This massive fire was the direct result of a wooden wine rack burning.

BLUE HOUSE — Astronauts aboard the International Space Station witnessed a strange occurrence Saturday night—a large flare of flaming light seemingly sprouted from the Earth. While it appeared as something sinister, the flare was nothing more than the remains of a wooden wine rack burned to ashes as an unlikely sacrifice celebrating M. C. Fox’s twenty-eighth birthday.

The large fire was only one highlight at a gala that became an elegant gathering of the Blue House’s finest. Earlier in the night, a select group of gentlemen gathered around the Kitchen and try a sample of a rare Vietnamese cocktail composed of a golden liquid drowning a cobra eating a scorpion. Fox described the drink, “It tasted like maple syrup.”

The coterie was all night treated with films projected onto the House’s top-notch outdoor screen. Films included such classics as Beerfest and Super Troopers. Most agreed it was better than the Chinese Theater in Hollywood.

“The night,” said Taylor, one of the guests, “in a word, was magical.”

It was so magical, in fact, that once the wine rack was torched in honor of the “Fantastic” Mr. Fox, a flame the size of Mount Rainier shot into the heavens—startling America’s astronauts. Once they learned what the flame was for, they joined in song wishing Fox a happy birthday.

Mustangs were a common victim of the past week's storms.

KNOXVILLE, Tenn. — In the wake of a week of news-making thunderstorms and tornados, citizens local to the House have been sharing their own dramatic storm stories. Strangely, and perhaps expectedly, they all sound eerily similar.

“A tree fell on my neighbor’s car,” one impacted citizen said. “He had pulled it out to clean out his garage when the storm hit. A tree fell flat into the back of it—shattering the windshield. It’s a 1967 Mustang with fully original everything—even the paint.”

Another devastating citizen had a horrifying tale:

“My house ended up fine,” he said, “but my neighbor, boy did he get it bad. A tree fell through his car. It was awful. The car was a fully original something, a Mustang, I think.”

And while it seemed that this storm was only out for classic automobiles, another story came to light:

“That storm was the worst I ever did see,” the citizen said. “A tree crashed right through my neighbor’s house. I felt so bad for him and his family. You know what the kicker was? They called their house ‘Mustang’.”

The exact reason they titled their house this remains a mystery. But the storm was no mystery. The storm was frightful mess. Take, for example, this alarmed person’s story:

“I live on a farm,” she said. “My husband’s a farmer. Imagine that. Anyway, the storm hit our crops badly, but what really irks me the most is that a tree cracked and fell on my favorite horse—killing him instantly. He was a good Mustang.”

So while these stories all end with trees killing Mustangs, one must remember that it is probably a simple law of nature. Mustangs live, and Mustangs die. Let the trees do the rest. This last story is the one that really brought it home.

“I was sitting on my chair drinking my whiskey when the storm came in. My power went out immediately. So, I just sat there and drank my whiskey. The next day, I finally got up and went to the cabinet to get a bag of chips, and would you believe it, as I grabbed the first chip, the power came back on. The chip I held in my hand was the exact shape of…”

It seems any moron could predict where this story was going.

“…Abraham Lincoln,” the man said.

Perhaps, not every moron.

“And then,” the man said, “a tree fell on my brand-new Mustang.”

The verdict is in: all storm stories suck.

Corey and Shauna cut the cake following their wedding on Friday night.

KNOXVILLE, Tenn. — On Friday evening, Corey Mac married his longtime love, Shauna Margetson, at the Knoxville Botanical Gardens. The ceremony was intimate and humble but possessed all the spontaneity and charisma that have come to define Corey Mac himself. The Blue House was proud to be in attendance for such an occasion.

Now, considering this is a respectable publication that must follow all media convention—especially in covering a wedding—the anticipated question must be asked: how was the dress?

“Well,” Jeff L. Horner said, “Corey looked spectacular. He really did. He lit up like a new diamond.”

Corey’s tuxedo consisted of an elegant vest punctuated by black slacks and a pair of high-class pumps. Shauna looked nice as well; she wore a wedding dress.

“Her dress was very nice,” Horner said. “It was white. I heard a bunch of girls tell her that she looked beautiful. So I guess the dress was great. To be honest, I have little experience in this field.”

All agree, however, that Corey Mac looked spectacular. He was flanked on the garden stage by his colorful array of groomsmen, who sported the same apparel. In an ode to the humbleness of the scene, Corey’s best man, John Carlisle, left his cherished Mohawk colorless, which only added to the intimacy of the ceremony.

When the two lovebirds finally uttered their ‘I Dos’, Shauna erupted in a dolphin shrill of joy. “Eeeeeeeeeee” was heard in all corners of the city as the ultimate dream of this respected couple was realized.

The wedding was followed by an invigorating reception that served only to galvanize the whole evening into our memories forever. From all of us here at The Blue House Lives, we wish Corey and Shauna many happy years together.

Fox is a tremendous driver, but Fujima Kaido's drift challenge has proven too much so far.

EAST WING, Blue House — While it was reported that M.C. Fox had defeated Forza Motorsport 3, it seems that the accolade was preemptive. Fox is actually one achievement point short of conquering the game, and that one achievement has been nothing short of a colossal challenge. The challenge is drifting, and it requires Fox to garner 100,000 drifting points on one lap. This achievement is, by far, the toughest on the game.

In order to have a chance, Fox hiked to the top of Japan’s famous Fujima Kaido race course. The course traverses mountainous terrain in a track that is as curvy as a dragon’s tail. While the course gives Fox a drifting advantage, 100,000 points remains elusive.

“It’s a difficult feat,” Scooter said on his weekly BHSN show. “100,000 points has never been done by anyone at the House, and it’s possible that the number has never been hit in the history of the universe. Fox is attempting original stuff here.”

Fox’s best score is a little over 80,000, which while impressive, is nearly 20 percent short of the goal. The problem is a simple one, for it involves time-travelling rewinds that enable Fox is redo portions of the course he initially messed up. While the rewinds should power him through to the finish with well over 100,000, they surprisingly deplete near the end of the course. After that, Fox merely bounces and careens off of guardrails like a pinball (if that’s what you’re into).

These failures beg the question: Is the end of Fox’s prestigious racing career? Will the former Tokyo Star finally fall short in a race? If so, will his career ever rebound? Fox, unfailingly, had a reply:

“I’ll keep going,” he said. “Ain’t no course going to beat me. I’ll beat it and then “conamicate” the House with my glory.”

But the question remains: What if this race, on this course, is Fox’s Waterloo? What if this is the one that he cannot win?

“If I can’t do it,” Fox said, “I’ll put up an ad on craigslist: Twenty dollars for someone to come over and beat it. Then I’ll “conamicate” the House with my glory.”

Fox promises to defeat the challenge and "conamicate" the House with his glory.

An inspirational Predator poster is a must for any aspiring Man-Man.

THE HOUSE – “You better Man-Man up or go lie down, bag ape,” M.C. Fox responds to those who struggle with their training. Fox is identified as the official Man-Man of The House. The Man-Man movement started when Fox noticed a lighthouse collection accumulating in the Corner Room. His solution: a Predator poster erected upon the door indefinitely.

With intense vigor, Fox devoutly drafted the laws for The Conservation of Man-Man Principle. When asked about the principles, Horner casually replied, “it’s all about the 2 P’s: Protein and Predator.” To become Man-Man, one must identify with those who have achieved the level of Man-Man status. Identification occurs during intense meditation in front of The Predator Poster while chanting Kumate. After several hours, Fox was able to separate his mind from the external world and become one with those who are disciplined in Man-Man.

The House recognizes such heroes as Julian, Bill Paxton, Jean-Claude Van Damme, and Rambo, among many others. “Man-Man training takes time, effort, and commitment. You just don’t become that way over night,” trainee Wiggs confirms. “It is the most intense training I’ve ever encountered.”

Fox tries to extend his knowledge to the local youth population when the opportunity is presented. “They know I’m coming when they hear the Fletch theme song heading their way,” he said. “Most the time they run though.”

“It seems common for people to feel distressed by this lifestyle,” explains Nickle. “It’s really not for everyone.”

A wide array of protein shake powders is essential to anyone who wants to Man-Man up.

For those preparing their journey, Fox advises trainees to gradually increase their protein intake. Protein is essential for the rigorous exercise accompanied with the training. He recommends putting in Forza Motorsport racing hours as study time. Staying hydrated is also greatly stressed. Protein and liquids are crucial for the health of any Man-Man. As long as an individual follows the principles of Man-Manism and stays committed, a sense of ultra masculine nirvana can be attained.

A simple glass of water unexpectedly quenched Jeff L. Horner's thirst.

KITCHEN, Blue House – Jeff L. Horner was parched. In order to cure himself, he padded his way into the kitchen. Yet, upon arrival, he was struck by the thought that the kitchen housed nothing at all drinkable. “I was utterly heartbroken,” he said. “I couldn’t find any juice, milk, or soda. I had no clue what to do.”

It was at that moment, a strange instinctual desire crept up in his bodily desire places. “I felt the need to drink…,” it was at this moment he lost his composure, “…w-water. I felt the need to drink water. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

This loss of honor in which Horner refers pertains to the fact that he actually drank water (actual H20). “I drank it straight from a glass,” he recalled. “It was in a Brita pitcher, but I poured it into a glass. Drinking the water made me feel so old-fashioned and out-of-touch. I felt as if my peers were looking down at me in disappointment.”

Something remarkable happened, however. “It quenched my thirst,” Horner said. “It really did. I was beside myself. It did a better job of thirst-quenching than soda, milk, and juice combined.” Horner was initially skeptical, though. “I decided to drink some more water just to see if it continued to quench my thirst. Maybe my quenching was a complete fluke of the system. Maybe the planets were in alignment or something else completely rare and world-altering.”

And what happened? “It quenched me even more and even coated my mouth with a moist film of water. I felt so…so…hydrated.” While not offering any definitive remarks, Horner did hint that he might switch to water completely for all of his thirst-quenching needs. “Water is pretty remarkable. I’m just disappointed that I’ve never heard of its quenching abilities before. I’m considering applying it during other bodily activities such as bathing and baptism. Once again, water is truly remarkable.”

How remarkable is water? It appears that this publication will have to be present the next Horner bathes or gets baptized. Who knows when that may be?

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September 5, 2010 – Tennessee’s Water Worse than Washington’s Air

Fox's SVX features the ability to travel anywhere in any time.

“Have you ever heard the famous car quote: the car chooses you?” asks M.C Fox after purchasing his Subaru SVX. Fox excites over the arrival of his dream car, announcing to everyone that “yet another car wanted him.”

Fox’s luxury and performance vehicle comes with features such as climate control, smoke guard window covers, and the ability to travel back in time, to the 90′s. “The SVX is his DeLorean” observes Corey-Mac. “The Subaru SVX and the DeLorean DMC-12, as seen in the movie Back to the Future, have more similarities than a normal human can observe. Only a highly trained car eye, like Fox’s, can see that right away.

Unlike his Mazda-3 and MX-6, the SVX isn’t about developing speed, but rather skipping through time and space all together. “It’s concurrent with the television series LOST, and  they’re take on time travel” Senior LOST analyst Scooter compares. “In Season 4, episode “The Constant” Desmond’s conscious jumps in and out of two time periods: the present and the Past. I believe Fox can do the same while driving the SVX.”

The SVX was once referred to as a cross between Porsche engineering and Jaguar refinement. It is said to have superb handling, is built solid like a tank and remains stylish beyond everything. But these features aren’t why Fox waited 26 years for the car. It was the hidden flux capacitor that caught his attention. His SVX is high tech and powered by plutonium, instead of the usual gasoline and Nos. The intensity of the flux capacitor has presumably deteriorated the car’s battery, leaving behind an unfamiliar and odorous fume looming in The Downstairs. When asked about the switch from Nos to plutonium power, Scooter logically concluded “Nos is desirable for road speed, but Fox doesn’t need Nos, because where he’s going, he doesn’t need roads.”

Many claim that the SVX is the closest relative to the DeLorean DMC-12 Time Machine.

Eyewitness statements reveal that “When Fox takes off in that car, all you see is a blur of fanny packs, acid washed jeans, and flannel as he leaves The Driveway and enters a different time period.” Fox claims that, though his passion for the SVX is there, he would not neglect his other loves in The Garage.

This image represents what the corn-on-the-cob may have looked like before Man-Man heated it for consumption.

KITCHEN, Blue House – A nutritional breakfast, they say, is an integral part of any day. Man-Man believes this too, and he proved it on Sunday morning by devouring a juicy corn-on-the-cob for breakfast. “It’s the breakfast of champions,” Man-Man said. Sources now believe that the corn came from KFC, which has already been at the forefront of groundbreaking meals (see Chicken and Biscuit Bowl).

Man-Man is no stranger to unconventional breakfasts. For years, he had been known to frequent the Chinese food buffets around town for a beneficial breakfast. Scooter, the Blue House Lives editor, believes the same. “There’s no breakfast like a giant plate of lo mien.”

As countless nutritionists attempt to discover the formula for a perfect breakfast (are eggs good for you or not?), many believe that Man-Man may be ahead of the curve. “A corn-on-the-cob breakfast may be an innovation, but there’s still research to do,” the Blue House Lives leading nutritionist stated. “Eggs and bacon still seem to be the standard, but who knows? Maybe in twenty years everyone will be heating up corn cobs like Man-Man did.”

Man-Man didn’t elaborate on his motives. He merely wanted something scrumptious to start off the day. The corn boosted him so much in fact that he descended the perilous stairs into Caudle’s Dungeon Lair and threatened Caudle continuously with the corn cob. Man-Man portended that he would slide the cob into a sock and beat Caudle repeatedly with it. Caudle, in a stoic manner, gave no response. The sun may have already been too high in the sky for him to arise and be fully cognizant.

Man-Man developed an interest in corn-on-the-cob at an early age, as shown in this childhood roller coaster snapshot.

Man-Man simply chuckled and ascended the stairs munching on his maize nourishment.

If a corn-on-the-cob breakfast can give one the energy and the sheer motivation to enter Caudle’s gloomy abode, what more can it do? While nutritionists ponder the overall effects of this meal, Man-Man will serve as a human test subject, therefore once again proving that the Blue House may have the one up on science.

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.