Sunday, October 29, 2006

The Yard birds

Jim from Splivey writes:
Bob, I never heard of you before. But after reading some of your archived stuff, I found I’ve heard of stuff you’ve written, but not you. WHAT GIVES!

Dear Jimmy,
I think folks don’t think I’m real, so they quote stuff I write about but don’t reference me. Maybe someday Bob Senitram will be a household name but until then, I was born during the big banana famine in 1879. I never really seemed to age, but I like to eat sweet beets whenever I can. Here’s the whole history of and its staff (from the “Original Weirdcrap page.”

I had a bunch of leaves to rake up this weekend. When we first moved in from an apartment, rakin’ and mowin’ was a real treat. But now, five years later, it really seems like a pain in the ass. Then to top it all off, it takes about an hour to blow the leaves out the alley.

So I call up Stephen Johnson (Lunatic Ravings) to see if he’ll send a few residents from Crack Whore Village to help out. I figure they’ll work for dirt-cheap and would appreciate the break from their normal duties. He sends a red head and a blonde and tells ‘em I got a long blow-job in the alley and some hard-dirty-outside-leaf-work.

They show up and the next thing I know the red-head is blowin’ my neighbor in the alley, and the blonde is naked as a jay bird rollin around in leaves yellin’, “I wanna be dirty!”.

Since we got kids in the neighborhood, I throw a bucket of water on the whore #1, but her jaw locks and now I gotta get a stick and unlock her jaw, just like a pit-bull. Then I tell crack whore #2 to get some some clothes on and explain the real work I need done. They walk out just like that.

To make matters worse, Crack Whore Village is in the West Coast somewhere. I thought there was a local one in town, but turns out there isn’t. Stephen flew them down from L.A. Then he sends me an email with the airline bill.

And I ended up doin’ the work my own self.

Which all goes to prove that Stephen is a stupid-lazy-bastard who isn’t getting dime one from me.

Speaking of stupid whores, I heard that country song again about the guy who sings about “Livin’ life like you were dyin’…Booo-hooo-hooo…”

Well I’m an avid smoker, and I imagine my last days bald from Chemo, suckin’ cigarettes from my trach hole, and lying in bed all day coughing. I don’t see any sky divin’ or bull ridin’ or any shit like that in my last days. Oh, well, that song just seems corny to me.

And now you know!


Gimme’ your name, where you from, and a question. That’s it.

COMING NEXT: A big dump!

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