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