My Identity

Ya caught me...... My identity is on the verge of making itself known. I suppose this happens to every superhero at one point... And their sidekicks. This wasn't my choice, but in the climax of my high school A2 class, I fought valiantly alongside my fellow clan of super people. It was a showdown between us and the villain "Failure," and it was going to last about 15 minutes (I could tell that from the instant I started writing this post). Sadly, a lot my comrades fell quickly in battle, giving up their powers of deception at the sight of confrontation, accepting defeat, risking their lives because of the controversial topics they wrote about. There are few of us who are willing to battle to the end, despite the stench of imminent doom, hanging over our grades like a bone on a string, tethered in front of a dog's face. My partner in justice, Butch Kassidy, and myself, fought tooth and nail, only to be defeated by our dwindling time. Without further adieu... My name is...................................................................................................................................................................................................... Storm Champagne.....

Mutton Buster

When I was growing up, one of the places that I dwelt was Duchesne, Utah. For those of you who don't know what either of those two words are, I will tell you. Duchesne is a location in Eastern Utah that has more desert lizards in its borders than human beings. As far out as Duchesne is, they have one of the most famous rodeos in Utah. Naturally, those who grew up there would try to find a hobby and were lead to something that has to do with riding or roping an animal or slamming cars into each other. In an attempt to get my "California habits" out of me, she enrolled me to be a mutton-buster at one of the rodeos. Mutton-busting is a cruel form of endearment for country parents that consists of slapping a 5 year old on the back of a smelly, riled-up sheep and then letting the thing run into the stadium, frantically trying to get the pesky, unwanted, pants-dampened kid off their back. Those who stay on for 8 seconds gets a bag of Skittles. 

I actually found this to be fun after 2 years of sheep riding. I was a well-known mutton-buster after having ridden the black sheep that had it out for me. I was sure that I could keep riding mutton for a while. Then the time came that I hit my 7th birthday (it was a modest Star Wars themed party). Things were going good still and I was gearin' up for another ride on another sheep. As I expressed my excitement to my parents, they had to go ahead and ruin it (like all parents do) by unleashing the hard fact that I was not of age for sheep anymore. In fact, if I wanted to ride again, I would have to do so on the back of a calf.

And thus ended the 2nd year of the reign of the mutton-busters.

Take a gander, slacker

1. Good 'ol Fear

2. Going Green (Not for the Weak)

3. Really?

ENJOY 

Passionality

I have a passion for Four-square. The smell of it, the design, the structure, the rubber. What is there to not love? Nothing is better than roundin' up the boys (and girls if ya got 'em) and just hitting a red, rubber ball into one another's square. Everybody needs a little hard-earned competitive fuel to get them going, and once you step in your cubic, designated square, it's all pure adrenaline and sweat from then on.
This also fortes into my other passion of making cocky, sons-of-guns, get humiliated by me. When I'm in the king square, I always aim for that stuck up fool in the standings and serve it right at his little toe. It usually is followed by a quick stumble, crash and then profanities, littering the surrounding air. Then I do an arm-chug, then sit in silence as he walks back to the end of the rather large line, amidst a spiraling defeat that you can tell is circling him like those birds that circle over your head when you get hit hard in the noggin.

Really?

I would love to say that all my posts are about me in the "real" world, but that would just be a bunch of bull [excuse the language (viewer discretion advised)]. Truth is, Fear and I never really tussled. In fact, all we ever did was play a quick game of Monopoly (let me tell you, he is darn good).
Also, I'm a totally jealous mess. I go green when somebody even looks at me who is wearing a hot chick around their arm, but whatever. I can get over it (but really, I can't....).
In real life, all I play is x-box, take showers and do homework for creative writing. I'm just a wee high school lad trying to find his way in this world by blogging his emotions because my grade is riding on me posting nonsense and you reading them.
So.... Enjoy (and if you don't enjoy it, blog about it. That's how this whole thing started).

embarrassMEnt

The most embarrassing thing that happens is when you spit out what you thought was the most original, funny, witty joke to your group of friends and they don't accept it. Not just reject it, but slam it back in your face with their cruel laughter. Aw man, that is the worst... I think... At least that's what my friends tell me. Of course I wouldn't know firsthand (I'm actually funny).

Going Green (Not for the Weak)

The most hurtful son-of-a-gun emotion out there (besides pain), is jealousy. This explosive emotion is what drives "high schoolers" to be so darn incapable of being rational.
That guy's clothes ARE nicer then yours, obviously! But it's what's on the inside that counts... Sheesh... And yes, wouldn't surprise me if his kidney is better than yours as well. Get over that too. Poor high school kids are so susceptible to the grasping hands of radical feelings. I'm a high school kid as well, but c'mon, jealousy is another way of stating that I'm uncomfortable looking in the mirror. Along with the very noticeable gap between you and that other guy, chalk another point for him for having self-esteem. Reject.