Get Up, Tell Your Friend

Dreem Teem - It Ain't Enuff

Okay, so this blog has, up to now, been a diary of my personal achievements, and I think we can all identify with that. But now I'm going to digress shortly. this page will now - for this post only - become a pictorial diary of Freshers' Week, as viewed by our good friend Mr. Jamie Peel.

So, without further ado:


I arrived at Freshers' Week with a bit of apprehension, because, as you know, I'm not exactly the most confident of people. Thusly, I decided that a change of character was in order - behold, Peel the hardcore gangsta rapper:



I may have to change my choice of shirt, but never mind. At least by adopting this pose almost all the time I was able to grow a few feet taller, and for the moment the facade is holding true. I've picked up a few tips in the past, and basically all I'm doing is speaking in a gutter accent and adding 'izzle' to every concrete noun I can find. It's working pretty well, as I'm getting a great many ladizzles:



And yes, before you say anything, I AM planning to lower their ages incrementally, but at this stage in the game I do think that some is better than none, and I owe it all to my new gangsta persona. Irritatingly, though, much the same as with 50 Cent and most other rappers, I also seem to have inherited some sort of permanent facial expression that I wear at all times.




I'm thinking I could teach Keanu Reeves a thing or two.

We also met Kenan from 'Kenan and Kel' - he's in the top picture above - but he flat out refused to give me an autograph, and when I asked him if he wanted orange soda, he slapped me around the face and told me that that wasn't actually him. That's how I got the unsightly bruise in the bottom picture.

Oh, by the way, the guy just behind me with the bottle in the top picture above is my current token mustachioed friend, in lieu of Will being here. He's already told me several bad jokes, which I'm not sure whether to take as a blessing or a hindrance. he's certainly a fairly accurate reconstruction.



Speaking of reconstructions, it's bizarre how I keep drawing people to me who remind me of people from home. This is my dear brother, of course. He is practicing the ancient art of pointing while simultaneously dancing and also looking like a complete fool. He is a man of many talents; the latter comes into play quite frequently when impersonating Scott.

Well, the week wore on, and I found myself drifting more and more back into my old personality, as noted by the bizarre flat cap I seemed to have magically acquired from being so boring all the time. So I decided to change once more - this time, into a rocker.



I'm actually throwing up the horns above that picture. The only annoying thing was, though, my heart wasn't in it - even though I had dyed my shirt from my gangsta rapper days black, I still didn't feel secure without my beige flatcap.

Even more embarrassingly, while dancing with a slightly younger woman this time around, I felt my old ways creeping back up on me, and my physical stature retreated to what it used to be, and I shrank right there on the dancefloor.



I was so embarrassed, I ran all the way to my halls, and drooped on the floor. I'm back to normal now, and haven't been out since.