The Saga Continues

Sorry I haven't updated this in a while. I'm sure you've all been tossing and turning at night, wondering what happenes next in the wonderful world of Balingo Baggo. Well, maybe I've been busy, alright? I've been watching the mailbox very closely lately for college letters and I got accepted into Vanderbilt and Lehigh!!! YAY!!! So in celebration, I will continue the Balingo Baggo story. Remember when we last left our hero, he had just gotten kicked out of "Singin' School" and was quite depressed...

Part Deux: A Star is Born

Balingo's adult life was his happiest moments. After being kicked out of his last school, he kept on singing. He wasn't discovered until many years later when he was in a bar in Cheyenne, North Dakota visiting his uncle Stu. Balingo got drunk and started singing Donke Shoen madly. A talent scout that was in the bar heard him and thought he was wonderful. He hired him to play a part in the musical "Dogs." Balingo was ecstatic once he came to his senses and realized that he was in the middle of the highway with no pants. He practiced his lines constantly and with great passion. Unfortunately, the show never got off the ground. The talent scout abandoned Balingo for bigger and better things. Balingo tried to find acting work but was turned down after every audition. He became broke and went into a deep depression. He would sit with Sneezy and drink every night. Trying to be like real actors, he did drugs and almost killed himself. He stayed at home and felt sorry for himself. Finally, Sneezy convinced him to snap out of it.
Balingo was back to his old self again. He was still singing and dancing in the streets and acting at every chance. He still didn't shower and smelled like a dead elephant (or was it a giraffe? Personally, I've never smelt either). Balingo finally started getting small roles in musicals and plays such as "The Ghost of the Musical," "Les Bliss," and "The Queen and Me." Although Balingo was pleased with these small roles, he desired larger parts and dreamed of a lead. Then one day Balingo auditioned for the critically acclaimed musical "Ibbity Skibbity on Broadway." Balingo was given a number for the auditions but he couldn't read it. Seeing his confusion, a young woman informed Balingo that he was looking at the number upside down. That woman was the most charming, beautiful, woman he had ever met. Plus, she had all 32 teeth! A few days later Balingo got the call he had been waiting for. It was the director of "Ibbity Skibbity" calling to tell Balingo that he had gotten the lead role in the musical.
Balingo yipped and hollered and did a happy jig with Sneezy. Oddly enough, the young woman who had helped him the other day was going to be the leading lady. Balingo now considered this woman his "Lucky Thingy." (He had never heard the word "charm" before) The next time he saw this woman he asked for her name. It was Margyl Fatlip. After Margyl got over Balingo's stench, strangeness, and Sneezy, she fell in love with him and Balingo fell in love with Margyl. They started going out and it helped a lot for the onstage chemistry.
The first performance for "Ibbity Skibbity" was a grand one. The audience cheered loudly at the end and threw chocolate coins and water buffalo flavored suckers onto the stage. Everyone agreed that Balingo's performance was the best. This was definitely the peak of his career. Although the applause and recognition of his talents pleased him greatly, Balingo's most treasured part about being on stage was being with Margyl. They continued to go out throughout the entire tour of "Ibbity Skibbity" but they did hit some rough times.

*Tune in next time for Part III of this timeless epic!

What Ever Happened to Balingo Baggo?

So not much has happened in the wonderful life of Elise, except that my face got sliced with a real sword...you know, the kind you kill dragons with. Ok, so I wasn't exactly sliced, but I do have a badass cut on the side of my nose. "How in the world did you get cut with a dragon slaying sword?" you may ask. Well, I was showing some 7th graders around my high school and telling them all about the wonderful theater program when it happened. And that's where I'll leave it. Make up your own story because the real one gets boring from there anyway. Speaking of stories, I was sorting through some old papers of mine and among my old grade school newspaper (no comparison to the Visor of course) and art projects from sophomore year, I found a story entitled "Wha Ever Happened to Balingo Baggo?" Ah, Balingo Baggo. My old friend. It all started way way back in freshman year when Meryl and I were best cronies. I think the whole concept of the story began when, in biology, we noticed the lonely skeleton in the room and decided to name him Balingo Baggo and create his story. Or maybe we were just tired of talking about pig orgasms and snood in Mr. Yandek's study hall. In any case, I will now present to you the Saga of Balingo Baggo, completely unabridged and unedited. This will come in three installments, so keep checking my blog for the latest edition of this timeless tale. Keep in mind that this was written by two, slightly strange, freshmen.

Balingo Baggo: The Early Years

One stormy night in Jesus, Wyoming, a bouncy baby boy was born. It happened in a large open cow field. The baby's mother, Winifred, and his father, Johnjacobjingleheimerschmitty (his name was my name too) were very proud of the new life they'd created and therefore named him the most glorious name they could think of: Balingo Baggo. Now keep in mind that Mr. and Mrs. Baggo were Wyoming rednecks, had mullets, and sold stolen ostrich eggs to the cow farmers. Anyway, they doted on and cared for young Balingo the best they could, giving him the best dairy products around. Little did they know that thi child would grow up to be one of our time's greatest thespians.
Balingo's childhood was a happy one. It was filled with laughter and sunshine poogle bears. His fondest memories were spent with his friend, a goat named Sneezy, who was dead. Balingo's favorite pastimes were shooting fish in a barrel, chasing cars and barking madly, and designing the latest fashions for cow utters. What led him to acting was his love for Laverne and Shirley. He would watch that show with undying devotion. After the show was over, he and Sneezy would reenact the scenes and laugh for hours. His parents noticed his talent for acting and enrolled him in the Bubba Bob Joe's Skool of Actin'. Balingo was delighted to attend and joined with joyful eagerness. However, poor Balingo couldn't seem to find his place among the other students. He was made fun of daily and the children called him Ba-bimbo. Despite all of this, Balingo was true to himself and continued to go to the school with a desire to act. But then he got kicked out because he flunked all his courses.
Although his spirit was dampened, Balingo's love for acting never faltered. He continued to reenact scenes from TV shows and became better and better at acting. As he got older he began to sing theme songs from shows like "Married With Children," "Mad About You," and "D'ffrent Strokes." His parents noticed he had a great singing ability and enrolled him in "Bubba Bob Joe's Singin' School." Balingo was so pleased to join that he stopped talking and only sung. Balingo found friends at this school and had them over to his shack quite often. Sneezy became insanely jealous and committed suicide by jumping off the tin roof. Oh wait...he was already dead. Never mind. Anyway, Balingo seemed to have found his niche. He did very well in the singing school and got good grades and many awards. But then he got kicked out because he didn't shower and smelled like a decomposing giraffe.

Keep checking in on the blog for more Balingo!

So, I got death threats about the last one and I was accused of trying to start a war so I'll try to keep this blog ethnically neutral. FYI: That last entry was not at all serious and was just a joke stemming from a funny conversation among friends. And I'm Irish, too so I don't hate Irish people! I just like pasta! Anyway....I'm Henry VIII I AmHerman's Hermits(Murray/Weston)- written in 1911- popularized in England by Harry ChampionI'm Henry the eighth I amHenry the eighth I am, I amI got married to the widow next doorShe's been married seven times beforeAnd every one was an Henry (Henry)She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)I'm her eighth old man, I'm HenryHenry the eighth I am Im Henry Viii I Am LyricsArtist: Herman's HermitsI'm Henry VIII I AmHerman's Hermits(Murray/Weston)- written in 1911- popularized in England by Harry ChampionI'm Henry the eighth I amHenry the eighth I am, I amI got married to the widow next doorShe's been married seven times beforeAnd every one was an Henry (Henry)She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)I'm her eighth old man, I'm HenryHenry the eighth I am Second verse same as the firstI'm Henry the eighth I amHenry the eighth I am, I amI got married to the widow next doorShe's been married seven times beforeAnd every one was an Henry (Henry)She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)I'm her eighth old man, I'm HenryHenry the eighth I am------ lead guitar ------I'm Henry the eighth I amHenry the eighth I am, I amI got married to the widow next doorShe's been married seven times beforeAnd every one was an Henry (Henry)She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)I'm her eighth old man, I'm HenryHenry the eighth I amH-E-N-R-YHenry (Henry)Henry (Henry)Henry the eighth I am, I amHenry the eighth I amYeah!
Hope this blog was not offensive to anyone. It may have been obnoxious, but that's better than offensive. By the way, the "Henry" is pronounced "Henery." So don't go singing any two-syllable Henrys because you'll just look crazy. Coming soon to this blog: my theory on killing puppies!

Italians vs. the Irish

So I got into this discussion with James one day about who is better...Italians or Irish people? Don't ask me how this conversation started, but trust me, I've had much weirder ones. Anyway, James took the side of the leprauchauns and I went with the Italians, even though I am also Irish, German, and Polish. Speaking of Polish people, I have a funny joke. So there's an English couple, an Irish couple, and a Polish couple eating breakfast. The English man says to his wife "Pass the sugar, sugar." The Irish man says to his wife "Pass the honey, honey." And the stupid Pole says to his wife, "Pass the bacon, pig!" But I digress. James and I eventually dropped the conversation, he claims it was because he had to go somewhere, but I know its because I was winning and that's because Elise always wins, but that is for a later blog. Anyway, I was all fired up with good arguments for the Italians so I took it up with my mom, who also supported the Italians, not being Irish at all, though she is somewhat Polish. Now with even more pro-Italian arguments, I took the debate to school and asked Melissa, Dave, Amelia, and Margaret their opinions. Melissa had no opinion I don't think. Dave just said Irish because he's a Notre Dame whore. Amelia said Italian because she likes pasta or something. And I think Margaret may have said Irish because she is Irish...I mean her sisters' names are Bridget and Dalaney! The only thing that could make that family more Irish is if we stuck a shamrock in their green top hats and chased them for their lucky charms. Anyway, I still firmly believe that Italians are way better and here is why:

-Italian is a better language than Galiac or whatever jibberish the Irish speak
-Italian's have wine appreciation while the Irish are just a bunch of drunks.
-Italian's have better food; stromboli, pasta, meatballs...mmmm. What do the Irish have? Potatoes! Oh wait, they ran out because of a famine and got so depressed that all they did was drink and now they're a bunch of drunks.
-Italian's have much better fashion. Irish people have leprauchauns.
-Italians are much more beautiful than the Irish. Irish people are freckly and have no eyelashes and every redhead I've met has been a fairly unsavory person.
-Italians have the Pope, who presides over the entire Catholic church. The Irish have Lucky, who gaurds his cereal from those marshmellow snatching hooligans.
-Italy has better architecture.
-Mafia vs. Sheleliegh stick...I would certainly place bets on who would win this fight. The Mafia would totally kick a sticks ass. And there is no such thing as the Irish mafia because they stop at a pub and get too drunk before they whack someone.
-Italians have The Godfather Trilogy, which is cinematic genius. The Irish have Angela's Ashes, which is a real downer. You just want to shoot yourself after seeing that movie. The Italians, though, will just shoot you for you!
-Italian clubs and classes abound in schools. You never see an Irish club or class.

If you're not convinced by now that Italians are better than Irish people, then send me your reasons that Irish people are better. I'm sure they're not very good and I probably won't post them, but send them anyway so you feel like you have friends to send stuff to. And if you have any more reasons why Italians are better, send those and I probably will post them. I would like to end this enlightening blog with a joke:

An Irish man walks past a bar.

This is NOT a lame blog intro

I don't like introductions so I've decided that I'm just going to jump right into writing my blog. I don't think I have to explain to you or that you care to know how I decided to create a blog, though the Visor story was an inspiration, as well as Colleen's blog. I also probably don't need to tell you that I don't plan on taking other's people's feelings into consideration when I make blog entries, because, who does? And you probably could deduce that I'm going to talk about all my opinions that I feel just have to be shared with the world and that I welcome responses to these opinions as long as they are not nasty or contain viruses. But you had this all figured out because this is just a basic, normal, regular blog, which is why I have no use for an intro so I refuse to write one. You can't make me. I just won't do it! I won't even give you background information about myself, like that I have brown hair and a dog and my favorite movie is Forrest Gump, because if you are reading this, you probably already knew that. So, no intro here! Sorry to dissapoint all you intro lovers, but you'll have to go find some lame, cookie-cutter blog for your silly, uninformative intro!