BML #12: The "Hide n' Go Seek" Story

This story is really short and simple but devastating.

A few years ago, I'd say maybe 8th grade, my friends and I wanted to play a massive game of Manhunt or what we called it back in the ol' days, Hide n' Go Seek.

We all had 1 full minute to hide and the capacity of our entire neighborhood. There were 20 people hiding and 4 people searching. I was one of the hiders and I had a great place to hide. The game starts and I run to my awesome hiding space. In the neighborhood I lived in, each apartment building had an AC fan cluster. 5 or 6 AC boxes encased in a makeshift room made by grass hedges. The thick hedges had to hide whatever was inside, which were the AC boxes, for the aesthetic reasons. Also, the AC's were turned on because it was the middle of summer so they would mask almost any sound I made. Perfect hiding spot EVAR.

Unfortunately, it may have been t0o well of a hiding spot. I sat in that lone location for literally 45 minutes. I get up out of the hiding spot and I started searching for the other hiders. After finding nobody, I began searching for the searchers. To no avail, I walked back to HQ. Nobody. The game literally vanished from existence.

I walked to my friends house who played the game with me. I find that himself and 3 other hiders just chilling in his house, playing Playstation. To my surprise, I asked him why he was there. He said that instead of hiding, he just walked home. I asked him where the other hiders were, and he told me that they too also went home. It dawned on me that I was the only person that hid, for almost an hour.

BML #11: The "Pokemon" Story

Back when I was a wee lil' beaver, I played a lot of Pokemon .... a lot of Pokemon. It was a daily regiment for me to sit in my chair during breakfast, lunch, and dinner; playing Pokemon on my gameboy.

I was a beast at Pokemon Red & Blue. Motherfucker, do not mess with me. I will unleash my lvl 100 Gyarados on your ass. Missingno? Who's got *flower grass*10 Master Balls? You will rue your life!

*ahem* Anyways, I had my fat gray Gameboy with Pokemon Blue in. My "ex" friend told me that I had low battery and that I need to replace them. I looked for fresh batteries but I couldn't find any. Then he suggested that he had an A/C adapter that he could plug the Gameboy in. I said I was game(boy) and then he made the ill-fated proposal that I leave the Gameboy on while the batteries "charged".

Now before you guys start yelling questions and statements at me; NO: they were not rechargeable batteries. NO: I did not realize this. YES: I was fucking 7 years old.

To my surmise, I return about a half hour later to see that my game had automatically started back over, erasing all my information and Pokemon. It seemed what had happened was when I was absent, the game had autonomously selected the first option in the main menu, which was "New Game". My world of Pokemon crumbled around me. I weeped for hours over it. I hated my friend for ever recommending me this procedure. I told my dad this and he chuckled and told me that you had to buy actual batteries with rechargeable capabilities, which were exactly the ones that were NOT in my Gameboy.

BML #10: The "Bicycle Jump" Story

I think I have the right to say that I deserve everything that comes my way, whether it be a lack of thought process or just poor luck. This story equips both adversities I would like to imagine.

At the circa of my youth, I was deeply interested into BMX. I had my favorites like Dave Mirra and Kenan Harkin. When I installed grinding pegs onto my Mongoose bike, I could do anything. For me, the defining difference between your shitty Schwinn bike and my breathtaking BMX bike was the pegs.

I rode this contraption for hours upon hours to the extent of days it seemed like. If I wasn't inside my room, I was outside on that god damn bike. I knew the day would come that a ramp would spawn somewhere in my neighborhood. It glimmered in the distance... somehow it did, it was made entirely of wood. It's ethereal presence just tingled my senses as I rode into proximity of it. Sitting on my bike, peering at this section of plywood precariously placed on a barrel. It was perfect. I knew that very second, this shit was going down.

I had my flame-decal helmet on. To this day I still can't believe I mustered up the courage to make this motherfucker fly off the ramp. I was confident that I was gonna rocket off that ramp and possibly even pull off a double tail whip in the process. Speeding up, I had no apprehensions. Traveling at what felt like Mach 3, I make contact with the ramp. "This is gonna rule!" I thought to myself as I elevate up the ramp.

Almost immediately when my front tire passed the lip of the ramp, it literally fell straight down and lodged itself between the ramp and the ground. As the front tire found its place snug in the right angle of the ramp and ground, the rest of the bike pivoted forward, flipping me across the ramp, over the bike, and into the ground. I may make it sound ever-so-glorious, but if you were there, it was the most pathetic attempt at anything extreme endeavored.

As of today, I haven't even sat on a bike for at least 10 years.

BML #9: The "Bioshock" Story

Okay, this is a quick story.

As of recent, Bioshock 2 has been released for Xbox 360 and PS3. Being the broke piece of shit that I am, I couldn't purchase the game right away. About 2 weeks after the game had been released, I was playing Guitar Hero: Aerosmith (by the way, definitely the most boring Guitar Hero available). On Xbox Live, there was this feature for Bioshock 2 on the "front page". Several promotional pieces and videos and available clothing and objects for your xbox character were for sale, and the likes. At the end of the tirade of advertisements and promotional sales, there was the option to purchase "Bioshock" reading, "See what you have been missing out. Purchase Bioshock today!"

Completely ecstatic, I clicked to see how much it costed, and to my surprise, it was only priced at $20.00. I asked my dad to see if I could purloin a vente in order to acquire this game. We went through the steps to buy via debit card and made the final purchase order. The game was finally mine.

The file was 4 gigabytes and took around 6 hours to download. I decided to go to bed for the night and wake up to my brand new downloaded game.

I wake up the next morning and immediately waste no time turning on my TV and Xbox 360 to get cranking on this new Bioshock game. As the menu screen was loading up, I heard the sound effects and music that I recognized. This was not Bioshock 2. It was the original first Bioshock that I already FUCKING HAVE.

My instantaneous reaction was "OH NO." In disappointment, I just plugged in my Guitar Hero controller and popped in Guitar Hero: Aerosmith. *shed single lonesome tear*

BML #8: The "Road Rash" Story

In the year of 2004, there spawned a lazy hurricane name Francis. This hurricane in particular travelled at literally walking speed. Bastard took 5 days to for this hurricane to stroll through the caribbean and make landfall. This lethargic quality will be significant soon in the story.

For those not familiar with hurricanes, if inflicted with a direct hit from a hurricane, there are 3 stages. 1) The front end. 2) The eye in the center. 3) The back end. After the first stage made its damage, the eerily calm eye becomes present. Since this hurricane in question takes literally a whole day or two for the eye to pass over, we were able to play outside for a bit. There's no weather conditions; cloudless, no rain, barely any wind, and no flying tree branches and plywood. There's no power in our houses due to the first stage being a dick, so we get bored.

I spent the day outside skateboarding wherever there was no debris and puddles/road lakes. There was surprisingly not much rain the first stage so the roads were still wet but not entirely flooded. My friend Adam was patrolling around on his gay little moped in the community streets. He was a fellow skateboarder and wanted to join the fun. His skateboard was snapped in half so he didn't participate by skating with me. He suggested that I should "skitch" his moped, which is to hold onto the back of the scooter while I'm the skateboard and he speeds up.

Of course, unknowing of my own horseshit karma system, I agreed to do so. I step on my skateboard and grab onto the back of his moped and he starts gaining speed. We get up to literally 45 miles an hour and then I start getting speed wobbles. I end up bailing on my skateboard while traveling 45 - 50 m.p.h. It's like jumping out of the car while on a main road. I don't roll a million times with my arms flailing like a rag doll, thank goodness. I merely slide on my back and ass along the pavement.

I get up and dust my shit off and to my surprise, no broken bones or canyon-esque lacerations. But I do have all over my back, ass, legs, and ankles what resembles beef jerky. I'd say 20% of my body is covered with road rash and it does NOT feel enticing. To be honest, it probably felt like burning leprosy off with a blowtorch all over the affected areas, but that's probably exaggerating. IT HURTS.

My pants have holes in them especially around the back pockets. It looks like I farted an atom bomb and blew my seat wide open. The belt loops on the back of my pants are worn down to nothing, same with my belt. I had to wear gauze pads with dressings on them for like 3 weeks before I could wear clothes over the rashes.

BML #7: The "Jellyfish" Story

This incident occurred when I was roughly 7 years old (I had to ask my Dad). I learned how to swim very early on in my life when I was 2 years old. My dog Buddy (golden Labrador) had mindlessly shoved me into the pool when I was obviously not prepared for it. But natural instincts took over and my chubby arms flapped in the water and innately learned how to swim. Anti-BML for the moment, saving my parents money on swimming lesson which I did not need to partake.

Fast forward 4 years later in the summer of 1994. Tropical storm Gordon had made its erratic path throughout the Antilles and through the coast of Florida, bringing an abnormal influx of aquatic wildlife to the beaches.

After the Gordon made a name for itself in Florida, my family decided it would be recreationally healthy to take a trip to the beach (which wasn't that big of a deal, we lived 5 minutes from the shore). An alarming amount of people were there that day, all wallowing in the salty water. Being the adorable child I was (and still am), I joined the people in the ocean in jubilation.

Unbeknownst to me, people weren't the only beings at the beach that day. Sinister jellyfish and other sea creatures were present in the water. I play in the water effusively until I felt a fierce pain on my right leg. A twinge that can only be described as being molested by collective of white-hot razor blades (do not ask me how I know how the latter feels because I don't know but let the hyperbole do its job people).

I turn in horrible agony and discover a jellyfish the size of Jansport backpack. Desperately in need of escape, I run back to shore. Not swim, but fucking RUN in the water to almost no avail. The ocean water mixing with my tears, I swim frantically back to land. I finally crawl back on the sand, yelling for my parents. My mom and dad rush to me and find that I have a 2 foot long singe on my leg in the shape of a hook.

My dad flagged down a lifeguard and he conveniently had a bottle of vinegar at hand already. It turns out that several people were being raped by jellyfish (not the anime mind you) and he had been treating stings all morning.

I will tell you, pants have never been more difficult to wear in my entire life.

BML #6: The "Nacho Chip" Story

This particular story happened not too long ago. I would think maybe 4 days ago before this post. I almost was not going to post this particular story since it happens quite often to some people and I figured wouldn't be a good addition to the Beav My Life legacy. But today I recited this incident to my friend Teresa on the way to school and I found a humorous style of this story. So I decided to write this article now.

As I do almost every single night of my lonely life, I sit on my bed watching Adult Swim or HBO eating whatever is easy to make in my fridge. There's this simple snack I've enjoyed since I was little is a plate full of nachos with melted cheddar cheese, jalapenos and herbs on top. Nutritious? No. Delicious? Definitely.

In the middle of my cheesy meal, I get a sharp tinge in the front of my throat. Like behind my adam's apple. Logically, I assumed I had a shard of nacho lodged in my throat because apparently I barely chew my shit before I swallow. *rolls eyes*

I finished my nacho's in hope of dislodging my stubborn piece of corn chip. Also, drinking literally a gallon of water trying to soften the splinter of nacho. Audibly hacking phlegm, trying to move the fucker out of my epiglottis. I wish I could show you the sounds I was making as I was performing my oral cleansing as they were quite hilarious themselves.

I threw away my plate and walked back to the sink where I resumed my coughing and hawking my throat out. The irritation caused by this bastard was immense. I eventually started choking so hard that I inevitably vomited into the sink. The contents of my stomach blasted out of my mouth and nose. Corn bits, cheese paste, diced jalapenos, and oregano peppered about. As you can imagine (probably not), the feeling of jalapenos going through your nasal cavity is about the same experience as snorting hot sauce for your drunk friends entertainment. As aching tears flowed from my eyes from the burning sensation the jalapenos granted me, the fucking pain remained in my throat.

In due course, I said, "Fuck it!" and continued to bed.

Waking up the next morning (well, who am I kidding? Next afternoon), I noticed the same feeling in my throat only this time it wasn't as irritating and painful. Confused, I drank some water and thought about what else that feeling could be. I concluded that it couldn't be an embedded fragment of corn chip since after all I drank and ate in duration of the ordeal should have displaced the piece of nacho out of my throat. The only other possibility was that the broken chip might have subtly lacerated my throat while eating shards of corn chip. Like that was any fucking better...

BML #5: The "Bare Foot" Story

This is another tour story (which reminds me, Toy Story 3 comes out the day before my birthday).

On our 4th day of tour, we resided in St. Petersburg at our drummer Justin's dad's best friend's house. The house itself was literally only 1,000 or 2,000 feet from beach of the Gulf of Mexico. It was a ridiculously beautiful day in Tampa and we all wanted to spend the day at the beach. It was actually a swell idea and there aren't many chances for me to see the Gulf of Mexico since I live near the Atlantic Ocean on the other side of Florida.

I figured since the beach is so close to the house, it would be logical to just walk to the beach and enjoy the day there. Since I don't wear sandals ever, I wear sneakers instead. Therefore, I don't wear shoes to the beach because sand + sneakers = fuck you. So I walked barefoot to the beach ... terrible idea. The asphalt was literally and metaphorically hot coals, the black pavement being a thousand times hotter than the gravelly gray roads. The second I placed my naked feet on the road, I felt the intensity of a million suns burning on my soles. I figured if I ran to the beach swiftly enough, the pain will subside once I rush my fat ass to the ocean. I swear to you guys, I tried so hard to sprint to the salty finish line, but my legs stopped working due to the unbearable heat from the road. I hopped like a elephant on egg shells across the road and the dirty sand on the street before the beach.

When I finally got to the beach, the sand was no improvement. That shit was just like road in granulated form. I raced to the deep blue panacea as fast as my chubby burnt stubs could take me. In mid-pace, I threw my towel on the sand by the shore and jumped into the water, holding my feet in relief. After romping in the Gulf of Mexico, I faced the beach/allegorical minefield, totally not wanting to repeat the same heartbreaking process. I had to get back at the house ultimately, so I just sucked it up and trekked across the beach and across the same fucking road that I will forever have hatred for.

I earned several monumental blisters on my feet, the size of silver dollars. I had to walk everywhere on the sides of my feet practically just to get to point A to point where-ever-the-fuck. It was until the show at the Skate Park Of Tampa, I started walking on the flats of my feet. When my band played, I busted every blister on my foot stomping on the stage and running back and forth on stage.

To add pain to disappointment, we all went to the Jupiter beach before our Pompano Beach show. The sand wasn't that hot and it was a stroll on the beach compared ... to ... the beach? Anyways, the day at the ocean went swimmingly (that's it, I'm done with puns) until my tour mate Tom (rhythm guitarist of Horizons) and new friend Clementine went to the nearby river for a freshwater dip. I decided to join their festivities and left my glasses at the beach because I figured why bring them if I'm just gonna go in the water again. Tom and Clementine left a little earlier than I did and I attempted to follow them. I walked across the beach and to the road and across the way I thought I saw them enter the woods to the river (I didn't have my glasses on so all I could recognize was the color of their swim suits). I walked towards the woods and found out that it was a dead end and I had to guess that Tom was secretly motherfucking Houdini and disappeared with Clementine to the river. I turned around and walked on those little acorns shaped like medieval Morning Stars (look it up) for literally an entire hour. A full hour of walking on what felt like broken glass and shattered dreams.

I ended up with cuts and gashes on the fresh peeled skin of my post-blistered feet. I hated myself the whole time until I jumped in the pool at Jarred's house to cool off. I hate beaches.

BML #4: The "Rat Tail" Story

Yours truly performed in a metal band called Illustrate The Apocalypse. Said metal band endured a week long tour with fellow bands, Horizons and In Alcatraz 1962. The tour's itinerary consisted of Orlando, Daytona, Tampa, Sarasota, Ft. Myers, Ft. Pierce, and Pompano Beach, Florida. For those who have no participated on a tour with other bands, everyone likes to fuck with each other constantly. This perpetual condition will provide a handful of additional Beav My Life's in the near future.

The bassist of In Alcatraz 1962, Jon, had a profound pleasure of inflicting "rat tails" on other people. It was always funny, but he was inclined to get me with rat tails all the time.

For the first instance, we had just finished playing our show in Sarasota at Stage 64. We were all breaking down our equipment and packing up our vans for the trip back to Tampa and call it a night. I grabbed our merch box full of our t-shirts and walked towards the van. Jon, just behind me, rat tailed the living shit out of left ankle. I could have promptly put the box down and held my fresh flesh wound, but instead I comically stood in place and yelled into the sky like in werewolf movies (I like to make them). I grasped the box as tightly as I could muster and yelled out to nowhere, "THIS HURTS AND I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT!" It wasn't until I stepped into the van that I discovered that I was bleeding from the gash my beloved Jon gifted to me.

The next day, we all played a house show in the Ft. Myers/Cape Coral area. While I was in the kitchen, Jon dealt a barrage of rat tails on my husky ass when I was cornered by the fridge. Littered with lines and marks on my body, I took those rat tails like a bitch.

A few days later, we play in Pompano Beach at Solid Sound Studios. I had just acquired a severe sunburn (2nd degree burns, I earned sun spots on my shoulders from it) at Jupiter Beach/Inlet the day before. After performing our last set on tour at Solid Sound Studios, I walked around the venue with no shirt on because it was too unbearable to put my shirt back on when I was sweaty. As I was standing outside in the back, my naive-self said out loud, "With my luck, somebody's gonna smack my shoulders or Jon's gonna rat tail my shoulders." Sure enough, Jon was within an ear shot and delivered the most elegant and hellish rat tail in the history of rat tails. Like a certified whip, the frail end of the towel licked the sunburn on my shoulder and emitted a loud crack. I immediately screamed expletives and starting grunting the anguish away and walked back inside. I stood inside in the back of the venue facing the corner of the wall trying to calm myself. The only thing I accomplished was that my eyes started welling up and tears began to flow down my cheeks. Now for the record, I wasn't crying. I was simply tearing up because the pain was SO great that my body was doing nothing but reacting to the infliction.

In Alcatraz 1962's vocalist Andre felt terrible about my misfortune and told Jon to apologize to me. Jon did so and I forgave him. We're all brothers and it was all out of good fun. But damn, that rat tail fucking hurt. I now have a deep-rooted fear of being rat tailed. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

BML #3: The "Teeth" Story

A little backstory first on the famous Beaver teeth I have.

As it is apparent in the majority of my pictures, I have buck teeth. Most people would have applied braces at an early age when they have buck teeth. I HAVE been fitted for braces when I was 10, but my family ran into financial crisis and became homeless for an entire summer and we couldn't afford the braces anymore. In result of not being able to have these braces, instead of hiding in the shame for my whole life, I decided to embrace my beaver-esque image. Now onto the story...

Around the age of 7, my blessed aunt was baby sitting me (she was roughly now my age at the time). At this age I was starting to lose teeth. Two baby teeth in the same location as my obnoxious front teeth were both loose at the same time. *cue Donald Yetter Gardner - All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth*

Myself and a few lost names were playing out by the street, laughing and frolicking. I was running full speed along the sidewalk when my dumb ass tripped on the crack of the sidewalk, did a superman into the ground face first. What were two loose front teeth were now jammed back up into my gums. Picture a handful of white chic-lets forced into a rotten watermelon slice. Yeaaaaaaaaa...

I ran to my aunt, my face fucked up, yelling, "Aunt Mandy! I'm bleeding!" She sprinted to my mother and brought her out and I repeated "Mommy, I'm bleeding!" She started screaming and threw my ass in the car and ran every red light from the house to the hospital at Mach 4. Delirious, my mother rushed me to the emergency room. the doctor responded, "I cannot treat this for this is a dental issue. We need to transfer him to the nearest dental office immediately."

I was rushed via ambulance to the nearest dental office. I don't remember much of the dental office, but I do recall a few details. I do remember that The Great Mouse Detective was playing on the overhead TV in the office and that they tried to apply anesthesia to my mouth but that shit didn't work. The Novocain leaked through my shredded gums and my tongue numb instead. So with no anesthetics, the dentist utilized pliers on my teeth. I remember her trying so hard to pull those bastards out of my face, when she accomplished ripping out the enamel, the actual tooth fell to the floor because she used so much effort to tear them out. After she jerked the first tooth out which fell to the ground, she looked at me and said, "Alright, now the other tooth."

I spent the rest of the 1st grade with no front teeth. Today, I have evidence of this. My current front teeth have white marks which are commonly mistaken as fluoride stains. They are actually contact marks from when the baby teeth were pushed back up in my mouth, they collided with my mature teeth. That's fucked up if you ask me.

BML #2: The "Steak N' Shake" Story

Somewhere in the distant year of 2008, I was hanging out with several of my Boca Raton friends (only one that I still associate with ironically). I had Steak N' Shake for lunch that day with my dad since we spent the morning at Sam Ash looking at microphones and PA systems. Later that same day my friends want to go to the same Steak N' Shake (not the point of the story, but retarded regardless).

While waiting for our meals (Frisco Melt ftw), my ex-drummer Brian dared me to eat one of those little green pepper that are in the glass jars. They looked spicy but I didn't give a fuck, I've eaten spicier before (ie. don't eat habaneros). My fingers were either too husky to fit in the neck of the jar or that all the peppers were too far down in the jar to grab or a combination of both, only a fortunate few will ever know. With a stroke of ingenuity (barely), I use a knife to attempt to scoop a pepper out of the jar, kinda like if it were a ketchup bottle with the asshole ketchup not coming out.

Why a fork wasn't used to just stab a few peppers out, my faggot brain did not think of this.

Anyways, I tilted the jar more and more horizontal to get a pepper on the knife. Focused on the actually peppers and knife, I was not, however, focused on the vinegar content of the jar. The vinegar level became to high, resulting in most of the vinegar pouring into my lap Young Frankenstein style. The toxic vinegar soaked through my pants, onto my twig & berries, torturing my balls into agony. I swear for that moment, I thought I heard my dick actually screaming in pain.

Not only did my junk burn from the liquid pepper spray, it smelled horrible. I awkward walked to the restroom (again) and tried my best to clean myself up. I stopped the searing pain on my drive shaft and ball bearings (which was good for me). I did not accomplish to eliminate the pungent smell of the spicy vinegar (which was not good for everyone else on the car ride home).

Next time somebody dares me anything, I'll use a forking fork.

BML #1: The "Minus The Bear" Story

My most infamous and notorious story of all. Whenever I'm hanging out with a new group of friends, this story is always to the first to be recommended to be shared to the new kids. God damn it Shawn.

Sometime in August of 2008, myself and my good friends Mandy and Spinner went to see my favorite band of all time, Minus The Bear. MTB performed at a venue in Ft. Lauderdale, FL called Revolution Live. The way the venue is designed; there's the main floor where the bars and seats are, the second floor via staircase (will be an important detail soon), and the "dance floor" or the "pit" which is a sub-level in the center of the venue about 7 feet below the first floor (also via staircase).

The first band 27 played. They were mediocre at best with deep ambient tones and weird nature sounds throughout the entire set. The second band to perform was Annuals, and they were all that and a bag of chips. Annuals nearly changed my life when I saw them, as they were near perfection with their powerful mix-genre experience that everyone should partake in.

The third and headlining act was of course Minus The Bear. Midway through the set, I felt a slight discomfort in my stomach as it was most likely the pre-show Taco Bell we ate on the way to the show. I had to fart, as it seems. I'm standing in the middle of a crowd of 200 people so I fire away. Turns out my body wants revenge on me and instead of a fart creeping out of my ass, I shit my fucking pants.

I shit my pants in the middle of the set of my favorite band of all time.

Instantly, I regretted ever eating food in general and thinking that farting was a swell idea. I shuffle my embarrassed self out of the dance floor and realize that all off the restrooms are upstairs.

With chocolate cake in my pants and between my fat cheeks, I need to awkwardly walk up the stairs and back around the venue to the restrooms where I spent the next 20 minutes cleaning myself up in shame. I was 18 years old and I shit myself in a public facility.

This was never mentioned to anybody until 8 months ago when this whole "Beav My Life" idea started by some crazy friends. Leave it to your friends to gain notoriety from your troubles.