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.

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.

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

Corey grills up the love with spatula and water bottle.

On Saturday evening, Corey McPherson and his domestic partner Shauna Margetson delivered a cookout that rivaled any gala of the summer. Corey was observed early in the evening grilling myriad delicacies such as hot dogs and hamburgers. He performed it all alone save for a trusty bottle of water to shoot down splintery flames. “He’s quite a man,” one attendee said. “He’s like Big John in that song about that guy who died in a mine, except for the fact that he’s not a miner but a designer. Hey, that rhymes. So, I guess the simile works.”

While Corey served up the grub, Shauna entertained by displaying her unique dancing ability. She pranced through the hardwood living room with pigtails flying. The Blue House Lives junior dance correspondent related, “She flew through the air like an intoxicated swan. It was glorious.” In fact, the dancing was so spectacular that one might have thought she was trained by Baryshnikov or Nijinsky.

As Shauna waltzed around, the other attendees crammed their mouths with the delicious food. The Blue House Lives fatty food correspondent said, “The food was typical cookout fare, but very good, nonetheless.”

Aside from the food, guests inebriated themselves on an intriguing assortment of beverages provided by the guests themselves. Jeff L. Horner, one of the guests, said, “My beer was good. I guess everyone’s was. Bring your own beer suited the cookout perfectly.”

It was outside, however, on the dimly lit sidewalk, that the real action took place. Before igniting the grill, Corey had personally constructed a state-of-the-art cornhole arena. The Blue House Lives senior sports correspondent said, “This event was where the heroes were made and the posers destroyed.”

With regard to heroes, it only seemed fitting that The Winner of the World continued his winning streak at parties. Following his glorious return from a cooler injury to win The Blue House Beer Pong Championship, The Winner strutted around the cornhole arena like a king in his castled realm. It seemed as if every toss of the beanbag had the blessing of fate tattooed upon it. He blew through formidable competition that included Scooter and Striker.

The cookout was a gathering of warmth and gaiety.

It was only when Corey Mac himself sauntered onto the sidewalk that The Winner faced a significant challenge. Corey Mac had impressed the crowd earlier with his hitman-esque accuracy and amiable spirit. “The fans love him,” one spectator said. “He’s damn near a working class hero.”

Corey and The Winner battled into the night, and it appeared that even the moon stopped its orbit to observe the competition. Following extra period after extra period, The Winner finally prevailed 16-14. It was perhaps his most glorious moment. Experts say, however, that this could be the beginning of a rivalry that may make the Yankees and Red Sox look like gossipy teenagers.

All in all, the cookout proved to be a considerable success, as old friends mingled and felt the warmth of each other’s presences. One can only hope that Corey and Shauna will hold such a festivity again in the future. If so, The Blue House Lives will definitely be in attendance.

NOTE: All of the photography credit in this article goes to Corey McPherson and Shauna Margetson. Catch more incredible photographs on Corey’s Website.

A thief strikes and takes cow juice from the refrigerator.

Earlier, a thief struck The Blue House refrigerator and stole a jug of milk. The Blue House Lives is involved in an ongoing investigation to discover the culprit behind this act. We have discovered a video that sheds an enormous amount of light on the crime.

We hope that eventually the milk will be recovered and the criminal caught. The Blue House Lives senior kitchen correspondent relates, “The Blue House is in a frenzy over the milk theft. They fear that their calcium levels could reach dangerous depths if it is not found soon.”

Here is the video that has surfaced regarding the crime. Forensic experts are baffled by this, as it seems to have been produced during a bygone era. Enjoy.

There is much to tell and comprehend in such a short period of time. Where to begin is the problem that always seems to face me. (acknowledge photo) When he was a young lad he had a larger than average bed. Although it all seems inconsequential now….. as he grew up, or older may be a better way of stating it, the larger than average size shrank. Now, a mere shadow of its former self, remains. But I digress… let me skip ahead to the part you want to read about.

It all began some years ago. A young boy longing to think he was a man, gives up his bed. His privacy followed immediately afterwards. Without the modesty of a bed, a door, or walls, the young fellow simply aged but never grew up. Some years later a bed was found. By comparison it was gigantic. It was comfortable, and the new owner relished its existence to the fullest. The happiness that was gained while in ownership and its use, couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of despair that were soon to follow.

The Couch Surfer observed in the wild.

There where signs to be read but the anal retentive and indecisive boy had in fact turned into a man. Little did he know that his faith in fate had deceived him, and set a plank at his feet. He was about to find its end. His cruise control malfunctioning, he just ignored the problem and continued onward. Life had tried to teach him to push forward through the past. The past is behind you he would tell himself, but oh how his thoughts haunted him at night. Putting himself on the rack and then forcefully suffocating all ties to a life he pretended to enjoy, he slept. Sleeping away the day, the light, sometimes he would sleep through what would later be called “the most fun anyone has had in months.” The pride of his stubbornness would win quite a battle.

The unpredictability of the ambiguous young man would be proven a lie. He whom called himself an original and honest person was beginning to doubt himself all over again.

“What if everything I believe is backwards. What if one of the two people I despise most in this world, is actually good and I am the evil one?”

For years this thought has haunted him but only recently had he actually sat down to think about it. He once told me that writing was his way of expressing himself.

“Writing something beautiful is like creating something so wonderful that it should be criminal to not share with the whole world. It is like discovering something so awe inspiring that every being on earth might focus more on the needs of others if only for a moment. That single solitary moment could change the views of a generation. And yet when I write things that I read over and enjoy, I do just the opposite. I hide them. I care not that I may be recognized and congratulated for them. Not to say that such a thought has not crossed my mind. But what’s more pressing is just the opposite. What if no one enjoys it or if no one understands. The understanding of such a thing is quite often a reflection of the times, I tell myself. But could my soul withstand such a moral bruising? Could my ego take a hit of such loving admiration or disdain? “

He would go on to say that he has only shown a few pieces of his writing to anyone other than one of his English professors and that was later turned in as an assignment. The original copies of which where turned in and are now destroyed.

His family had tried to encourage a drastic change in his life, habits, and motives. Friends would try the same and employ other approaches. Mostly they just hoped he would take the hint and try. Still his stubbornness persisted. No one really know why he acts or does the things he does, but most people believe that if he would apply himself, he could do anything. (This writer acknowledges the corniness of that last line but fails to find a better choice of words at this time.)

Something finally did get him onto that drastically changed path. He would never admit what it was. Even now, with all the facts as they are laid out before me, I don’t believe even he could identify it. All I know is that somewhere along the way he got himself lost again. Not that he could ever ask for it, but now is when he is in need of the most help. Until he can pull himself together, put his inhibitions aside and step out of his shell, you will find him cruising the waves at night.