to do with Hugo. The hobos on this blog are facing a possible breakup. Why, you may ask (assuming there is a “you” to ask)? Because Bebo believed hobos don’t dance. Joe (me) has an issue with that.
     Let me tell you what happened. 
     Bebo and I were conversing through writing of technological means that shall remain unnamed. We were bidding each other goodnight when the incident occurred. It should be noted that I, Joe, merely wanted to astonish him with yet another truth, which, added to the large amount of shocking revelations already disclosed somehow did not give him a heart attack. Here’s how it happened:

Bebo: Kay niiiiiight
 
Joe: Night!
And to leave you confused...
I'm seriously enjoying ballroom dance class..

Bebo: Eh?
Oh gosh
WHO are you?

Joe: I may very well be slee-typing... None would be the wiser. 'Twould explain all the typos, now, wouldn't it?

Bebo: Haha okay go to sleep
But...that's weird
WEIRD, YOU HEAR ME!! HOBOS DONT DANCE!! EXCEPT FOR SOMETIMES WHEN THEY DANCE A JIG BUT THATS NO WALTZ!!!

Joe: I'M FOX-TROTTING.

     We have yet to speak after this, sadly. I must admit, before I took up this class (for fear if I did not take some form of a physical activity class I might very well become frozen in my usual, hobo-student hunched position) I also believed hobos should not and could not dance. Except poorly or against their will. But, to everyone’s amazement (except for my scarily perceptive sister), it became my favorite class. My belief is now that hobos may only dance more classical styles, badly, and/or against their will. Modern anything is surely beyond comprehension, though.
     So what say you, readers? Should hobos be allowed to dance (and like it?) Or should they continue in their same fashion and maintain a great distance from any form of artistic movement?
     Joe

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

The War on Defunct

    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.

Monday, January 7, 2013

The Hobbit? Don't you mean The Hobo?


     “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”
     Basically, J.R.R. Tolkien stole my lifestyle. Well, my predecessors. He thought, Look at those hobos who grow amazing beards! What if I stuck the beards on the feet, stick them in the ground, and change “hobo” to “hobbit...?” It’s brilliant! If you aren’t aware, the hobo community was not credited nor asked permission. Blipo Bugshim (Pronounced Bugs-him) was, in fact, a distant relative of Bebo, and much of his life stories were stolen and compiled. Let’s just say the Tonks side of his family was special… Even to this day, Bebo’s seen those nasty things called adventures, dragging Hugo and I along for the ride, and every now and then, a miracle will happen. But it’s not a precious, golden ring; it’s squirrels. They’re everywhere, you know, but they normally don’t like hobos, or even most humans. But Bebo… and sometimes his friends… Why, squirrels can charm their way into your jar of nuts, chirp instructions into your ear, and even play pranks on a certain father of mine. And sometimes, in the blip of a second (Blipo was not named so on accident, dear reader), they’ll knock you out and build a mansion in a cardboard box (it’s smaller on the outside). I’ve already begun documenting the stories. I’ll have to post those sometime…
     Of course, for Blipo Bugshim, his secret squirrels did a lot more than make something dimensionally transcendental.
     I must say, for such a great amount of uncredited, altered history bothering me, the book and movie are both quite captivating. Also, I’m rather eager for Blipo to face Smug the Komodo Dragon and the Romancer by Neck (let me tell you, that guy had a five times five-star beard). Except I’ve read The Hobbit, and it’s highly out of context, probably to avoid the aforementioned legal issues. It’s had the hobo community in an uproar for decades. Many a young hobo has been led to believe they will one day, if they are immensely lucky, face a dragon, of all the ridiculous things. It reinforces hobo stereotypes, which is quite dreadful. On the plus side, I doubt Benedict Cumberbatch could play the parts of the true villains, so at least I will happily see him evil. Oh, Moriarty, what have you done… because I will love it!
     Besides the three-hour anticipation and letdown of not seeing John and Sherlock face off to possible death, there were some other downers. Besides the falsifying of the great Blipo’s life, there were some other false things, most distracting among them the pseudo feet and noses. Sometimes, I just stared and asked myself, Is that their real nose, or is it fake? Maybe it’s all real except that little bump right there… And that guy right there… It could totally be real, but it’s not exactly flattering, is it?
     I thought of those noses a good fourth of the movie.
     The feet… The feet! I know I shouldn’t be so envious—I have my five-star beard, after all—but is it possible to have the feet of hobbitses? Not the nasty, prosthetic parts that distracted me every time I saw them, but the wonderful, warm, furry coating. It would suit hobos, especially in the winter.
     Speaking of winter fur, hobos have a tradition of taking the No Shave November thing further than all of them. Ahem.
     “No shave November, don't shave December, jungle January, furry February, mustache March, ape April, matted May, just shave it June.” -Unknown 
     I am basically a pro at manliness.
     What with this hobo tradition, the dwarvish beard styles are somewhat inspirational, and when I’ve time and the right sort of beard has grown in the right sort of way, I will try most styles.
     Well, I’ve nothing left to say. How odd. Time to hit the books here at college… They could use a good beating.
            Joe

Friday, December 21, 2012

The End of the World

  Happy Apocalypse Day, everybody!  Today, civilization as we know it ends, although the Mayan calendar was actually fairly ambiguous about that, so we have three main options:
1. The world ends today.
2. The world ends on Sunday.
3. The world does not deign to heed esoteric doomsday prophecies and instead goes on as usual.
I'm kind of leaning toward option three, but, just in case I'm wrong, I am going to an End of the World Party tonight.  Yes, you read that right: I, Hugo the Horrible, the grumpiest and most anti-social person in the history of the known universe, am going to a party.  Voluntarily.  If that isn't a strong indication that the apocalypse is at hand, I don't know what is...
    Other than the world's end, there really isn't much going on today here in North America.  It's been kind of a lazy, rainy day, much like most of the days that I've ever lived.  This is actually an immense relief, since it comes as a much-needed break at the end of Finals Week, four days of hell at the end of my school's seventeen week semester.  Until last night, I hadn't slept more than six hours at a stretch in at least a month.  And I still failed Art History.  Okay, granted, I hadn't been to class since mid-October, I wrote none of the papers and took exactly half of the exams, so it wasn't really a surprise, but still.  I'm not in the habit of failing classes.  I've only failed two in a row now.
    Classes aren't the only thing that I've taken to failing...  the suspenseful saga of Happy Rotter and Co. is now indefinitely suspended.  I have the very worst case of writer's block that I have ever had.  It is rivaled only by the writer's block I get every single time one of my teachers assigns an essay, which is completely crippling and lasts until two hours before said essay is due.  Hopefully, Joe will take up the fallen torch, re-light it, and carry on.
    Yeah.  I don't really have much to say.  I'm still suffering somewhat from residual sleep deprivation, and my mind is not firing on all cylinders in consequence,

Your groggy and bewildered uncle,

Hugo the Horrible

P.S.  Yes.  This post is pink.  I like pink.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Cranato(e)s III


Dearest Reader,
     I am pleased to inform you that Hugo the Horrible has accepted Joe’s mentality of “Cranatoes are Delicious.”
     Seriously, though. He’s turned to the Joe side. In honor of this glorious occasion, I am using this wondrous font. Awesome like Hugo’s decision, right?
     It’s such a delectable dish. If you are unsure what cranatoes are, see the last paragraph in the original cranatoes post: http://tmao3bd.blogspot.com/2010/11/cranatoes.html
     Oh, Hugo, you magnificent being, I applaud your meal. Truly, I do. Thank you for believing in me when my entire family, though happy I was home from college, were entirely skeptical of my choice of food. They’re missing out. They’ve no idea.
     Aside from cranatoes, lefse is amazing. It’s Norwegian and it’s made from potatoes and it’s terribly great.
     Yes, there’s a very… potato-y theme, I’m aware.
     Also, I’d like to add it may have taken me two years, but I’ve realized “cranatoes” should really be spelled as “cranatos.” Forgive this horrible oversight. At least now I know why this business hasn’t taken off, yet.
     Well, that’s all I have. I’m tired. I’ve been hungry, despite that amazing dinner. And I’m not feeling up to my usual Joe self. Perhaps it’s because my family has forced me into an actual bedroom in an actual house. My first night here, I woke up at 4:01am and thought I’d fallen asleep in some academic building in a storage room. So, I checked the time on my cell phone, freaked out thinking I’d been locked in and may not be able to get out in time for class (quite a unique excuse my professor would have probably told future classes for years). Well, I leapt from that bed (no, I didn’t think about it) and ran into the hallway. I was in the living room before I realized.
     Thanksgiving break… It’s going to stay interesting, I just know it. Also, tomorrow, I will hopefully see Bebo, Lenard, and two others of some relation to those two (who are of no relation to each other).  Yes, it shall definitely be interesting.
Joe

Monday, October 22, 2012

Someone Horrible Turned Old Today!


     Someone horrible is turning Old today. He’s all, “Look at me! I can a bike for miles! I love the sun! I shall worship it now! Let’s make today important because I am now Old and others must take precious time today to give me their happiest wish or demand I am happy, even though those are utterly outrageous things to do!”
     I, on the other hand, have a broken window (boxes are so much easier to fix. I’ve not needed to use my duct tape once, here!), and it’s snowing. Fancy that, snowing on Christmas Island… We like to create a realistic atmosphere, although we don’t have control of the snow. Now we’ll have plenty of Frostys and snowball fight barriers in place for the big day!
     I don’t like snow. I’m not cheery, jolly, or merry. I’m not even Mary. Although I’m Joe… I have my place. I’m just not thrilled about it. Hey, at least I’m not an elf. Psh, slavery is SO not my thing. Maybe this winter I’ll hide in my home and be shipped off as a toy to some good girl or boy… Then, you know, dart off before they find me. Maybe I’ll leave some pork jerky to get them started in a new life as a hobo… I might even leave the box if I’ve arranged to stay elsewhere.
     Oh. So, Hugo, this is for you.
I wish you a Joe birthday,
I wish you a Joe birthday,
I wish you a Joe birthday,
And force happiness on you!

Joe