Guess Who's Back?

Oh hey there, I didn't see you over these piles of paperwork (non-existent paperwork, unless all my legal pads and copies of "Sports Illustrated" from last year count as paperwork) and the fact that "Words With Friends" and Wordfeud have taken over my life (for the record, in between both those games my record is like, 0-400). This is random.

So yeah, the blogging took a back seat, or maybe I treated it like "Home Alone" and I'm just getting back home on the truck with John Candy. Truth be told, I was kind of in a mindset to just put the blog in the ground and kill it (in that order, I like to make sure you'll fit in the grave before I get out the old tarp and shovel). But I'm not going too, this blog keeps me writing and keeps you guys smiling and keeps some people wondering "What's wrong with this guy?"

There's nothing wrong with me, I'm just that awesome. And Remember how I told you I was gonna buy my kids gold plated monkeys? This blog needs to keep going if that's still going to happen, the Nigerian Prince that e-mailed me told me he has a few extras I can have if I send my social security number and credit card information. Done and done, Prince Amukamara. Haha, I think a few people will get that joke, and if you don't, Google him. He's a real person.

I guess the reason I'm back doing this today is that since Sunday, people have been busting on me to get back to doing this. Family, friends, "Bluth from DeLuth" (Shout out to my boy Bluth! Go Brewers! You loser. For those of you I haven't told, "Bluth" is a guy who found my blog somehow and started reading and talking to me. He's an awesome guy, loves beer, baseball, football, and his Golden Gophers. He's not really a loser either.), basically a lot of people have been getting on me about starting to post again, so here I am.

Also, during my extensive break (I dunno if it was extensive, it has felt like a really long time), I went back a re-read all the stuff from my writing portfolio. I've got old book reports from grade school, the "Butterfly Story" from my "ME Book" (4th grade, SPX, everyone who made one should go back and re-read what they wrote, it's hilarious stuff in mine) and one day I will post that story on here, maybe when I get home today. It's a beautiful tale.

Uh, what else was in there? A note that Anne and I kept passing back and forth to each other from 8th grade (also awesome stuff), a lot of stuff from my creative writing and poetry classes, and just pieces of novels and other books I've failed to finish.

But I realized something as I re-read all this stuff. I "grade" my own writing too hard and I'm far too hard on myself. Looking back, I had a tendency to over edit, rip out words that "weren't good enough" and damn was I stupid. The rough drafts were so much better than the final product.

I think the problem is in the back of my head, every great writer had some sort of problem, Hemingway, Joyce, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Capote, and Poe were all drunks or struggled with alcohol and depression and there's countless writers who thought that the things they wrote weren't up to snub with (fill in the blank) and just blew up what they wrote (I literally blow up bad blog posts, one brick of C4, boom, then I go buy a new computer). That's what went on in my head, and it turns out that's not true at all, I should just write what I want instead of writing something, hating it, and not letting it see the light of day.

I want to go down as a great writer. Maybe not in the same realm as Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, or Chiuna Achebe (maybe not a house hold name, but he's by far my favorite author and his book "Things Fall Apart" is still one of my favorites all thanks to Mr. Haller who taught my world literature class at DaMafUh) and the others I mentioned above, but that's okay. Those men are legends.

So I may never become a household name, write a novel, pen a memoir, collaborate on a script, but hell, compose a speech for a politician, but all that's just icing on the cake. I'd be thrilled writing a column for a newspaper (or should I just stop saying newspaper and say website? God I hate the fact that if I do become a columnist, I probably won't get to literally hold my first column in my hands, but that's an anger I'll let out another time. Wow, that was a slight off topic rant), editing some poor smhuck's drafts, or just writing this blog in my spare time. Which brings me to my next topic...

Women.

Not really, just wanted to throw an off speed pitch by ya there. "Cuz it's one, two three strikes you walk..."

What I really wanted to do with these closing statements is thank you, the readers. No joke, if I could, I would find every last one of the people who read this thing and hug you. You're allowing me to keep doing this, if no one read this, I'd probably be moving up to Buffalo right now. So thank you for the comments, ideas, feedback (which I guess is redundant cuz I already said comments, my blog, my rules), and for all the love.

So that's all I got, my grand return to the stage, and the marking of the new start of a lot of things in my life. Just remember I want some more guest posts, some more ideas, and any feelings you guys have on beards (hopefully that will be my next post) you can send to my inbox on Facebook. If you put it on my wall or comment it on a status, then everyone can see what the post will be about and it's totally worthless, it's like if I told you at the end of Fast Five, ********* gets arrested, ******* & **** have a baby, and **** ****** is naked. None of those are accurate, at least I think they're not, they're just there to prove a point.

I'm back.

Untitled Post Part Two

I once did acid with Morgan Freeman.

Yeah, you're probably pretty jealous right now, but wait...I didn't really do acid with Morgan. I had a dream where I did though.

You're probably wondering two things - (A) What the hell is Sam writing about? (B) What's Morgan like on acid?

Well, the answer to your first question is I'm writing this post about my dreams, sleep problems, and sleepwalking. I decided to do it when I dreamed I dropped acid with Morgan Freeman, even though I wouldn't know acid if you dropped it right in front of me.

In the dream they were just little tea-bag looking things(which after some research I found out isn't what they look like) that we bought from a dealer outside of PG County Stadium (Home of the Baysox) after a game then went to Chik-Fil-A and went crazy on those Spicy Chicken sandwiches. Me and Morgan both hate pickles, or at least he hates them in dream world.

Now, for your second question. Morgan is awesome to do acid with. We talked about how he made Evan and Bruce "Almighty", how he drove Mrs. Daisy, how he redemption-ed Shawshank, how he summed up all fears, and how he helped make sure to keep baby out of the corner. Then we high fived, he walked into the parking lot, flipped a SmartCar with his bare hands, and rode off in his sleigh which was pulled by Matthew Broderick, Denzel Washington, Jay Pharoah, and Cary Elwes.

So onto the next dream, this one is extremely normal compared to the one above.

And note the fact that there's no semi-witty segway, I'm swinging for the fences here.

This next dream happens a lot, like, four or five times a week.

It always starts out the same way, with me running through different places whether it's down the hallways from episodes of "Scooby Doo" (You know the ones with all the doors), running around DeMatha, Maryland's campus, Dave's condo, the Taco Bell in Severna Park, Ace in Severna Park, around a couch or table, or sprinting through the set of "Community".

I run for a while, turn a corner and there she is, "Mystery Blonde Girl".

I've never seen her face, she just keeps running away from me so I keep chasing her and chasing her but I never catch her. I ususally just run after her for a while until I trip and fall or run into something and next thing you know, I'm awake lying on the floor of my room.

This dream has been going on for maybe four months, but "Mystery Blonde Girl" has made guest apperances in my dreams for at least a year, it's weird. Really weird. But at least it's "Mystery Blonde Girl" instead of Jake Gyllenhall.

The next dream is easily explained, I have dreams where my friends murder me. Well, I can't really explain it, they just kill me. It's that simple. It's always a different friend and always a different way for me to die. Thanks guys.

And if you're wondering, Wes gets me with the machete, Kelly hits me with her car, Dave shoots me, Mikey stabs me, Mike beats me with a baseball bat, BoomKing uses a bazooka (I can actually explain that), and Brian uses nun-chucks.

My friends mercilessly beat, stab, chop, shoot, eat (the one who ate me will surprise people, I'll just say it's a she), and hit me until I'm fading out and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, then I wake up. Next time I see them, I'm secretly mad, concerned, and very alert. They're really weird dreams and I don't think my friends would kill me, but I can't be too sure cuz as soon as I trust them, it's over and I'm getting chopped up like in the end of "Things Fall Apart".

Okay, so now we're going to get into the final piece of this freak-show I've presented that just happens to be my sleeping habits. Sleepwalking.

The first time I sleepwalked (slept-walked? I dunno) I just remember going to bed in my room and waking up on the couch. That's happened a few times and it's never a big deal, just kinda weird but hey, at least I'm staying in the house and on the ground.

This next story took the game to the next level. This story is triple overtime with game seven on the line. This story is streets ahead. This story is, well, epic. And one I'll tell till the day i die.

So, if you've played "Call of Duty Black Ops" you remember the scene where you're the guy in the space suit walking across the runway to get into the Blackbird to fly around and guide the squadron. If you didn't let me paint you a picture.

It's a hazy day, you're in a yellow space suit walking across the tarmac, saluting the men out there with you. Then you get to a flight of stairs, you walk up them, get into the cockpit, close the hatch, and you take off to start the mission.

Now, let me set up my part of the story. I have a "split level" house and all that means is that when you walk in my front door, you can go upstairs or downstairs from the landing.

Below is a fine artist's rendition of the layout of the bottom half of the steps. He's probably pretty proud of the fern-thing he drew, so be sure to compliment it.

Ok, so that arrow is pointing to a major player in this story. Like, what Jason Campbell was to the Redskins. A big deal. That arrow is pointing to a part of the ceiling that drops down and slants, giving you less clearance. That's really all the set up I guess this needs so here we go.

I dreamt (Dreamed? You'd think an English "major" would know) that I was walking up the stairs about to climb into my jet, the hatch closed and I did the final checks, throttled the engines, worked the elevator flaps, and flipped a bunch of random switches before looking out the window and giving the thumbs up to the men on the ground who quickly pulled the equipment away so I could take off.
Then I kicked the throttle open and, felt the jet burst from under me, and then...

I woke up.

Well, I didn't just wake up, I woke up perched on the landing, toes curled over it, arms swept back like wings, and knees bent, ready to launch into the air and go defeat the Communists. That's a terrifying way to wake up and now I'll tell you why...

I was ready to explode into the air, and as we all know from that nice little arrow I drew in that awesome artwork I made, if I had jumped off the landing, there's a 100% chance my head would have smashed into that piece of the ceiling so hard that it would have been one of those moments where my body kept moving, but my face stayed in one spot. The ultimate clothesline.

In between my face smahing into the ceiling and the roughly seven step drop that would have followed (if I missed the ceiling, I would have just smashed through the drywall at the bottom of the steps which would have also been painful), that would have hurt. Alot. That shook me up pretty bad when I was able to step off the ledge and get my head straight.

That would have be tough to explain to the parents when they woke up and saw their son lying in a bloody crumpled heap on the floor. But I know what I would have said when I realized they were there and they saw me. "Mission accomplished sirs. Our country is safe, and the wind of God is at our backs." I dunno why I would have said that, I dunno why the wind of God is at our backs, but it just was.

So yeah, that pretty much wraps this one up. There might be some more weird dreams posts and I would love for someone to tell me what they think the "Mystery Blonde Girl" dreams are trying to tell me. Actually that would be awesome if someone could, cuz those really bother me.

Also before I forget if you have a beard/have had a beard/are a beard lover, I want your input soon. I'm doing a post on beards, the pros and cons, and the perception on beards from guys and girls alike. I have a few people I want to talk to, but any input is welcome and will be used.

I also want some more guest posts cuz then stuff gets posted that I don't have to do any real work on! You can write it on any subject, just email me (samcarroll9@gmail.com), Facebook me (SamWow Carroll), find me on Twitter (@therealSamWow), call me if you got my number, or write it down and just hand it to me.

Bee-Dub-Dub

Okay, so I've been scratching up this piece of paper since 6AM and I came to a conclusion.

Well, actually two conclusions, but you get them both for the astonishingly low price of just one! You my friend, have been blessed. It's like getting a box of soup, Heath Ledger poster, Zippo lighter, or a "Troy & Abed In The Morning Mug" as a gift (well, at least I know two of those four were seen as awesome..."We don't have cameras." "Yeah, who would watch this?" a few of you might get that quote session...1615).

Okay, got a little off topic, back to the two conclusions. Conclusion number one, I don't need to write everything I write in my marble notebook (I'm taking this shit back to the third grade). That writing is mostly just dumped straight from my mind, through the pen, onto the paper.

Conclusion number two, instead of trying to find some funny way to write this post, I decided to pour it right from my heart into your brains, which is really uncharted territory for me so we'll see how it goes. Probably poorly.

I love Buffalo Wild Wings. I'd take a trip to "B-Dubs" over any other restaurant. I'd take six wings from College Park's location over a week's worth of free wings from WingZone (You use too much sauce and your blue cheese is nasty).

I'd take "B-Dubs" over a lot of things actually, baptisms, weddings (I'll see you at the reception though), movies, doctors appointments, birthdays, confirmations, cruises, a Hooter's sponsored car wash, hospital stays, going to work, and going to meet some friends at Chipotle.

Fun story about the meeting friends at Chipotle. I was supposed to meet some people from the old job at Chipotle in College Park, then Dave called and said "Hey, we're going to wings, etc etc" as I was on the way to Chipotle, so I changed lanes and went to BWW. Without telling those other friends I wasn't going to Chipotle and for some odd reason, they're still upset.

That. Happened.

Now, I wanted to talk about the waiters and waitresses who I love and all, but that doesn't seem important.

What does seem important is the people I go with every week. I'm talking to you Dave, Wes, Matt, Julia, Mike, Mikey, Leah, James, Tim, Sari, Nick, Ben, Chris, Kris, Chris, Alise, Stephanie, Kelly, Hina, Goose, and all those other people I forgot or just didn't remember their names. Now, not all of those people come each week. It's usually just me, Dave, Wes, Julia, and some of her friends but occasionally the other names make an appearance but their not really regulars.

Those people are the reason I go each week. Sure the food is flawless and the sports are amazing but I love being with those people, my extended family.

Me and Dave talk about who's working, me and Wes talk about what sauce to get and study the artwork, me and Julia talk about side bangs versus front bangs ("See! Look at her, side bangs look retarded!"), me and Kelly discuss why she's not gonna hit me with that block of wood under the table, me and Julia's friends discuss two things; how awesome I am and then I make sure they're not from places I don't like (I'm looking at you Miami), me and Matt, Mike, and Tim talk about sports, and me and Mikey Dubbs talk about, well, everything. What I'm trying to say is that I love everyone who walks in and sits with us to eat and talk and hopefully they enjoy it as well.

There is one story I want to tell before I wrap this up. It happened last week when we went to BWW to "surprise" Dave for his birthday.

So Wes, Kelly and I went out to get a cake to bring with us to give to Dave. Mission accomplished (as usual). Julia, Mr. Bonanno, and Mrs. Bonanno went to get Dave and bring him there.

When they showed up, me and Wes were at a table waiting. Dave shook his head and "smiled" and then we ate and all that good stuff. When we were done, the waitress brought out the cake and someone announced it was Dave's birthday, people clapped, cheered, etc and we cut the cake.

So after a few minutes, the waitress comes back and stands between me and Dave. Dave's father then says "Hey David, you know what you could do with that cake? You could use it to lure young girls," pause to point at the waitress, "back to the apartment."

He said it as a joke, and we all laughed. Except Julia, who in my head was just extremely embarrassed and I wish Dave was too. It was just hilarious, the perfect BWW moment from a first time visitor.

So that's all I got.

I apologize if this post means nothing to you cuz you don't go with the group I go with, but hopefully it reminds you of the good times you had going out with your friends or family.

And if this one sucked, I'll have a new one hopefully tomorrow or Friday that will let you all laugh at me. A sleepwalking post is long overdue friends and neighbours.

Also, hi Lauren! There, hope you're happy haha.

Food.

Have you ever thought what your last meal would be? You know, you've been sitting around a prison cell (whenever I think of prison I think of Eddie Griffin sayin "You looking at my Janet?") and they come open the door on your last day and bring in a tray full of _________. I mean, I guess they still do last meals, I hope they do cuz when "The Man" finally catches me I've got some explaining to do if ya know what I mean...

I think about my last meal alot. I know exactly what it would be and exactly how long it would take me to eat eighteen wings from Buffalo Wild Wings (six Honey BBQ, six Asain Zing, and six Spicy Garlic), onion rings from Dune Burger, medium ham and pineapple pizza from Ledo's (handmade by the one and only Mikey Dubbs), milk shake from Z-Burger, and a bag of Communion wafers to snack on before I go out (via firing squad, like a boss).

So yeah, that's my last meal, I'll probably never get to eat it and if I did I'd wind up clogging the plumbing at the joint for weeks. But I'm here to talk about food. And how much I love it. And how awesome it is. And my favorite food. And maybe even drinks, or that can be another post.

I think that the question "Hey, do you like music?" is stupid. I think the question "Hey, do you like food?" is stupider ("Hey, you're in the pool? Catch this toaster." Unrelated but it's also a stupid question). So yeah, everyone likes food. Only morons don't eat and sure, you might not like brussel sprouts, corn, tomatoes, pizza, tacos, or fish but you still eat other crap and love it. And to all those people (girls) that have eating disorders, you might look hot and skinny but I'm gonna give you a fork before I give you a ring, ya dig?

So what else to talk about food based?

Meat. As a man, I love meat. Chicken, pork, steak, pig, bacon, bacon strips, bacon bits, ham, ostrich, kangaroo, sasauge, lion, fish, ground beef, and one of my personal favorites, scrapple. Oh man scrapple, the gift from the food gods that drops from the sky after you used all the "edible" parts of a pig. I mean, if brains, testicles, stomachs, bones, and eyeballs taste that good slopped into a brick, holy damn. Also, I just Google Imaged "scrapple" and found a picture of a cake...made of scrapple. I'd put the picture up, but it made me kinda sick.

I like chicken wings. I like chicken wings so much that in the past two years I've probably spent somewhere around 1,500 dollars on wings. I like them fired or baked. "Naked" or drowing in sauce. Dry rubs or sauces. Warm or cold. Fresh or left-over. Legs or thighs. Blondes or brunettes. Shirts or skins. Paper or plastic. Heads or tails. This got off topic. Basically, I love wings. I own many a sauce-stained shirt, and even my "We Want Wings!" shirt is slightly stained (but entirely awesome).

I hope you all learned something from this, what you should have learned is that the way to my heart is chicken wings. Or blondes. Actually, blondes is the better way. Or a blonde girl that brings me wings, she gets my heart and a wedding ring.

I also love tacos. Fish tacos, beef tacos, chicken tacos, taco tacos (taco in a taco), and my personal invention, chili tacos. That's chili, in a taco shell, covered in jalepenos. I love Taco Bell and the "BTB" (Better Than Beef) squeeze on them from that giant bag of beef. I love that bag of stuff, I love it so much if it were in a blonde wig and carrying wings, I'd marry it.

Pizza. Mike Birbiglia (world's greatest comedian) made me love pizza more. "Pizza and sex are very similar, when it's good it's good, and when it's bad you get stains on your shirt." That's just the one quote I know word for word, but the man has written full bits about pizza and it's hilarious and off topic for this blog post or else I'd tell you more about how great Mike Birbiglia is (he went to G-Town for god's sake).

So I guess those are my three favorite foods. I also like mac-n-cheese and corn. I love corn. And tomatoes. And peaches, which I'm allergic too but still eat from time to time just to prove I live on the edge. How am I allergic to peaches? Well, as far as I know it's the fuzzy skin. I try to eat a whole one and my throat closes up like a thing that often closes up.

So that's all I really have to say about food for now. There will probably be a drinks post and a Buffalo Wild Wings post coming up soon and when I get back from my "research" trip to the Buffalo Wing Festival in Buffalo, New York (September 3rd and 4th) I'll have some awesome stories.

Credit for the idea of this post goes to my favorite student at Cornell, my friend Italy, who is a nutrition major (I think) and my future "Drinking at SPX" buddy.

And just as a teaser, my next post will be about my sleep problems, dreams, and who I want to blame. Pax.

Nostalgia Sunday

I've been feeling extremely nostalgic ever since my first "Offical Unoffical Grade School Reunion" was planned and I wanted to share a few memories from my grade school years. I'm hoping to string a few of these together but we'll see how that goes. It's 1995ish. I'm in Miss Andrea's kindergarten class at Ascension Catholic Church. I used to sit near the door next to Joe, Joel, and maybe Emily. Can't exactly remember. What I do remember is every morning when we came into class, we'd have to get out our journals and crayons and draw something. When we were done, we had to take it up to Miss Andrea and show and tell her what we drew so she could give us a check mark on the page. Since I was a boy (and awesome) I drew tanks, bears, and other deadly stuff.

I wish I could find that book and scan in a few of the pages but I wouldn't know where to look, probably an art muesum but that's not the memory I wanted to share. I already told you guys about the girl trying to kiss us and us running away (we were so naive) and that's my only memory (along with the drawings) that's clear enough to tell, so I guess I just wanted to show you all how good looking I was in kindergarten.

So now I'm in first grade at St. Pius X Regional School. It's November of 1996, Mrs. Cavanaugh's 1st Grade class. This memory I can promise you is 100% solid. I wish I knew how I could hold all of these random memories in my head, it scares me sometimes but it's also a really cool thing to have.

Okay, so back to the memory. I was sitting next to Anne on the window side of Mrs. Cavanaugh's (1A?) classroom all the way at the end of the hall in the "Old Wing". My Grandfather had just died and I was telling Anne about that (I don't know why) and while I was telling her, I had a pencil in my hands with a pair of scissors onnit. What I was doing was holding both ends of the pencil and spinning my hands, making the scissors spin around the pencil. Apparently that wasn't "safe" to do in a classroom full of kids so I was told to stop and I was pretty embarassed.

I also remember that Mrs. Cavanaugh always took off her shoes during class and just walked around barefoot and apparently I was the only kid that could read the word "creation" off the board (well duh, I was in Sister Cecilia's reading class so I was kind of a big deal).

I debated sharing this next memory for a while for two reasons, (A) the finer details are kind of foggy and (B) it's embarassing to me. I think it was sometime around second or third grade and we were playing a game that put basketball and kickball together in some weird sports orgy but it was a fun game (everything was then). I was up, kicked the ball, and made it to first. It was a close call, but an arguement arose.

My team said I was safe, the other team didn't so they yelled at me. I started to cry like a little bitch. Mrs. Sikorsky came over and said I was out so I walked back to the bench and hung my head in shame. We lost the game by one point (I made that up for dramatic effect, I have no idea if we even kept score).

Now let's skip ahead to third grade. Mrs Curran's 3B classroom. It was close to the end of the day and we were all writing down our homework in our "Homework Books" and I was sitting next to a classmate that will remain un-named (if you really wanna know, send me a message on Facebook). My classmate asked me what the homework was that Mrs. Curran had just mentioned. I told her to shut up and thought it was over and done and I returned to jotting down the day's homework.

She raised her hand, presumably to ask Mrs. Curran to repeat the homework that she had missed. Wrong. She ratted me out. I looked up at the front of the class like a deer in the headlights. I got in trouble but I don't think anything happened to me except the fact that I had to apologize, which is dumb, cuz if I told her I would have just been slowing myself down then I would have had to ask Mrs. Curran and it would make it look like I wasn't paying attention.

What takes longer to say, "Shut up." or "Finish the color by numbers, read another chapter in our 'Children's Bible', and learn why two plus two isn't five." Women.

Okay, so that's really it for this "Nostaigia" post. Let me know what you guys think and I'll post more pictures and stories later in the week that will cover the fourth through eigth grade years.

Look Ma! I'm on the TV!

A giant nosed thrity-one year old co-worker of mine once told me "Hey Sam, you should have your own talk show." I had no clever response, I still don't. I want my own talk show and I'm gonna talk about what I wanna do on it and why I wanna do it. This introduction paragraph was alot longer in the draft but it was pointless and rambled on (like this sentence) so I cut it (unlike this sentence).

Picture it man, every night at _ _ : _ _ PM on _______, America's #1 Network, beaming into your living room, me, The Real SamWow. Well, don't picture it. I know what you're thinking, "We took Howard Stern off the TV ," you say "We need to keep these uggos off the TV, put them on the radio!" If you didn't know, Howard Stern is really ugly. Also, the word "uggos" means ugly. There we go, I taught you guys something. Mission accomplished.

So why do I want to do a talk show? That's easy. I love making people laugh, smile, and feel good. It's why I like waking up in the morning and it's probably something I try to hard at sometimes, but I need it to survive.

I'd love to be able to run out onto stage every night, wait for the que, then dive into my monolouge, joking about the current whatever, doing some stupid gesture ("POP, POP!"), do a bad impression, and my personal favorite, doing a really white, really stupid dance.

Another reason is I love pop culture for some reason. I love television, movies, magazines, all of it. I want to meet people from my favorite movies like Will Smith, Natalie Portman, James Franco, Anne Hathaway, Jake Gyllenhall, Jeff Bridges, Bill Murray, Jessica Biel, and Matt Damon.

I want to do interviews with some football player or coach who just won the Super Bowl and brings the Lombardi trohpy to the set, I want to meet Tiger Woods and thank him for getting me to like golf, and I want to talk to Rick Reilly (former Sports Illustrated writer) and thank him for driving my love of writing.

I'd want to meet and talk to the "average" person that has to became extraordinary in an unusual circumstance. The Sully Sullenbergers of the world, the Major Dick Winters, the Chad Urmstoms. The people who have a story or message that doesn't get the recognition they deserve.


We all have seem when the host says "Well (Celebrity Name), thanks for stopping by." Then the show cuts to commercial. If you watch the talk shows, just before commercial, the host leans in and talks to the guest. What do they say? I have an idea...

Me - "Hey Will (Smith), thanks for coming by, really means alot. Love the suit."
Will Smith - "Thanks man, I've been reading your blog since the "Potty Talk" post, good shit Brah, good shit."
Me - "Really? (I'm super excited so I lie to him and say) Thanks man, I really enjoyed you in that movie 'Hancock'".
Will Smith - "Haha, thanks but you don't need to lie. I'm sorry for 'Hancock' I didn't like it either but I needed the money, shoulda let Nicholas Cage do that one."

I have that talk in my head alot, that Will Smith is just such a nice guy.

Now onto the guests and what not. I already made a promise to a good friend of mine that he could be first up. He hails from the five-oh-eight, also known as Massachusets. And his name is Mike, but to some(just me) he's known "Milford Swagger" (or he doesn't and hates that nickname).

You all have seen his work. He was in all the viral hits from a few years back like "Glove Hero", "Anti-Thesis", and "Free Running Rock Out Style Parts One & Two". He's just your usual "Dude" who loves sports, Goldfish, and Buffalo Wild Wings (Aww hell yeah, I should just host the show from there).

Now I don't know who my second guest would be. Maybe my Grandmommy. I don't think many talk shows have rolled into existence with two unknown guests. "And tonight, on The SamWow Show, Mike and Grandmommy with musical guests the people I know that were in Severna Parks band!" That's not going to get the pull we need to keep the show going, even though that would be an epic show for me, but I know those people.

Ok, so that's all I got. This post was kinda made from thirteen different paragraphs on six different pages so I hope people like it but the truth is I'm low on ideas for new posts. If you have any ideas for me, let me know and I'll get back to writing.

Also, hopefully, this post doesn't suck.

April Fools.

Close you eyes and picture something for me. Well, keep your eyes open cuz I'm not there to read you this post. Unless you ask, then I'll probably come by and read it to you cuz then you'll give a glowing review about my blog to your friends and they'll start reading. Or if they can't read I'll come read it to them and start the cycle of me having to quit my job to read you all my blog posts.

Off topic like a MoFo, and now we're back.

You're down in Washington, DC seeing the Cherry Blossom Festival for the first time. You have your girlfriend, fiance, or wife with you (or maybe one of each with you, you sly dog). You walking hand in hand enjoying a spring day in the Nation's Capital, the Jefferson Memorial providing an amazing back drop when all the sudden you stop.

What do you see? A cop beatdown, College Park riot style? A kitten? Heaven? Girls in bikinis? Will Smith? All of those are wrong believe it or not. You see a young man, about twenty one years of age, down on one knee proposing to a young lady. If you're with your girlfriend, steer clear guys, next thing you know she's gonna want a ring. If you're with the fiance, she'll be all like "Aww." and she'll do that weird thing where they hug your arm instead of your body. If you're with your wife, you'll look back to a happier time when you didn't have all those damn kids (I know I do).

Now open your eyes again. Hi! It's me! I know I'm not what you wanna see when you come out of a dream/coma/trance/day dreaming session but here I am, sorry (really sorry). I have a story to tell, and as of right now I'm not sure if it will happen but by the end of the post we'll know seeing how I'm writing this a few days ahead of time. It may be pointless to tell you a story about what didn't happen but I like painting pictures with words. Now I'm done going off topic, I also want to apologive to Mrs. Gamble (my 7th grade english teacher) for my paragraphs not flowing cohesively.

That guy who was proposing, you know him. He's me (pause for dramatic effect). Minds. Blown.

Now ladies, ladies, please, I need you to keep your chin up. I'm off the market, it's just sad but true. My heart has been taken, my soul given up, my testicles removed, and my freedom crushed. But she's worth it. Now, I know what you're thinking. "Sam's getting married and we didn't know? What an asshole. We should have atleast met her once, we're his family/close friends." Ha, I lied to you. I'm not really getting married, what I tried to pull off at the Cherry Blossom Festival on Saturday April 2nd.

So I have a friend named Kelly (that seems like a really dumb lead runner for a paragraph, sounds dumber knowing this is longer than the sentence, man I suck). Kelly couldn't be around for my 21st birthday party but she told me to send some drunk texts and phone calls her way which I happily did. I don't think it took me more than ten seconds to decide what I was gonna do.

"Hey Kelly, will you marry me?" I sent as Wes nodded in approval, and from that emerged this crazy scheme which I'm writing about three weeks later.

So now fast forward. So it's eight in the morning or "Prank Day", the day I've been waiting for. There's just one problem, Kelly doesn't want to do it at all (now everyone quietly dislike Kelly. I'm just joking, don't dislike Kelly. She's awesome.) It's a tough thing to pull off and really sell it to the standards I wanted it to be at so I guess you could say we got cold feet over a fake wedding. Plus Kelly hates me. So yeah, even though the joke/prank didn't go through I still want to tell you guys how the joke would have gone down. There's two real reasons I want to, (A) I enjoyed thinking of the ideas and (B) it's only eight eleven in the morning and no one else will be awake for a few hours.

Okay, "Operation Fake Happy Ending" is what we will call scenario number one. It's simple, I get down on my knee, pop the question, and Kelly says "Yes!" and we'll stop it here for a second.

A friend of mine who I first told about the prank asked me "Well are you gonna kiss her?" (Kelly, I just heard you scream "Aww hell naw!" from here, and by the way, ouch.) So I don't know what we would have done but I don't think it really matters. I just wanted tourists to go home with a fun story and for people who didn't know it was a joke to wonder why there are pictures of me proposing to a random girl on Facebook.

So now onto scenario number two, "Operation Public Humiliation, Public Pity, Crippling Depression, Alcohol Abuse, Blinding Rage, Acceptance" It's a multiple step procedure that starts with all of "Operation Fake Happy Ending" up until the word "Yes."This time she says "No." Or "Hell no." Or laughs in my face. Or slaps me in my face. Or a awesome combination of all of them. "No! *Laughter* Hell no! *Slapping*" followed by a storm off.

Scenario two would have been the fun one (I got up to pee and forgot what I was going to put in here). There would be roughly a Tidal Basin full of people thinking a bunch of crazy things while they watched Kelly walk off and me sit on the ground and cry (I can get myself crying in about thirty seconds).

So yeah, the plan didn't happen. Oh well, I'm over it. It gives me a full year to plan a prank for next April Fool's (I already have some ideas that a certain duo of friends can help me with). I wish I could end this blog post better cuz I feel like it's weak but the reason I'm doing this blog is to let you guys step inside my brain and lets face it, not alot goes on in here and if it does go on, it does't really end like everyone wants it too.

Okay, that's it for this one. Maybe it's kind of a pointless post but I'm about to swallow my pride and just hit "Publish Post". I already regret it.