Before I get too far with all these posts/stories/incessant rants, I'd like to take a moment and pause for the cause (and the Cos). You know, give a little credit where credit is due. I can't believe I've forgot to pay homage to the man who recently just stopped by one day, and ended up staying for a week--the Fooz.
Everyone knows him, whether you've actually exchanged pleasantries with the man or not. He's the old friend that stops by unexpectedly and stays for a week; the drunk uncle that you don't want your kids to be around; the little bluebird on your shoulder.
Most importantly, however, while the rest of America is resting on their laurels, he is the man that is advantageously racing across our purple mountains majesty and amber waves of grain. Yes, ladies and gents, as the world waits for relief from all that ails us, the Fooz is heading into the eye of the storm -- he's taking on America one city at a time. Well, actually, what I'm talking about is his (cue thunderous voice echo) GREAT MIDWESTERN ADVENTURE.
Luckily, I was fortunate enough to lay claim to his first pit-stop along the way. (Chicago's the Gateway to the West, right?) Well, by the grace of God, Fooz made it. And, let me tell you, the man did it WITHOUT Google Maps. How many people can say they have done that?
You're a goddamn liar if you said "Oh, shit I have." You needed a map when you were playing Oregon Trail. You aren't going to convince me otherwise -- not this time.
Either way, I just lost my train of thought. Thanks a lot.
Oh yeah, so I guess now I really don't have much to say, except "Godspeed, Fooz."
Hopefully he hasn't already died en route to his next destination, and will be able to read this. And if you're asking yourself why I am practically blowing this guy, it's because he gave me quite the inspiration to keep this whole blog-thing going. And if you don't like my blog, fuck you.
So here's to the little bluebird on all of our shoulders. And maybe, just maybe, I'll move out of my parent's house one day.
Now back to more self-deprecating stories. I promise.
Everyone knows him, whether you've actually exchanged pleasantries with the man or not. He's the old friend that stops by unexpectedly and stays for a week; the drunk uncle that you don't want your kids to be around; the little bluebird on your shoulder.
Most importantly, however, while the rest of America is resting on their laurels, he is the man that is advantageously racing across our purple mountains majesty and amber waves of grain. Yes, ladies and gents, as the world waits for relief from all that ails us, the Fooz is heading into the eye of the storm -- he's taking on America one city at a time. Well, actually, what I'm talking about is his (cue thunderous voice echo) GREAT MIDWESTERN ADVENTURE.
Luckily, I was fortunate enough to lay claim to his first pit-stop along the way. (Chicago's the Gateway to the West, right?) Well, by the grace of God, Fooz made it. And, let me tell you, the man did it WITHOUT Google Maps. How many people can say they have done that?
You're a goddamn liar if you said "Oh, shit I have." You needed a map when you were playing Oregon Trail. You aren't going to convince me otherwise -- not this time.
Either way, I just lost my train of thought. Thanks a lot.
Oh yeah, so I guess now I really don't have much to say, except "Godspeed, Fooz."
Hopefully he hasn't already died en route to his next destination, and will be able to read this. And if you're asking yourself why I am practically blowing this guy, it's because he gave me quite the inspiration to keep this whole blog-thing going. And if you don't like my blog, fuck you.
So here's to the little bluebird on all of our shoulders. And maybe, just maybe, I'll move out of my parent's house one day.
Now back to more self-deprecating stories. I promise.
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