Bethany is a brave little girl. She is cute, spunky and full of life. Her young life was dedicated to surfing. While pursuing her dream a shark bit off her arm. This occurred almost a year ago. I remember the story because first, it involved a man-hungry shark and second the little girl managed to survive. Relatively shortly thereafter, as in within several months, little Bethany took up surfing once again. To me that was more amazing than the actual attack. I questioned what sane parent would let their pre-pubescent daughter surf once again after losing an extremity.

After watching an episode of True Life dedicated to professional surfing, I now know the answer to that very question. A fucking bad parent allows their young armed challenged daughter back into the ocean. Her mother said something to the effect of

"It is her dream...blah blah blah...you never know she might be best...blah blah blah...Jaws, the ultimate oceanic predator, can't stop her, who am I to try?"

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Ok, that quote isn't entirely accurate but you get the idea. The dumb bitch failed to understand one simple truth; a god damn shark ate her daughter's arm. I know that the odds of a shark attack, even for surfers, are very low. And since she lost one arm, odds are she won't lose another. However, I am more of the mindset of what if you are shark attack rod, like the late Roy Scheider. (I know he isn't physically dead, but other than the occasional Jaws Thirtieth Anniversary interview, what has he done in the last five years?) and can't help but to attract the attentions of the two ton oceanic predators, what then? I understand that little Bethany has another arm and two perfectly healthy legs to offer up, yet I am thinking the minimal payday that 99% of "professional" surf boarders receive isn't worth it. Of course being the world's gimp surfing champion might entail some lucrative endorsements.

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I missed the memo where they decided to change April Fools to September 9th.

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My favorite blogger. I can really relate to him.

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I am rather fond of Google. It is a cutting edge company filled with brilliant people. But, I must call a spade a spade and you Mr. Google are a bitch. Why? I signed up for Google Adsense in order to generate thousands of dollars in revenue. Ok, actually that is a lie; I signed up as a lark but did not expect to get turned down. Apparently my site contains "sensitive content" which Google does not want to be associated with.

This is the company that made their recent fortune largely from search engine technology. Guess what millions of people look up on Google everyday- Porn and I mean hardcore butt-licking midget peeing porn. Anyone who uses the internet understands that this is a given and does not hold Google responsible. They are simply facilitating an expeditious service that makes navigating the net all the more easier. However, lets be frank for a moment, Google has corrupted untold millions by helping them discover the world of Swedish animal bukkake sites. Their multi-billion dollar IPO is due in large part to sexual perversity. Yet, my little pearl of online wisdom, which occasionally does deal with risqué subjects, isn't acceptable.

You know what I think- they are a bunch of Neo-Nazi's who are only concerned with oppressing the modern day equivalent of the Jews, Bob.

I would boycott but gmail is such a nifty service and you never know when the itch to search for Monkey on Midget porn might arise.

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P.S. ihateyou has been defined.

Bob by the Years


1980- Year of my birth and ascendancy of the great RR.


1981- Moved to the sunshine state.


1984- I left paradise and returned to Ohio. Thanks mom and dad.


1985- Beat up the school bully with several friends. He went to the hospital and the police interviewed me at home. My friends sold me out and blamed me for everything. I blamed them for everything. Thankfully the bully in question was poor and stupid so the authorities let the matter drop.


1986- My first girlfriend and kiss. The former wouldn't occur again for fifteen years, the latter only took twelve years and hours of incessant begging to happen again.


1987- Killed a small Asian woman for looking at me too long. Still regret not stealing her purse.


1989- First memorable erection


1994- First meaningful crush. I think she became a lesbian.


1995- Second through tenth meaningful crushes. RD still holds a special place in my heart even if she tormented me in both English and Spanish. Realized that typing love letters and giving potted flowers as gifts is a bad idea. Actually I didn't realize that for another eight years.


1996- Passed the DMV exam on my second try. Still can't backup into a parking place.


1997- Masturbated 10 times in one day. It is still my proudest moment.


1998- Graduated high school and vowed to lose virginity. Also started college


1999- Realized my vow isn't going to happen for a very long time. Joined SAE and paid a lot of money to hang out with alcoholics, Jews and a farmer from Vermont.


2000- Drop out of school and come to realization that all women are whores. Returned to school six months later. Also known as the Year of the Whore. (Damn you Jenna for blowing Norman. Feminist my ass, whore is more like it.)


2001-Make good on my vow from three years previous and managed to alienate the lucky girl in such a way that she doesn't acknowledge the act or my existence to this very day. She is happily married now. Pulled a sapling out of the ground.


2002- Had sex with another girl many, many times and try to make up for lost time. Graduated from college. Realized that I have a small penis when girlfriend says in a complimentary tone "you feel big tonight." Committed perjury in a trial centering on Treeicide which became known as Granville's Most Notorious Case in the new century.


2003- Worked for six and half weeks (a new personal best) Also had sex once or twice with another girl. She wanted to be European and was too hairy for my tastes. Due to these encounters my hatred for France grew exponentially.


2004- Tipped the scales at 275lbs and realized I am officially the fattest person I know. Sadly am very proud of that fact.



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There are times when I question the purpose of existence. Why are we here? What is our purpose? Where does it all lead? There are other, much more frequent, times when I realize the truth; God hates each and every one of us.

Paris Hilton is evidence of that fact.


Why in high hell does this pretentious little twat get a book deal? She is a dirty, dirty whore and I have the forty-five minute video to prove it. Hey, look at me. I suck good dick and am able to act like a complete ass on Fox television. My daddy is very successful and one day, when he dies from shame, I will inherit millions of dollars. Of course all that money and "fame" cannot change one undeniable truth; I am stupid bitch. My mantra, much like my Vietnamese sisters, is “Five Dollah... Sucky lonnng time."


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Useless Information that may save your LIFE


I wanted to wish everyone a Happy Tuesday.

Did you know that Tuesday originates from the Norse God of War, Tir? I bet you didn't. Also, the counterpart on the Roman calendar was Martis, the day of Mars, who was the Roman God of War.

Next time you are feeling ungrateful and complain that it is "only Tuesday" beware; Tir or Mars may very well be listening and the Gods of War are notorious for disemboweling unbelievers.

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Last night, while thinking about new ways to stimulate my imaginary clitoris, I came to a stunning revelation. I forget about soon after when envisioning the various things I would do with my imaginary clitoris, but that is of no matter because I have decided to do something very important. Bob plans on voting in the upcoming Presidential election.

The problem is I have no idea how one goes about registering to vote, or to be exact where one registers to vote. I could look it up on the source of all knowledge or simply call the city and ask but where is the fun in that (Plus that requires a bit of effort on my part. I only expend energy on research when it involves clitoral piercing or invasions from alternate dimensions by giant arachnids).

Instead, I, Mr. Robert Kyle Wilson, request that you, the masses who shower me with adulation, share this information. And please do remember that I am extremely lazy so please only offer the simplest and most pain-free registering options.


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Vote SMG & EC 2008

After seeing this , I decided to pierce my clitoris.

Wish me luck.

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Warning: This post is more asinine than most, which is saying quite a lot, so read on at your own risk.

The things I enjoy most in life: Sex, masturbation, food, drink, masturbation and defecation. I don't get much of first; I get plenty of the rest but can rarely take time to truly savor the last. You see I thoroughly enjoy a good shit. The clearing of the bowels is often the highlight of my day. However; I am usually not able to sit back and live, or grunt, in the moment. If only I could spend all day on the porcelain throne but that is but a fleeting dream. Even I, the most slothful of creatures, am forced into daily activity, be it eating a whooper, looking up Jenna Jameson movies or simply watching television. Whatever the cause, my poopie time is most definitely finite. I can live with that because it gives me something to look forward to and truly what is life without hope? Some hope for peace, others for prosperity, I hope for a good shit. Therefore I am able to live with the 3-5 times a day I release the brown colored happiness. All in all an hour a day on the seat is nothing to sneeze or, hold your nose, at.

My problem and great concern is that I am unable, no matter how hard I try, to remember my glorious triumphant, each dump blends into another with little to distinguish one from another except for the occasional glimpse of red or green color.

I find it strange that I am unable to remember my most memorable shits. I can't even remember the first time I went potty, but that is excusable since I was but an infant at the time. Yet, even when I was cognizant of my surroundings and when my childhood memories begin I, Bob, can't remember ever taking a shit. Of course I must have taken many but it is odd that none stand out from those days of yesteryear, nor do any bouts of poop come to mind when thinking of last week. I know that the act is extremely pleasurable but it is fleeting feeling, one that last only mere minutes and leaves longing for hours on end.

I remember clearly the first time I played with Lil Bubba, I was thinking of my fourth grade teacher at the time as she was handcuffed to the bed inviting me to ravage her Olive Oyl like body. It still brings a smile to my face fifteen years later. I still recall that lonely summer day my junior year when I gently caressed my manhood some ten times in a twenty-four hour period. And, finally I can remember a handful of times when my self-love eclipsed all belief, managing to make my sexual encounters look frivolous by comparison.

I remember fondly when I lost my virginity. The day when my flower was plucked, I know the hour, the day, the month and the year. It was a wondrous five minutes of extreme ecstasy & unbelievable pleasure, at least for me; she just kept asking if it was over yet. Of course terrorists attacked us a couple days later on September 11th, 2001 making it much easier for me to remember. And, several of my collegiate friends pointed out that it was in fact my fault that the terrorists attacked because the loss of my virginity harkened the end of times. Having ones first sexual encountered described as a harbinger of the apocalypse does tend to make it stand out. I digress but perhaps in my self-effacing memories the truth can be found. I have nothing to relate my shit to. There is no face, double digit number, or worldwide terrorist attack to give my defecation perspective.

In fact the only poop-related memory I have has to do with a wet fart gone awry in my hand and how I wiped it off on a washrag, which I promptly placed atop the dirty clothes bind. Thankfully my mother found it soon afterward and showed every one of my friends who visited over the next week.

I need to start a turd log. It would give a tangible record of my most undervalued of acts and provide a historical account for those shit seekers whom come after me. I could describe the texture, smell, color and, on occasion, the taste of my excretions. Then again, maybe not; this site is testimony enough to how fucked up I am, there is little need for any more evidence.

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