Friday, December 31, 2004

Happy New Years: Don't Drink and Cry (Like Me)

I don't have plans for New Years Eve. I am considering going out, drinking a substantial amount of Red Bull & Vodka, and finishing the night off by vomiting all over my hamsters. However, I will probably turn in early tonight, say, around 10:30pm and leave the drunken hijinks--sex, furniture repair, sign stealing and alien scrotum pulling-- to the rest of you.

By the way, this is why I love internationalism.

Go to Hell

Thursday, December 30, 2004

They Call It a Comeback

Ken Jennings is coming back this spring. He will play in the Jeopardy "Super" Tournament of Champions--competing against the best of the cerebral best. In other words, it is going to be Ken Jennings, King of the BuzzING, v. the collective genius of Jeopardy. My money is on Ken.

Go to Hell

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

He will live forever on TNT

God Speed Lenny.

Go to Hell

Monday, December 27, 2004

I Don't Rue Today

The lights are back on. All is right with the world. Bob is happy, or at least as happy as a misanthropic lard-ass can be.

Apparently in a Sex-Ed program, focusing on marriage is detrimental to children from non-traditional families--which is code for single parent and polygamous households. Here is to a nation of emotionally stunted children, who don't know what happened to daddy but are very secure in their own sexual promiscuity.

This is an old issue, but it still makes me smile at how inanity rules the day in the hippieverse. Amnesty International fails to realize that guns kill people too; I am betting a shotgun shot to the chest poses more threat of permanent injury and death than a taser.

Quote of the Day: This is not a crackhouse. (Mother in response to the little brother's assertion that the house smelled like a crackhouse)

Go to Hell

Friday, December 24, 2004

Sacrilege On His Birthday Is Bad
My Power Being Out Is Worse

Bob doesn't have power. It looks as if he won't have power till Sunday evening. Bob is unhappy. He wonders why AEP employees--the minions of the local Electric monopoly--are allowed to celebrate Christmas tomorrow, when he, most beloved child of Krishna, is forced to endure in the darkness. Perhaps it is asking too much for my eletricity to be on Christmas Day. Perhaps I should be thankful for what I have. Perhaps Brittany Spears isn't a trailer trash whore gone good. Perhaps I don't give a flying fuck--I WANT MY ELECTRICITY TURNED ON YESTERDAY, though any time in the next four hours would suffice.

This post is a call to arms to all of the Non-Christian, hell bound workers at AEP: If you are Jewish, Muslim, Mormon, Agnostic, Atheist, Buddhist, Hindu or member of any other polytheistic and/or pagan tradition--see Catholicism--please report to work and turn on Bob's electric. God hates you very much and Jesus isn't terribly pleased with you, either. You are not invited to his birthday, but I, most beloved of the flatulent sinners, offer you a chance for redemption: TURN ON MY POWER within the next five hours and automatically get into Heaven. (This offer doesn't apply to Sodomites, Cunnilingers and the Welsh.)

Go to Hell

This post was written from parts unknown, i.e. here.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Why the Islamic Terrorists Hate Us

Three words that should never be put together: Yoga Booty Ballet.

Go to Hell

Monday, December 20, 2004

The Meaning of Friendship

Friend: You know Bob, you are looking a little overweight. You need to be active, to do something with yourself.

Me: I am touched.

Friend: What?

Me: You are the first person to ever call me a "little overweight." Usually they just call me fat ass and wish me a good day.

Friend: You need help.

Me: Not when I have concerned friends like you, asshole.

Go to Hell

Sunday, December 19, 2004

What has the (virtual) world come to?

$26,500 for a tropical island, sounds too good to be true, right? Of course it is, because this piece of volcanic rock doesn't actually exist in the real world; it is a piece of a virtual real estate found in the MMORPG Project Entropia. After reading this article, which details this act of fiscal irresponsibility, I am taken aback by three facts:

  1. Australians have internet connections.
  2. That it is plausible that David Storey, the nut in question, could make a profit off of leasing virtual mining & hunting rights.
  3. There are people--educated people, mind you--who study the economies of virtual worlds.

I am not so sure about intelligent life on Earth, but if it is to be found, I am now betting it will be discovered in a video game.

Go to Hell

I will never be able to afford wasting $26,500 in a year--college doesn't count, since I already graduated, however, if I did have that kind of money it would be wasted on pizza, porn and pork products.

Puppet Master V. Demonic Toys

Remember Corey Feldman, well this is what he does now.

I am a semi-fan of the Puppet Master series, so I am actually going to sit through this Sci Fi Original, that and I don't have a social life--my Saturday's are empty from now until ad infinitum.

By the way, Vanessa Angel is still hot and she still can't act, too. I miss the days of Weird Science (T.V. Series) and the lotion aided glory that came with watching Vanessa Angel playact as a computer jinni.

Go to Hell

Saturday, December 18, 2004

Too Much Caffenine, Too Little Life to Live

I have a great idea. A thought that will change the course of human history; mankind will forevermore be in my debt after sharing this plan. People will say: "Where did Bob learn of such an idea? It is as if he sat at the foot God and learned his divine wisdom." Brace yourself, seriously, make sure you are sitting down or holding on to something for support, because here it is.

We need to oxygenate space. Imagine for a moment, if you will, filling the vacuous void with clean, crisp Terran air. Instead of swimming in the oceans and risking the wrath of Great White Sharks and Giant Squids, we will now be able to swim through space; to sit at doorstop of heaven and hear the Angelic Chorus sing of impossible possibilities.

Now I know that it will take a a lot of air to fill the infinite void that is space, but we have plenty of it on Earth to go around. I figure if everyone learns to take really shallow breathes, Oxygenated Space can be a reality within my lifetime or so the Devil-Goat tells me.

For the very first time, Space will be a breath of fresh air.

Go to Hell

Corrective Racism

Me: Loading furniture sucks...I don't like this part of the business

Dad: Yea, there is a lot of nigger work in the antique business.

I considered scolding him for being a racist, but that has yet to work, so I went with another strategy.

Me: Dad, you told me that blacks were lazy and, by in large, wished only to live off of government aid.

Dad: Yea, they are no good.

Me: If blacks are lazy, then how is loading furniture "nigger" work? You have told me, time and again, that they (Africoons) don't work unless forced to, and then, only for short periods of time; therefore how can any sort of labor--physical or otherwise-- be associated with them (Antique Farm Equipment). Isn't black the antithesis of work--or was that white.

Dad: What are you trying to say?

Me: Well, I know of a very industrious race, a group of people that work hard and often find themselves engaged in menial, physical labor. Perhaps you should have said "Yea, there is a lot of wetback work in the antique business."

Dad: I like that. I like that a lot, son. Let’s go get lunch, I am buying.

Racism--The key to a good father-son relationship.

Go to Hell

Friday, December 17, 2004

A Moment of Self Indulgence

A young lady, her sister and mother decided to shop in my store. The mother was old, the sister was frumpy (lard ass) and the young lady was cute--in an East Coast, no breasts to speak of way. They spent an inordinate amount of time (thirty minutes)--the store front is 15 x 10', at most--looking over our wares, however; I was willing to forgive their malfunctioning internal clocks, since, as I said earlier, the young lady was relatively attractive. I attempted to engage in small talk with the young lady, sadly the only thing that to mind was "hello." She nodded in acknowledgment, or was it a stifled sneeze; regardless, "hello" was the extent our conversation.

Several minutes later the fat sister smiled at me, which has to count for something--especially for lonely, fat me. The mother, apparently dismayed at the obvious lust the obese daughter was showing, deemed it time to go. The sans breast girl brought up her purchase, several political pins and I proceeded to write up a ticket.

Earlier in the afternoon, mother gave me a Slim Jim in lieu of allowing me to go to lunch. I greedily chewed it down, as if it was the last piece of beef jerky in the world. For whatever reason, call it kismet if you wish, the Slim Jim meal didn't sit well with my ironclad stomach. My daily diet has killed lesser men: I am the eater of 5,000 daily calories, the drinker of three Mt. Dew two-liters in ninety seconds, the swallower of week old, unrefrigerated pizza. Yet, this single strand of jerky would not sit still; my gut rumbled like laughing belly of Ganesh. It would know gastric freedom and so it did.

Right as I was telling the pretty, flat-chested New Englander her total, I violently exhaled an unholy air--which reeked of stale Slim Jim and rotten eggs--right into her face. In other words, I belched in the pretty girl's face.

We finished the transaction in silence, though her fat-ass whore of a sister laughed like a retarded bitch, while her mother simply shook her head in disgust.

The store made $3.00; I lost what little remained of my self respect.

Go to Hell

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Why I need TiVo

I watched the first half of Arrested Development-Season 1. It is the funniest thing going since my first sexual encounter; though, unlike my first time, Arrested Develpment lives up to the hype and doesn't require several attempts to come to comedic fruition

Buy the DVD and further support the future of the show by watching it on Fox--if you can deal with the insidious threat to human coginizance known as commericals.

Go to Hell

Monday, December 13, 2004

A season of giving--lap dances

Where does charity end and free publicity for whores-on-poles begin? I wouldn't have accepted the gifts, either, however; I would encourage the unwed, welfare moms--who live in the housing project--to look into stripping as a way to provide for their children.

Give a baby's mamma a dollar and you feed her fish scales habit for a a day. Teach her to gyrate on a pole and she will smoke crack for a lifetime. (The Analects by Bob, p. 353)

Go to Hell

Friday, December 10, 2004

A Man Of My Own Heart

I know how he feels. When the food is too cold, the manager needs to be dismembered.

Go to Hell

Thursday, December 09, 2004

James T. Kirk's Guide to Permissive Parenting

Here is a radical approach to child rearing. Though, I would recommend something less drastic: corporal punishment, more corporal punishment, and even more corporal punishment.

Then again, Dr. Spock knows best--though what would Dr. Leonard H. McCoy say?

Go to Hell

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

George Herman Ruth was a drunk, a womanizer and overly fond of greasy food; but he wasn't a cheating bitch.

It appears that Major League Baseball is going to develop a comprehensive steroid abuse policy. I would like to think the Player's Union and Team Owners came to this decision out of love for the game; of course, potential legislation by the likes of John McCain probably helped the process along. My only concern--actually, it is more of a thought, really--is why in the fuck is this even an issue.

Steroids are illegal. There are hundreds of federal, state and local laws that prohibit the sell, distribution and use of illegal steroids. In other words, it is against the FUCKING LAW to use S T E R O I D S. MLB--god love its corrupt soul--is not now, or has ever been, excluded from these legal mandates. McCain shouldn't have threatened new legislation; he should simply have called the appropriate law enforcement authorities. Let them set up a few stings, arrest a few dozen players, and imprison the ones who aren't willing to reveal who gave them the steroids.

I don’t care if someone uses illegal drugs, as long as you don't bitch about the consequences--jail, prostitution, retardation, anal rape and genital warts. Major League Baseball players are welcome to use steroids; in fact, I am all for a league of muscle-bound, shriveled balled, psychopaths. I am just tired of hearing about the story. Here is my solution: Ban the players who cheat, be it through the use of steroids, corked bats or gambling on ones team. Zero tolerance is a draconian measure, but any policy that makes paupers of millionaires is a good thing in my book.

Go to Hell

Saturday, December 04, 2004


What is the greatest threat of Islamo-fascism? Some will say it's nuclear and chemical warfare, others will contend its the loss of liberty, most fear the advent of domestic terrorism--suicide bombers come to the Suburbs, and I can't take umbrage with these fears, and I don't know what the singular greatest threat is, or even if one nightmarish scenario takes precedence over another. I do know this, however: The greatest evil caused by Fascism, be it Islamic or secular in a nature, is the destruction of innocence. The attacks on 9/11 stand as the vilest act of terrorism in history, yet that event, along with all other terror attacks, pales in comparison to the destruction being wrought on the souls of millions of children.

Children become adults; it is the chronology of man. Along the way, we become less naive, cast off the shackles of ignorance and lose a good deal of childhood innocence. The point is that children grow up and lose much of what makes them so precious--innocence. However, as I said earlier, this is a natural phenomena, it is the key component of the human condition and one that we all experience, in one form or another. The problem is that Islamic terrorism doesn't allow this process to occur, nor does it simply hasten it--like our culture of sex, violence and egocentricity does,-- instead it actively seeks to destroy the innocence of children; replacing it with vitriol hate and willful ignorance.

The Jews eat children; they rape our women and kill our men. The United States is the progenitor of all that is unholy, they value freedom over Allah, place life before honor and, worst of all, they support the Jews. We must kill the infidels, at all costs. Sacrifice your life and know absolute bliss, otherwise you risk eternal damnation at the hands of Western devils and treacherous Jews. In other words, the West is bad, America is worse, and the Jews are pure evil.

This is taught to countless children, it is force fed from birth and continually reinforced throughout adolescence. This dogma is responsible for the deaths of their children's souls. There is no worse crime, there is no greater evil. They are replacing the ignorance of naiveté with the ignorance of blind hate. The fact that this is done under the guise of religion makes pure evil somehow worse.

President Bush used the term Axis of Evil, and he was absolutely correct in doing so. He limited the term to several nations, though it truly applies to many more.(That is a post for another day) These nations feed their children a steady diet of hate; generation after generation is lost. It isn't about economics, it isn't about values and morality, it isn't about truth: It is about the annihliation of youth and the price that comes with it. Fascism is responsible for the deaths of millions and destruction of innocence in so many more.

I wish that we could fight hate with love; that truth overcomes lies; but I fear there is little that can be done externally, leaving the reclamation of their children's souls to the same people that allowed them to be taken away in the first place.

Go to Hell

Friday, December 03, 2004

I am an asshole

A friend told me that I am too cynical. He believes I think the worst about people, places and things. He was very smug about his observation, as if he had made some grand discovery that escaped the notice of everyday man. Of course, I am cynical about life; just as birds fly, fish swim, and the ACLU harbors terrorists, I see the worst in existence. It is my natural inclination, if you will.

However, upon further introspection, which took about thirty seconds of thought--fifteen of which dealt with killing squirrels, I concluded it wasn't cynicism alone that informed my being. I not only see the worst, I actively hope for it. In other words, I take joy in the failings of others, if only to prove my cynicism correct. The foulability of man isn't enough; his outright and utter failure is what I desire. Then again, that's just me.

Go to Hell

Moral Quandary

Is it wrong to want to hit this? The more I learn about her case, the more I want to lick in-between her toes.

Go to Hell

Thursday, December 02, 2004

Confederacy of One

I am the Ignatius Reilly of the twenty-first century. Many of you may not know who Ignatius is. Simply stating that he is the literary equivalent of Bob is not enough. Mr. Reilly, whose creation may very well have resulted in Toole's (the author) suicide, is a literary character without equal or merit. He is a loathsome, egocentric madman who sees modernity as hopeless corrupt; he fights against the oppression of everyday by virtue of sleeping, eating, watching cartoons and reveling in his flatulence. Yet, even this bloated messiah of intemperance has good points; sadly they are buried underneath a labyrinth of lard and intellectual nihilism.

I don't particularly like the character, but I can't deny we are very much alike. I spend my days in self-exile, pondering the inevitable end of civilization, bemoaning the barbarians within our own gates. Too, I watch an unhealthy amount of cartoons, consume an even unhealthier amount of food and suffer from insufferable bouts of gas--my pyloric valve is a difficult mistress. Our greatest similarity is not surprising, at least for those who have read the book and know anything about my person, we both find work to be a pedestrian cause; it is an end to reason, not a means to an end.

I do admit that finding my entire psyche, the entirety of my being, encapsulated in a little under four hundred pages is a bit depressing. Though, much like the book, my life consists of a series of comedic disasters, however; unlike Reilly, I am not destined to escape the mono-color walls, no, Bob is clearly set for a long stay in the ward of mental delving.

There truly is a Confederacy of Dunces that stands in my way; it is a Confederacy of one--me.

Go to Hell