Time for some reflection on the unfortunate crap events that transpired throughout of my life! Which is a good 50 ‘cent of it. I was going to put “percent” but i’ve been studying up on my hip hop lately, and all great gangsters know that you’re not hood unless you abbreviate everything, or end every sentence with Dopeswag. (The state of being dope and swag simultaneously.) Also i wanted to shout out to my boy 50 cent. Wass good 50. You know he was shot 9 times? Now that’s hood! i mean, Ho-
Now you may be asking yourself, “Daniel, why would you possibly want to go there?” Well, thats a good question reader, you see much that happened in my past molded me into the character you all know, love and strive to be. How else could you get your Daniel Fuica cardboard cut out if you dont know me better? Did i mention that the cutout is life sized too? (A whopping 5″1. Go ahead, get it out of your system, Jerkoff.)
Let’s start with the most obvious of unfortunate events, the term “Felushia.” You all noticed that my blog is named “DanielFelushia”, yes? Well, like all things theres a story behind it. Cause i know you were just dying to find out why i named it that.
When i was in 8th grade, lets just say i wasn’t the brightest of students. Grades? HA! All i cared about then was Metallica (metal!) and whoever Jeff Hardy was facing that night on WWE (Again, get it out of your system….Jerkoff.) So one can imagine that i was frequently called down to the office to be told to get my crap together. When all the while during a lecture, i was really just thinking about Metallica or whoever Jeff Hardy was facing that night.
(C’mon admit it, he was pretty dope for a wrestler. Even though it looks like a unicorn farted up his mouth.)
Being called down became a bit of a routine, so on one fateful day during english class…..it happened. I was sitting there typically not listening to the teacher and then we all heard something over the intercom.
“Please excuse the interruption, Would Daniel….Fe-lushia….please come down to the office. Thank you.”
The whole class looked at me and started laughing, Egg on my face. Scratch that, feces on my face.
Dear intercom lady, where the HELL did you get the “L” in my last name? Felushia? Are you kidding me? I’ve heard Fucia, Fwayka, Fooka, but never has anyone effed up my name to that proportion. You know what Felushia sounds like? Fellatio. Do you think i wanna be labeled “Danny Fellatio” for the rest of my life?
I’ve already been labeled Danny Rimjob among my peers during that time. Dont ask me what that is, i still don’t know, nobody tells me anything.
During my whole elementary career, let’s just say i was a bit of a dork. Was? Dont use past tense now Daniel, you still are indeed…a whale’s penis. Okay, let’s just say i was a bigger one back then. Why? I was obsessed with Spider-Man for many many years, up until 6th grade i believe.
Ha! Jokes on you J. Jonah Jameson because YOU’RE a Spider-man character, so you laughing at me is relevant to the situation! Bladow! Daniel: 1 Jonah: 0.
So when you’re a dork, people will pick on you. Now, kids didn’t come up to me face to face and threaten swirlies, the “beef stew”, or any other diabolical scheme the average child can muster around the merry go round. HOWEVER over time i realized that a basketball or two would find it’s way to my head during recess. Back then i thought it was coincidence, but now….oh now i realize it takes some aim to perfectly hit this flawless head. Which is not so flawless anymore, due to all the brain damage from the object they call “Basketball” or in my case “Ballhead.”
I mean, im starting to think that the damage encourages me to write stupid blogs that don’t make any sense, serve no purpose, and waste precious moments of your life that could be spent doing something that’s actually cool. Like tuning into the Kardashians.
Not to mention the Doc says basketball wounds to the head can impair my typing abilities, so he warned me to not be surprised when im typing esoirhsoigfnsdfwer84jyofpslqqt9tury7bnrmvgfmvrrtkbgjgkhjghkjghkghigoirtimvtcr
Sorry about that.
Writing down all these things hurt. Why don’t we talk about some of the good things that happen in my life?
Hmmmm let me think…….hmmm…..there was that one time when i found out that in order to have kids you have to have sex, did i also mention that this was found out in church? When i was 8 years old too. Talk about traumatizing. Wait a second, that’s not good. Mom??? Dad???
You know what, screw this. I’m not talking about my life anymore. If you want entertainment, go tune in to the bachelor tonight. I know i am. In the words of Vanilla Ice “Yo man let’s get outta here, word to your motha.”
Daniel's Utopia of Euphoria. 