Socrates. Plato. Math. Reading. Astronauts. Scientists. Glasses. Nerds. Brains. Business degrees. Professors. Khakis. Aristotle. Art. Artists. Thinking. Books. Librarians. Pottery. Physics. Algebra. Plus signs. Minus signs. Multiplication. Verbs. Neurons. Brain activity. Nutrition. Reason. Geometry. Stephen Hawkins. Founding Fathers. Declaration of Independence. Sound financial planning. budgeting. Smart.
Smart.
I'm smart.
I am so smart. You don't even know. Listen to this: Alexander Graham Bell. Abe Lincoln. JP Morgan. Banks. Federal Reserve. Text books. Brilliant conversation. Proper word choice. Right angles. Mechanical advantage. Smart.
Have you even heard of ANY of these people? Bet not. Man, I know so many more things, too.
This is easy.
Yoda. Chinese people. Beards. Rockets.
Jamba juice recipes. Mechanical pencils. Tiger trainers. Not drinking and driving.
Putting pants on one leg at a time.
Separating colors from whites in the washing machine. Coasters on coffee tables. Locked doors. Drawing between the lines. Secure internet. Blowing out candles when leaving. Hot food. Considering all options. Old people. Not children. Listening to your wife. Lying when it's necessary. Newspapers. College.
Smart.
Still skeptical? Of course you're not.
I've got a huge brain. I'm incredibly gifted. I can type many, MANY words per minute.
Jealous? You should be.
Now excuse me while I repeatedly hit myself with a hammer.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Falling for duh Honeys
Waz up in da heezy? BoShnickels reprusentin here. Yo I gotsta come correct- I got a thing for some baby girl. Yo, this is not normal for BoShnickels. I never be fallin for the ladies. Yo, I'm like a drunk driver- I always be hittin and runnin. You feel me? I never gets attached.
That's why this is so crazy, son. I never knew I even had feelings. I'm not one of deez guyz who be telling people about his problems, expecting sympathy or something stupid like that. Yo, if I gots problems, I'll keep them to myself until someone pushes me too far and gets they ass blasted. That's life.
But damn, son, dis honey gots my mind in shambles. I been thinking bout her non stop. She cool as hell. Don't ask me how it happened. I know who she was for a while, and yo, it wasn't like I care, she just another female. I mean, I always thought baby girl got it going on, you know, but whatever. BoShnickels don't pay much mind. Until now.
Yo, we was just hanging out at my boyz house, you know, and everyone's got they thang going on, people bumping some rhymes, everyone getting they drank on, just nothing but love. And yo it just happened that this girl be like talking to me bout life and such, and yo, you know me, I gots my strong ideas bout stuff. But anyways, she wudn't saying nothing stupid or anything. Yo, I was like, "this girl knows her stuff," paying much respect, you know. later on when we still chatting it up, I was like, "damn, baby girl fine and cool." Yo, it's not often I say that, but I'm serious.
Anyways, I can't get her off my mind since then. No joke. BoShnickels ain't used to feeling like this.
Yo, that's about all I have to say about that. If any of you tell anyone I said any of this, you'll be feeling my weapons of mass destruction. I'm serious. I'll kill you.
That's why this is so crazy, son. I never knew I even had feelings. I'm not one of deez guyz who be telling people about his problems, expecting sympathy or something stupid like that. Yo, if I gots problems, I'll keep them to myself until someone pushes me too far and gets they ass blasted. That's life.
But damn, son, dis honey gots my mind in shambles. I been thinking bout her non stop. She cool as hell. Don't ask me how it happened. I know who she was for a while, and yo, it wasn't like I care, she just another female. I mean, I always thought baby girl got it going on, you know, but whatever. BoShnickels don't pay much mind. Until now.
Yo, we was just hanging out at my boyz house, you know, and everyone's got they thang going on, people bumping some rhymes, everyone getting they drank on, just nothing but love. And yo it just happened that this girl be like talking to me bout life and such, and yo, you know me, I gots my strong ideas bout stuff. But anyways, she wudn't saying nothing stupid or anything. Yo, I was like, "this girl knows her stuff," paying much respect, you know. later on when we still chatting it up, I was like, "damn, baby girl fine and cool." Yo, it's not often I say that, but I'm serious.
Anyways, I can't get her off my mind since then. No joke. BoShnickels ain't used to feeling like this.
Yo, that's about all I have to say about that. If any of you tell anyone I said any of this, you'll be feeling my weapons of mass destruction. I'm serious. I'll kill you.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Blog Separation Anxiety- Phil Honus
Como esta amigos? That's just a little spanish. It means "how are you?" I definitely hadn't planned on this blog being so linguistically educational, but you have to just roll with it sometimes. :) (remember what that means? There will be a test at the end. Just Kidding. Or Am I?)
Speaking of blogs, how's this for a little surprise? Posting on BoShnickels' blog? It's not ideal. Not that I don't love the guy. But I roll alone. Oops, I mean, I roll only with myself and the Smart Retard. Sorry SR. I'm such a retard myself sometimes.
But really, I'm pretty bummed out about losing access to my blog. Maybe someday I'll get back to the Black template with the white lettering. I won't have to rent space from BoShnickels (Like I said, I love him, but we've got two different things going on). That blog was my heart and soul.
you don't understand what it's like to have lost control of something you love. I hate to be too anecdotal, but losing my blog brings me back to a pet monkey I used to have. Actually, it wasn't one hundred percent monkey. I believe it was only fifty percent monkey, and then fifty percent human. I never found out how such a creature came into existence- even though Mr. Giggles, the name I gave to him after finding him in the dumpster, had some language skills, he was never able to relate to us the details of his origins.
Of course Mr. Giggles was a disgusting freak of nature. But we loved him like one of our own. We didn't give him a bed. We made him sleep in a cage, of course. And we fed him old clothes. And sometimes when he made too much noise, we sprayed him with a fire hose until he piped down or passed out. Man, he could make a lot of noise!
We were best buds for the longest time. And we always watched out for each other. If someone made fun of me, Mr. Giggles would track that person down and defend me. I'm pretty sure he killed most of those people he tracked down, actually. I just don't think about it, really. It's tough not to, too, because he sometimes would bring home body parts and leave them lying around my room. It was gross, but that's friendship, I guess.
Things unfortunately didn't stay so positive. As Mr. Giggles got older he became pretty cranky. He started to bite. And to hump things, basically everything. My parents began to feel that Mr. Giggles was a threat to my safety. My dad came up with the idea of not feeding Mr. Giggles for a week or so to see if that would change his behavior. That pretty much just made him worse, even though we were able to give a large amount of old clothes to the poor and needy.
The final straw was when Mr. Giggles got the neighbor lady pregnant. Even though Mr. Giggles promised to take care of the child, even agreeing to take night classes while working two jobs, which I knew was a lie, since Mr. Giggles' had always been planning to see Paris since he was young, my dad had had it. He got me up early on a Saturday, handed me a pistol, and told me to take Mr. Giggles "hunting," which he said while doing the quotation marks with his fingers. I did, and we ended up bagging two owls. We got home and my dad was pretty pissed, partly due to the fact that he's a hard-core conversationist. The next morning my dad woke me up again, handed me the keys to his motor boat, as well as the handgun, and told me to take Mr. Giggles "fishing," this time really making a point to clarify that he was putting quotation marks around fishing. So again, I did what he asked and ended up catching a trophy sized cutthroat trout, with Mr. Giggles netting a very respectable lake trout. Again, my dad was pissed, so the next weekend he woke me up early, handed me the gun, and told me to go and "kill Mr. Giggles," which confused me at first, because he still did the quotation marks thing.
It was the toughest thing I ever had to do. I went to his cage and shot him while he was sleeping. It wasn't what my dad had had in mind.
Going back to that time in my life is tough. Like I said, losing control of this blog is sort of like losing control of my half monkey-half human freakazoid brother and having to shoot him. I just hope that the guys at blogger.com will stop being so "busy" and start responding to my emails.
A tearful peace out,
Phil Honus
Speaking of blogs, how's this for a little surprise? Posting on BoShnickels' blog? It's not ideal. Not that I don't love the guy. But I roll alone. Oops, I mean, I roll only with myself and the Smart Retard. Sorry SR. I'm such a retard myself sometimes.
But really, I'm pretty bummed out about losing access to my blog. Maybe someday I'll get back to the Black template with the white lettering. I won't have to rent space from BoShnickels (Like I said, I love him, but we've got two different things going on). That blog was my heart and soul.
you don't understand what it's like to have lost control of something you love. I hate to be too anecdotal, but losing my blog brings me back to a pet monkey I used to have. Actually, it wasn't one hundred percent monkey. I believe it was only fifty percent monkey, and then fifty percent human. I never found out how such a creature came into existence- even though Mr. Giggles, the name I gave to him after finding him in the dumpster, had some language skills, he was never able to relate to us the details of his origins.
Of course Mr. Giggles was a disgusting freak of nature. But we loved him like one of our own. We didn't give him a bed. We made him sleep in a cage, of course. And we fed him old clothes. And sometimes when he made too much noise, we sprayed him with a fire hose until he piped down or passed out. Man, he could make a lot of noise!
We were best buds for the longest time. And we always watched out for each other. If someone made fun of me, Mr. Giggles would track that person down and defend me. I'm pretty sure he killed most of those people he tracked down, actually. I just don't think about it, really. It's tough not to, too, because he sometimes would bring home body parts and leave them lying around my room. It was gross, but that's friendship, I guess.
Things unfortunately didn't stay so positive. As Mr. Giggles got older he became pretty cranky. He started to bite. And to hump things, basically everything. My parents began to feel that Mr. Giggles was a threat to my safety. My dad came up with the idea of not feeding Mr. Giggles for a week or so to see if that would change his behavior. That pretty much just made him worse, even though we were able to give a large amount of old clothes to the poor and needy.
The final straw was when Mr. Giggles got the neighbor lady pregnant. Even though Mr. Giggles promised to take care of the child, even agreeing to take night classes while working two jobs, which I knew was a lie, since Mr. Giggles' had always been planning to see Paris since he was young, my dad had had it. He got me up early on a Saturday, handed me a pistol, and told me to take Mr. Giggles "hunting," which he said while doing the quotation marks with his fingers. I did, and we ended up bagging two owls. We got home and my dad was pretty pissed, partly due to the fact that he's a hard-core conversationist. The next morning my dad woke me up again, handed me the keys to his motor boat, as well as the handgun, and told me to take Mr. Giggles "fishing," this time really making a point to clarify that he was putting quotation marks around fishing. So again, I did what he asked and ended up catching a trophy sized cutthroat trout, with Mr. Giggles netting a very respectable lake trout. Again, my dad was pissed, so the next weekend he woke me up early, handed me the gun, and told me to go and "kill Mr. Giggles," which confused me at first, because he still did the quotation marks thing.
It was the toughest thing I ever had to do. I went to his cage and shot him while he was sleeping. It wasn't what my dad had had in mind.
Going back to that time in my life is tough. Like I said, losing control of this blog is sort of like losing control of my half monkey-half human freakazoid brother and having to shoot him. I just hope that the guys at blogger.com will stop being so "busy" and start responding to my emails.
A tearful peace out,
Phil Honus
Sunday, September 16, 2007
What BoShnickels Duz Fo Werk
Salutations, frendz. In response to the many questions, which are mostly dumb as hell, I've gotten about the occupation listed on my profile, I thought I should clear up what "reprusentin" is, once and for all.
"Reprusentin" is many things at the same time. One on hand, it is definitely something you do (like right now, if you could see what I was doing, you would see that I'm reprusentin, just sitting here on my laptop). And at the same moment, it is not limited to just something you do, but extends to your mindset, and even to the atmosphere you carry about yo' self. When you've reprusentid as long as me, you actually start to become "reprusentin," like it's my identity.
That's some deep shizzle, though, isn't it? I can barely understand what I'm talking about. Let's start simple, then, and talk about reprusentin as something you do. How do you reprusent? If it's me, I just make sure that I'm looking good to start out with. Like after I take a shower, I gotsta put on deoderent, Old Spice to be exact, and then I hit myself with the AXE. I don't just spray a little on my neck and arm pits though. I put it everywhere: my hair, ears, nose, mouth, eyes, and of course, I go down under. You gotsta. It all starts by making your base layer fo'rizzle. And then you can build up from there.
After that, boxer briefs (duh), white socks, a kicking tee, sum saggin jeans, and then my kicks (white low-tops, baby, and nuthin else). It sounds easy, don't it? But you can't just wear any tee-shirt, or any pair of jeans. Like, what do you think "kicking" means? You probably think "kicking" is to have one of those shirts with the alligator on it. Stoopid. I wouldn't be caught dead with you anywhere. There's no way I can really tell you how to be "kicking," just how not to be "kicking." Basically, I don't know you, but I can bet you're not "kicking." So take everything you usually wear, and put that shizzle in the garbage.
Don't get BoShnickels wrong here, okay? I'm not talking about vanity. It's not about putting this stuff on and being fake so you can get chicks. It's about putting this stuff on and being real so you can get chicks. Or dudes, if youz a chick.
Yo, this is who I am! I wear what I wear and do what I do because it reprusents where I should have been from. Yo, I say "where I should have been from" because a lot of haters been saying that a white kid from a rich neighborhood shouldn't be dressing or talking like this. But fools, I wasn't supposed to be born there! I'm from the hood! like before I was born, I was supposed to be heading to a poor, black, single mom living off food stamps in the ghetto, where all of my neighbors sold crack, my older brothers went to prison for robbing a liquor store, and my sister's still in highschool and she already got a baby. But then some fool made a mistake and sent me to live next to Tom and Shirley, who don't know anyone who's done crack. That don't matter, though! I knowz who I am!
Yo, I just wanted to make it clear that you need to reprusent who you know you are on the inside, and not what you are on the outside, no matter how many times you look in the mirror and see a twenty five year old, blond haired, white guy, and not a thirty five year old black man sitting on death row for shooting a cop.
So you're probably asking yourself: "what does a reprusenter do during the day?" Easy: look good. Yo, that's all I ever do, just look good. Like, in worst case scenario, my girl could catch me taking a dook at six in the morning, and I would still look fly. You know why? Because I sleep in my clothes, that's why. I go to bed wearing everything I just described a little bit ago, even my kicks. And I never let my hair touch the pillow so I don't get stupid bed head. How do I do that? Simple: sleep like Batman, hanging upside down by your feet. You have to get your mom, or I mean, your girl to help you out, but it's worth it. Also, you can sleep standing up like a horse, but I haven't figured out how to do that yet. Yo, I have a timed-release misting system that keeps me covered in AXE all through the night! Man, I only ever take my clothes off to take a shower, or to get busy with my lady, but that hasn't happened for a while, or ever, really, so...
Yo, what am I saying?! This isn't confessional hour. Shoot. Can't believe I started talking all crazy like that. Whatevs.
I think I made myself pretty clear about reprusentin, at least for now. There's a lot more I have to say about it, but you're gonna have to wait.
Peace in the Middle East, homies
"Reprusentin" is many things at the same time. One on hand, it is definitely something you do (like right now, if you could see what I was doing, you would see that I'm reprusentin, just sitting here on my laptop). And at the same moment, it is not limited to just something you do, but extends to your mindset, and even to the atmosphere you carry about yo' self. When you've reprusentid as long as me, you actually start to become "reprusentin," like it's my identity.
That's some deep shizzle, though, isn't it? I can barely understand what I'm talking about. Let's start simple, then, and talk about reprusentin as something you do. How do you reprusent? If it's me, I just make sure that I'm looking good to start out with. Like after I take a shower, I gotsta put on deoderent, Old Spice to be exact, and then I hit myself with the AXE. I don't just spray a little on my neck and arm pits though. I put it everywhere: my hair, ears, nose, mouth, eyes, and of course, I go down under. You gotsta. It all starts by making your base layer fo'rizzle. And then you can build up from there.
After that, boxer briefs (duh), white socks, a kicking tee, sum saggin jeans, and then my kicks (white low-tops, baby, and nuthin else). It sounds easy, don't it? But you can't just wear any tee-shirt, or any pair of jeans. Like, what do you think "kicking" means? You probably think "kicking" is to have one of those shirts with the alligator on it. Stoopid. I wouldn't be caught dead with you anywhere. There's no way I can really tell you how to be "kicking," just how not to be "kicking." Basically, I don't know you, but I can bet you're not "kicking." So take everything you usually wear, and put that shizzle in the garbage.
Don't get BoShnickels wrong here, okay? I'm not talking about vanity. It's not about putting this stuff on and being fake so you can get chicks. It's about putting this stuff on and being real so you can get chicks. Or dudes, if youz a chick.
Yo, this is who I am! I wear what I wear and do what I do because it reprusents where I should have been from. Yo, I say "where I should have been from" because a lot of haters been saying that a white kid from a rich neighborhood shouldn't be dressing or talking like this. But fools, I wasn't supposed to be born there! I'm from the hood! like before I was born, I was supposed to be heading to a poor, black, single mom living off food stamps in the ghetto, where all of my neighbors sold crack, my older brothers went to prison for robbing a liquor store, and my sister's still in highschool and she already got a baby. But then some fool made a mistake and sent me to live next to Tom and Shirley, who don't know anyone who's done crack. That don't matter, though! I knowz who I am!
Yo, I just wanted to make it clear that you need to reprusent who you know you are on the inside, and not what you are on the outside, no matter how many times you look in the mirror and see a twenty five year old, blond haired, white guy, and not a thirty five year old black man sitting on death row for shooting a cop.
So you're probably asking yourself: "what does a reprusenter do during the day?" Easy: look good. Yo, that's all I ever do, just look good. Like, in worst case scenario, my girl could catch me taking a dook at six in the morning, and I would still look fly. You know why? Because I sleep in my clothes, that's why. I go to bed wearing everything I just described a little bit ago, even my kicks. And I never let my hair touch the pillow so I don't get stupid bed head. How do I do that? Simple: sleep like Batman, hanging upside down by your feet. You have to get your mom, or I mean, your girl to help you out, but it's worth it. Also, you can sleep standing up like a horse, but I haven't figured out how to do that yet. Yo, I have a timed-release misting system that keeps me covered in AXE all through the night! Man, I only ever take my clothes off to take a shower, or to get busy with my lady, but that hasn't happened for a while, or ever, really, so...
Yo, what am I saying?! This isn't confessional hour. Shoot. Can't believe I started talking all crazy like that. Whatevs.
I think I made myself pretty clear about reprusentin, at least for now. There's a lot more I have to say about it, but you're gonna have to wait.
Peace in the Middle East, homies
New Addition to the Family
Sup, gang? Today marks one of the most significant changes to BoShnickel's domain: we've merged (or absorbed, to put it straight) with Phil Honus and the Smart Retard. Phil Honus and the Smart Retard still have their own blog, and I'm sure Phil would love to continue posting on just that one blog, but until the F'ers from blogger.com tell Phil how he can log back on to his freakin blog, he's going to be helping out here. I've only known Phil for about a year now, but I can say that he spits some of the maddest game in the biz. Believe me, BoShnickels wouldn't let anyone on who would threaten to compromise the integrity of this site. Belee Dat.
I don't know much about the smart retard. Whatevs. He's supposed to be mind blowin', but I don't know. I'm kind of scared of handicapped people. They slobber too much. Sick.
Anyways, just a heads up, bruddas and sistuhs. Boshnickels has been in the game for about four years now, and this is the first time he has co-lab-o-rated. So we'll see.
Toodles, y'alls.
I don't know much about the smart retard. Whatevs. He's supposed to be mind blowin', but I don't know. I'm kind of scared of handicapped people. They slobber too much. Sick.
Anyways, just a heads up, bruddas and sistuhs. Boshnickels has been in the game for about four years now, and this is the first time he has co-lab-o-rated. So we'll see.
Toodles, y'alls.
Friday, September 07, 2007
I thought I told you that I won't stop
Guess who's back? You thought I was dead, huh? Foolish. Boshnickels can't die- he only grows stronger. And it's time for me to take back what's mine.
You should never underestimate what I am capable of. What if I told you that I've been killing grizzly bears in the interim? Impressed? You should be.
I have so much to tell my homies out there. For those who stayed true, bumps and rubs, and for those who said Boshnickels was washed up, your time is gonna come. That's not a threat, it's just life. And life is a highway, and I'm gonna ride it, just not with you losers who said my blog was stupid, or who never even knew I had a blog in the first place.
Hey Koellings,
I'm back
You should never underestimate what I am capable of. What if I told you that I've been killing grizzly bears in the interim? Impressed? You should be.
I have so much to tell my homies out there. For those who stayed true, bumps and rubs, and for those who said Boshnickels was washed up, your time is gonna come. That's not a threat, it's just life. And life is a highway, and I'm gonna ride it, just not with you losers who said my blog was stupid, or who never even knew I had a blog in the first place.
Hey Koellings,
I'm back
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
