Fox's incessant hiring of phantom drivers has Forza enthusiasts scratching their heads.

EAST WING- Odd things have occurred at The Blue House before, but phantom racing hasn’t been one of them until recently. This ghostly activity began when East Wing dweller M.C Fox joined Forza Motorsport racing.

Fox has frequented the game on a regular basis, and even dropped in on his lunch breaks to race and increase his credits. But when Fox leaves to return to his five-day-a-week duties, the game continues without his attendance.

This eerie occurrence has been seen on multiple occasions by various Blue House members, including Jeff L. Horner, who has heard racing noises in the dead of night. “I will wake up to get water, and hear the screeching of drifting cars, and I become stunned with fear. I try to drown out the noises but it follows me into my dreams. Kind of like a Freddy Krueger effect.”

Others have witnessed the ghost racing in action as well, so a unanimous decision to hire an expert was made. Enter Brandon Strike, a.k.a Striker, Ghost Hunter Specialist. Striker has known Fox for years, so he has a sense of his sly style. He’s also been a dedicated Ghost Hunters viewer since its premier in 2004 on the Syfy Channel.

“I believe that the entity that Fox called upon uses electromagnetism from the game as its energy source” read the Striker Report on the paranormal activity. “This case is trickier than others since even digital infrared cameras cannot capture it. It seems to thrive in the game itself and not in an external environment.” The Report concluded that no actual phantom driver existed outside the realm of the game.

After the reading, oppositional Forza racer Dhizzy raised allegations that Fox cheating on his races. When confronted with the speculations, Fox’s replied that “If the other drivers knew how to work the system, they’d be as good as me. They’re all just idiots, though.”

Fox has turned the East Wing into a Forza universe.

Fox uses a specially ordered steering wheel, clutch and accelerator pedal to race during select events. The rest of the time he uses the standard Xbox controller like other racers.

When further research was conducted, the hired driver feature resulted in earning only half the money and zero credits for that race. With cash winnings, a driver can purchase other vehicles to race with. The credits propel the drivers to higher levels. Fox has maxed out at level 50 for his driving skills. His car, the Mazda-3, which he also drives outside of the game, sits at a level 5.

When a driver drifts around a curve on the track, he can earn more credits. If the driver crashes or spins out of control, that action can be rewound and reattempted an infinite amount of times.

Fox's real Mazda 3 and his Forza Mazda 3 seem to blur the lines of reality.

The Hired Driver seems to have the advantage over manual racing. Hired drivers always win 1^st place, even though the winnings are cut in half, but if one were to over use the feature, the money adds up to a hefty amount and a lot more cars, as Fox displays in his impressive collection of customized vehicles, like the Jurassic Park and ATHF.

Striker declared the investigation to be ongoing and will continue his research he ceases playing FIFA World Cup, also on the Xbox 360.

My mouth had officially combusted. The sensation spread down my gullet as I swallowed the meat. How, oh I ask how, could this man in front of me, with his bristly beard already full of Atomic sauce, devour an entire basket of these things."

KNOXVILLE, TN – This is the story of when I witnessed a man eat fire. It was a Tuesday, and the sky looked like slate. Nichole and I had slid into a parking spot in front of Quaker Steak and Lube. We were early.

“Are you going to eat them?” she asked.

“I might try one. I think I kind of have to.” I said.

A few minutes later, a silver-bullet of a car cruised into the parking lot and stopped next to us. It was Fryin’ Brian making what, to him, was a weekly pilgrimage. There’s something about Brian that any time as he enters any scene, it seems entirely appropriate to play some old static-laced Hank Williams song; “Honky Tonkin’” should about do it. Brian lumbered up, and the three of us entering what is commonly known as “The Lube.”

“Ready to eat some hot wings?” I asked Brian.

“Do it every damn week,” he said. “This ain’t nothing.”

“I take it you getting the Atomics?”

“I get ‘em every time, and they’re good. They go down like candy.”

I was still wrestling with the idea of trying the Atomic Wings. They are so spicy that The Lube once had patrons sign a contract that cleared the establishment of all post-wing responsibility. So, as I understood it, these wings could kill me, and my little speck of a life could reach its climax on the floor of a place called The Lube.

The waiter approached. Brian ordered the sacred Atomics. Nichole ordered Asian style, and I, characteristically, wimped out and ordered plain hot wings. I could already see the indelible headline: “Scooter Cowardly Orders Hot (Wimpy) Wings. Atomics laugh heartily.”

“You can try a piece of mine, brother,” Brian said. I should have felt relief, but even this mild consolation startled me. I began to wonder whimsical things, like how cushiony the carpet was at The Lube or how it long it would take the paramedics to respond.

I drank a beer. Nichole sipped one. Brian drank two. Was he numbing his taste buds? Was that the key to Atomic Wing success? Should I too drink excessively, or would that only speed-up my post-Atomic demise?

The Wings arrived at our table, but I swore I could catch their fumes as they cleared the kitchen door. Their scent was stinging, almost suffocating. It felt like a hornet had flown up my nose and instantly crapped out acid. Brian basically licked his chops. Without any notice at all, he sunk his teeth into that juicy inferno.

“Just like candy,” he said.

“I can smell them from here,” I said.

Nichole held her nose.

“They smell good,” he said. “You should try ‘em.”

I nodded slightly and bit into one of my wings. It tasted as I expected it to taste: mild. I was coward; I knew that for sure. In the world of manly excursions, eating the hottest wings is a sure-fire way to rise to the top of masculinity, and by humbly munching on tame wings, I provided too much evidence that my estrogen level was high.

“My wings are pretty good,” Nichole said. Of course they were; they were tamest of all.

There was only one sensible thing for me to do. I had to try the Atomic Wings. “Cut me off a little piece,” I said.

“These are the hottest wings in town,” said Brian. I thanked him for his bedside manner, and with my fork, I snagged a small piece of chicken from his basket.

I was definitely hesitant, as I smelled the piece of meat until my nostrils hurt. I then decided to compromise and dip the meat into my ramekin of ranch dressing. Actually, dip might be an understatement. The correct description would be that I drenched the meat in ranch until there wasn’t even a section of it visible.

“Chicken shit,” Brian said. “The ranch dulls it.”

“I know,” I said.

Here was the moment. I glanced at Nichole in a subtle attempt to say farewell. I would have said farewell to Brian as well, but I secretly blamed him for convincing me to try such a thing. I shoved the meat into my mouth and chewed until the ranch wore off. Sensation: that’s the best way to describe it. It spread like spicy cancer through my mouth, and I tried to chew faster. I let out a sound, although I don’t remember what it was. Something like “Whew.” Brian snickered. My mouth had officially combusted. The sensation spread down my gullet as I swallowed the meat. How, oh I ask how, could this man in front of me, with his bristly beard already full of Atomic sauce, devour an entire basket of these things. He didn’t use ranch. He used nothing. He just took bite after bite with the look of a famished lion. He enjoyed them. I bet he would have eaten burning coals if I would have asked him.

“How’d you like it?” he asked.

“I hate you,” I said.

“This ain’t nothing,” he said. “These are only 150,000 Scoville units. There’s some in Chicago that are 560,000. I want to try those.” I should explain to the reader that a Scoville heat unit is a measurement of a food’s spice. It measures the presence of capsaicin, the active ingredient in chili peppers. Basically, Brian wanted to eat lava.

“You think you could finish a whole basket?”

“I’d damn sure try.”

I swigged my beer and went back to my regular (tame) hot wings. Interestingly, they weigh in at 3,000 Scoville units, which seemed a lot to me, but when compared to the mini-Mount St. Helens in Brian’s basket, I guess I should consider them about as spicy as a banana.

The rest of the meal passed as uneventfully as any meal does. My mouth still burned, and I feared what might happen when that little piece of chicken fully digested. I imagined that I would make the bathroom my monkish cell, as the wrath of God erupted from my ass.

Nonetheless, I had tried the suitably-named Atomic Wings. Brian ate a basket of them. I had a mere speck. And, if anyone cares to know, Nichole’s Asian wings were probably the best ones there.

BHL personnel were shocked to discover that this was The Editor the entire time.

BHL HEADQUARTERS – It came as a shock to us all when The Blue House’s writer, Jeff L. Horner, came out of the closet. “The Blue House’s editor has always been a man of mystery. Then Horner decided to ruin it for us all” co-writer Nichole stated at a press conference earlier. It has become apparent that the elusive and highly secretive Editor-in-Chief for The House paper has been Horner all along.

The Blue House website has always, until recently, hid The Editor’s true identity by featuring various photographs of equally secretive men, like the infamous Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget. As of Saturday though, the picture had been taken down and Horner took over the title position of Editor-in-Chief, as opposed to simply Writer.

“I was always suspicious of Horner’s relationship with The Editor, but I never thought it was him the whole time” retired Blue House writer Caudle explained to an eager crowd. “It just seems so obvious now.” Caudle refused to comment any further on the subject.

Nichole and Video Contributor Man-Man were not afraid to express themselves moreover. “I feel that my work relationship with Horner may be affected.” Nichole told the press. Man-Man agreed that it doesn’t feel quite right. “I slammed the door on his office hundreds of times. Even now, with him as editor, I’ll still slam his stupid little door.” he said. Nichole stated that she wouldn’t feel like she and Horner would be equal colleagues.

Nichole and Man-Man will not settle until Horner presents them with a pizza party.

The House has experienced an overnight installment of a hierarchy system in the matter of seconds. It’s only natural that there would be an upset among everyone. “I mean, we didn’t even know and now everyone knows who’s been calling all the shots” Man-Man continued to argue. Rumor has it that there may be a strike on the way.

Horner declined to say much on the matter, other than that he promises nothing will change as far as the paper is concerned. “I just wanted to give credit where credit was due. I didn’t want to make my associates feel inferior or awkward in any way” were his only recorded statements. Representatives for Horner want to make it clear that his decision to unmask The Editor was for professional reasons only, and not for the purpose of gloating.

Representatives for Nichole and Man-Man replied that they require a pizza party courtesy of Horner to earn their forgiveness.

Many students left vulgar messages on Pellissippi's screensavers.

THE HOUSE – In exhausting efforts to find a new computer tech, Blue House recruiters have compiled a list of potential replacements for M.C Fox’s old position. “Well, our first consideration for the job is obviously The Winner of the World, but getting him isn’t going to be a piece of cake,” recruiter Jeff L. Horner commented at a press conference. “We are really cutting it close here,” fellow recruiter Nichole stated. “Classes start soon and no one wants to take on the task of installing all those computers in such short time.”

Few observers have received the opportunity to peer into Fox’s work place. His office has been described as “the Wonka Chocolate Factory of computers.” Fox is said to have a wall of monitors surrounding his desk and little G.I Joes guarding all his equipment. Other techs at Pellissippi State say that Fox is the only man capable of tackling the work load.

Jeff L. Horner warns that “if The Winner declines our offer, then our other options would be Dhizzy or Cory Mac. Fox is nearly irreplaceable, so our new tech has to be above average, at least.” As Fox’s departure nears, more and more anti-Fox propaganda can be seen throughout Pellissippi’s campus. Computers at the school are widely sporting anti-Fox screen savers. It is clear that Fox has burned his bridges here in Tennessee. We can only hope that The Blue House recruiters can find a new computer tech in time.

Fox had obviously thought out his opportunties at USC.

THE BLUE HOUSE – After years of solid commitment to making Pellissippi State’s computer program a success, M.C. Fox has decided to leave abruptly and pursue a career at the University of Southern California. The decision was publicly announced on Tuesday night at an exclusive Blue House press conference that was described by many on the scene as “shocking and unexpected.” Critics are now evaluating the long-term consequences of Fox’s departure.

“I was totally surprised,” Nichole Stevens stated on a Blue House radio talk show on Wednesday morning. “Fox had become an emblem at Pellissippi, and with him leaving, the direction of the program is in jeopardy.” Near riots broke out on the campus following the press conference. Many of the school’s revered ducks were terrorized, and a number of outdated IBM computers were systematically set ablaze.

Many students also tossed high-explosive fireworks into the campus courtyard’s famous venting ducts. It appears that Fox’s decision to head west has vastly disappointed and enraged the student populace.

It is unknown where Fox received the inspiration to depart for USC.

Now, the question turns to a viable replacement for the floundering computer department. Stunned administrators relayed no information concerning a replacement, and regarding the whole riotous scene, they spewed forth no comment. “It will definitely be a matter of days before a decision can be rendered,” Jeff L. Horner, The Blue House Lives’s Senior Technology Analyst stated.

The Blue House Lives will continue to follow the developments as they emerge. Meanwhile, Fox’s decision remains on the minds of the entire Blue House, as its own future could hang in the balance. The following video summarizes the announcement and the lingering questions that Fox’s departure created:

Man-Man shows everyone how to wrap up and haul the Christmas tree.

Following the holiday season, it is only customary for residents of The Blue House to humbly take down the Christmas decorations and return The House to its normal state. Although the removal of the decorations is socially acceptable thing to do, it is a melancholy time for everyone involved. Yet, when Man-Man is behind the wheel of any operation, things are bound to get interesting.

Considering that he is the undisputed royal highness of removing any holiday flourish, it should therefore be him that displays the sacred art to everyone else. Therefore, a short video was produced that exemplifies his revolutionary method to toting the Christmas tree from one side of The House to another.

“I was there,” stated Scooter, longtime resident and friend. “His methods are a bit unorthodox, but I believe that we all learned something that day. We learned that there is no definitive way of doing something when it comes to Man-Man. Every time the expected procedure is altered drastically, and the results are definitely worth seeing.”

It must be noted that the tree took severe beating this season. It was knocked over twice, initially by Caudle and then by Scooter. The ornaments were shattered and shards coated the carpet of the East Wing. There are many who speculate that The Blue House Tree has had its run. Its fate will definitely be decided next year.

Hopefully, the following video will enchant the nation and educate everyone in a new way of holiday tree removal. Here is the aforementioned video:

The couch's unkempt condition was evidence of the Couch Surfer's presence.

THE BLUE HOUSE – In The Study, I almost immediately noticed it: the crumpled blanket, the disheveled cushions and the pillow carved out in the shape of a head. Like the three little bears, someone has been sleeping on The Study’s couch. It was then, at that very moment, I realized it: the Couch Surfer was back.

I do not pretend to know where he came from or his over-arching intentions. What I do know is that he needed somewhere to rest, and he chose The Study’s couch to do so. This choice gives me a sense of great pride, for The Study’s couch is my couch, and my couch, at least for one night, was the Couch Surfer’s couch. So, as I cleared my groggy eyes, I stared blankly at that periwinkle couch and wondered where the Couch Surfer was and what he was up to. Then, a cry reached my ears:

“Damn.”

I strolled through The House with a purpose and found my way into The East Wing. Sitting and beaming directly at the television was the Couch Surfer. He was deeply engrossed in a game of war, Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. Obviously, he wasn’t doing so well.

“Damn it,” he screamed.

“Not fighting so well?” I asked.

“Just dying too much.”

This statement is not something one hears very often, and it seemingly only makes sense with regard to the video game world. Then again, I took notice of the circumstances surrounding me. The Couch Surfer was back, and he was dying an awful lot. Yet, luckily for him, he instantly respawns every time he perishes. It must be nice, I thought.

Then again, there are many facets in life where one thinks they’re beaten and finished, but all one really needs to do is think of life as a video game. As long as one is still breathing and one’s heart still pumping, one can immediately respawn and try again. What a nice idea, I thought. I stared hard at the Couch Surfer as he yelled into the television.

The Couch Surfer was found fighting a television war.

“Damn it. That was my kill.”

He had been back merely a moment, and he was already teaching life lessons. The reflection, while profound to me, is simply another day in the life of that vagrant sage, the Couch Surfer.

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July 20, 2009 – The Couch Surfer Revealed

Scooter argues that a common oar is taller than Nichole.

THE BLUE HOUSE – A continuous question has arose in The Blue House: Is Nichole that short or are The Blue House members just that tall? Speculation has occurred since her arrival and measurements have confirmed her stature to be on the shorter end of the bell curve. This is a fact, indeed. But her argument, as always, reverts back to Washington standards.

According to the “Great” Northwest correspondent, her claim is that “people from the NW have a shorter average for height. Yeah, I’m short, that’s a given.” Even Blue House resident Michael C. Fox was quoted as saying “I think we’re all just tall. She’s woman-tall, women are suppose to be short…” Studies on the WA population trends do seem to show an increase in Asian heritage, as oppose to TN constituencies. And Asian people, as we all have witnessed, are generally petite and small built.

Nichole is declaring that her size is skewed due to her background and the difference in height averages. Blue House scientists have been measuring around the clock, trying to determine the answer to this long-standing debate within The House. The findings have shown that Blue House height averages at close to 5”11, while Nichole stands at a whopping 4”10 approximately.  Within WA boundaries, the numbers drop to 5”9 for males and 5”2 for females. So, is Nichole short or are Blue House residents all just tall?

To further support the Nichole-isn’t-just-short argument, architectural evidence has been observed all throughout The Blue House. Cabinet doors, for example, are mounted in The House at a level where if a person were to exceed 5 feet, one might, and has, been smacked in the face by a swinging cabinet door at high velocity. Coincidence? Nichole thinks not.

As expected, Blue House members Scooter and Dhizzy disagree. For their closing statements on the matter, Scooter exclaims that “if Nichole is normal height, then how come she can’t see out the windshield of a normal car?” While Dhizzy smugly closes his statement explaining, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m the perfect height.”

Perhaps, The Blue House will remain torn (like Natalie Imbruglia) regarding the subject at hand. Nichole and Michael C. Fox have decided to continue their research on the topic, while Scooter and Dhizzy eat Golden Oreos and drink milk, hoping to gain more height on the matter. Looks like the debate will continue to rage on throughout The House.

Steff has no problem retrieving her earnings.

THE KITCHEN – “I thought they were hookers,” one recent visitor to The Blue House commented on the two money-filled mason jars planted atop the refrigerator. The visitor was obviously referencing the names scrawled across the two jars: “Steff” and “Nicold”. “I can understand the mistake,” Jeff L. Horner said. “I’m sorry to burst everyone’s bubble, however. There are no hookers at The Blue House.”

The jars are actually posted up there to graciously receive food tips. Granted, The Blue House has not opened an official restaurant, but one would certainly think so. Cooking has become so frequent at The House, many outside commentators have posted speculation that Rachel Ray has moved in.

The jars are so handy that Nicold’s has a specialized hook that can used to retrieve her hard-earned money. This hook, of course, compensates for the fact that she will never be tall enough to reach the top of the fridge. Steff, it was reported, has no problem at all reaching up and plunging her hand into the lucrative jar.

Nicold uses a special hook to pull out the cash.

“Nicold definitely cooks a lot,” M.C. Fox, renowned virtuoso said. “I like those potato things. She even made chicken tenders.” It must be noted that Fox is a well-respected chicken tender critic. His critiques have even been printed in prestigious culinary publications, such as The Fatty’s Bible and If it’s not Poo, I’ll Eat It.

When it comes to actual output, Nicold is decidedly ahead of Steff (a.k.a. Leelee). Nicold’s tip jar currently houses eight dollars, while Steff’s only has five. The Blue House Lives noted culinary correspondent recently stated: “Steff has the quality there, but so does Nicold. Nicold is simply beating her in the volume of food produced.”

Duncan had his own thoughts regarding the subsistence output: “The Kitchen is certainly seeing some kind of renaissance. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even the dishes were done.” If one were to enter The House today, one would easily smell the mouth-watering wafts in the air. Nicold made a soup over the weekend that The Blue House Lives! has labeled as “divine” and “orgasmic”. Steff’s chili, as well, received rave reviews. The New York Times Blue House regarded it as “a dream come true” and “what sex feels like to a woman”.

The Jars are a new fixture at The House.

Whether or not this upward trend in culinary bliss will continue, only the two girls know. One thing is definitely obvious: They will continue to accept tips. As it appears, so long as the money’s flowing, these girls have no problem whoring out their cooking talents for The Blue House’s deprived stomachs.

*** This tidbit brings this publication to its next great request from the world that loves it so much. If anyone out there would like to send Steff or Nicold a tip for their eatable contribution to The Blue House’s well-being, please send it to our heavily-guarded Swiss bank account.***

These black treads are the marks of a champion.

TOKYO – M.C. Fox is at it again. Following his heroic exploits in bedroom basketball and the Amazon War, he took his infinitesimal talent to the Far East. While in Japan, Fox conquered the myriad street racing gangs that haunt Tokyo’s highways. In the process, he even defeated the ultimate boss, simply known as “???”.

“It was amazing to watch,” Jeff L. Horner stated after witnessing the final race. “For a while, it appeared that he might fail, but, in the end, his will and determination brought him through once again.”

Fox, who drove a Mitsubishi Lancer during the final race, simply said, “It was a tough race.” And while it seemed that “???” might have Fox’s number, he employed a very keen strategy. “???” is known for his excellence racing on the C1 section of Tokyo’s highways. Fox initially challenged him on the C1 and then forced him onto the Shinjuku Way.

“The Shinjuku really was the key here,” The Blue House Lives senior racing expert said. “There is no way Fox could have beat him on the C1, but once “???” found himself on Shinjuku, it was a completely different race.”

“???” definitely struggled on the Shinjuku, as he found himself striking walls and hordes of traffic. Fox, however, knowing that he had the advantage, kept his composure. “He drove like a pro,” one onlooker related. “Once they were off the C1, it was obvious who was going to win this race.”

Fox proved himself on Tokyo's highways.

Fox, whose orange Lancer sailed at superhuman speeds, celebrated his victory by squealing his tires in The Blue House Garage. This left an indelible mark on the garage’s coated floor. Two treads of victory signified the departure rout of a street racing legend. These marks, however, will soon have to be cleaned before the landlord visits.

Fox also received a hefty bonus following his victory. He was awarded 100,000,000 credits, which he can spend on a new car and aftermarket modifications. Inside sources state that this car may be a Nissan Skyline, but as of yet, no one is exactly sure what he will purchase.

It is unclear whether Fox will ever grace the Tokyo highways again. Many are happy to see him gone, however. Rolling Guy #1, a longtime rival, stated, “He needs to be up and outta here. He makes it hard on the rest of us to get a yen.” Fox did not have a reply. He merely maintains a well-deserved silence. It is that silence and composure that makes him such a street racing legend.