Mood:
a-okNow Playing: Coldplay - A Rush of Blood to the Head
So friends, it has come to this, I have finally reached the 50th post on my blog. I think that is fairly impressive considering that I most of my posts are rather long and have pictures that require hours of painstaking manipulation in MS Paint. Well, as a special treat for my legions...er I mean legion of fans, I have decided to reveal how my blogging genius came to be. In order to do this I have to give a detailed personal history. Fear not, this won't be one of those lame-ass auto-biographies that you get from politicians, celebrities or athletes. No, I will give a fun, dare I say adventurous glimpse into my life story. So sit back, get comfortable and prepare yourself for: Wait, What Just Happened? The Chris Hahn Story
Long ago, in a land full of people wearing Carhartt jackets and snow shoes, a dashing yound lad was born to an artist and a crane operator. Upon his birth, citizens flocked to awe and marvel at his awesomeness. Truly he was an amazing baby, and I was not that baby. I was born in Petosky, Michigan. Although I would rather claim to be from Charlevoix for the record.
The events surrounding my birth are quite unheralded, but still awesome. My mom had to fight a shark to the death just to get a parking space in the hospital parking lot. My dad was forced to eat 60 hotdogs in an hour so the doctor would deliver me. Granted these heppenings aren't worthy of legend, but they are impressive nonetheless. Michigan is where I get my super powers. I guess my fortress of solitude would have to be happy valley, where everyone is happy all the time...or else. In that farm country I draw from both my dutch and german genes. Combining skills in irrigation, wind mills, and wooden clogs with alcohol consumption and the ability to wear lederhosen to become the oozing mass of awesomeness that I am. I'm not so sure I like to describe myself as an oozing mass of anything but oh well, it is written and I can't change it now cause that would just make me some sort of revisionist history guy. And that would be lame.
Now that my creation is out of the way, I will discuss my long and completely non-boring journey to Whidbey Island and eventually Bellingham. SO after my birth, my parents realized that my power was too great to keep in Michigan so I moved with my mom to Florida. Yes somehow being amongst SO many old people made me stronger. Unfortunately, I have never been able to get the old person smell out of my skin, which probably effects my chances with the ladies....FOR THE BETTER! I mean WHO doesn't like the scent of a 60 year old man? Adam Sandler reference anyone?
Moving along. So whilst in Florida, I fought several wild beasts (alligator, squirrel, shark, titmouse, three toed sloth, republicans) and garnered numerous scars. Mostly on my head. Which accounts for the 180+ stitches I have up there. Here is to hoping I never go bald...and that my gene pool is strong enough to keep hair on my head. Realizing that my potential would never be reached in Floridia, I moved to Washington. State, not D.C. I FUCKING HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME THAT. How about this, people from D.C. can say that they are from The District of Columbia and people from Washington can say they are from FUCKING WASHINGTON. GOD I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE ASK ME THAT. It wasn't so bad the first 10,000 times but Jesus Tapdancing Christ it sure is fucking annoying now.
So anyways. In Washington I get bombarded with liberalism AND rational thought. Lord only knows how I would have turned out if I had stayed in Florida. Probably prefer prune smoothies, golf pants, matlock, republicans and matlock instead of schnapps, jeans, the simpsons, any kind of non brainwashing political conglomorate and of course the family guy. Fast forward a few years and I'm right in the middle of my experience on Whidbey Island. The English language has no words that could adiquately describe my feelings of this Island. Some good and some utterly, utterly bad. Eventually, I made the Island my bitch and moved to Bellingham to conquer the rest of my life.
My travels across the country have tought me many things: People are stupid. People are assholes. People come. People go. Smart people are few and far between. Friendship comes and goes and sometimes dies. Their is no such thing as fair and balanced. Life is just one big empty moment that needs to be filled with something, ANYTHING.
