Christmas is over and the slush from the snow storm is now all over my boots and my socks are soaked to the bone. I found a cozy coffee shop to sit and dry off for a couple hours. One of the best little moments in life is when you find a plug to plug in your computer. And in my case, I need a good sturdy three pronger to hold onto my five plug power strip. I found it! The perfect fit! I have a wonderful push cart that holds my tower and scanner and all my other necessities, all in one compact, three by three by five foot rolling grocery cart. With my new twenty-five foot extension cord I can be locked and loaded in almost any place in the whole entire coffee shop. Right now as I write this, I’m sitting on a park bench outside waiting for the friendly staff to clear off a four top for me and a few of my “computer” friends. People get mad at all the space I need but screw them, I don’t get into all that lap top business. Why do I need to spend another “G” on a computer that can fit into a hand bag when I got everything I need and much much more in my economical computer lab on wheels. Can you make a fourteen by twenty-two inch laser copy on your lap top while sipping on a mocha? Didn’t think so. Shit! Some dumbass just kicked my plug out of the wall! I have to get more gas for my generator so I don’t loose this info! Be back soon!!!
Wow, that was close! I’m warm again! People need to get over the smell. I wouldn’t have to use gas power if this place had a decent amount of volts and amps. Get a real fuse! I just had a face to face argument with this stupid idiot because he wanted me to turn off my hair dryer so he could concentrate on his magazine. I asked him how he dried his wet socks and if he had a better idea he should let my know. Either come up with the goods or shut the hell up before I pull out my dryer and blow your hair off! I don’t know how many times I’ve said to a coffee shop manager, “It’s no louder than your steam wand screaming into a bowl of milk every five minutes!”. At least my generator is consistent and somewhat soothing to the ear. People are so stupid…. What was I talking about anyway? I forgot… Well, I probably should call some friends to meet me over here now that everybody has cleared the place. I have plenty of power if they want to bring their evil lap tops to plug into. Hello! Business idea!
Until next time,
Bobby
Good marnin’ to ya! Tippity top of the marn’ my friends! Wow, I’m in a great mood this Friday in the city! What a great day to be alive. I’m thankful that I’m alive and healthy and able to be in front of my laptop to write down thoughts that I normally would scream into my pillow. People close to me know that I’m a big fan of the pillow scream. It really helps with getting the internal dialogue out of your gut and soaked into a pillow like a therapeutic sponge. It’s common to use the pillow for anger and sadness, but in my case I yell happy thoughts into my sack of goose down. Just this very morning, the very first thing that I screamed was “Tippity top of the marnin’ Bobby! Tip tippity top of the marnin’, silly goose down!”. Then I yelled “You go girl!” seven times in a row, which caused my roommate to awake and spray me with the squirt gun. The water cannon is a type of disciplinary tool that is used to keep me in check with the volume level of my happy screams. A pillow can only muffle so much. When I feel the squirt, I cut back like a good roommate should. I’m very lucky to have friendly housemates that understand my needs and desires. On a few occasions I’ve been a little too loud and even a good soaking couldn’t stop me. I remember the great pillow scream of ’97. What a whopper of a morning that was. I woke up that day to a bit of wonderful news that caused me to scream “Free cable for a month! Free cable for a month!” into not one but three pillows. I needed a few more pillows because my roommate at the time actually called the police on me. He claims that he not only tried the squirt gun to no avail, but actually dumped a bucket of boiling water on my head to get me to stop. Yeah right! Whatever Anyway, he wasn’t complaining when we got to watch “The very best of all the Jefferson’s” on BET for a month. Well, I better go to the bathroom now. It’s that time of month that I shave.
Until next time!
Bobby
Just burned another mini-disk chock full of songs that make me happy as I walk down the streets of New York. I find that music is my master and rythm is my dancer. One of my all time favorite things to do is speed walk along the Hudson river from 108th Street to the west village and listening to the whole “She’s Having a Baby” sound track and sipping on a sweet banana smoothie. I just get that euphoric feeling running through my body when people slow down to point and stare at me. My body goes numb from the music, all the public attention, the fresh breeze and frostbite from the bags of ice strapped to my knees and elbows. Strangers just love to be open about their opinions. I get the old shout out, “Hey Ice Boy, where ya speed walking to?” I just smile and keep up the good work. My favorite thing that people yell to me is, “Hey, I didn’t know speed walking was in the special Olympics!”. I have a stock response to that one, “Thanks for all the information 411 pal, but the special Olympic are held in the summer and there is NOT a speed walking medal to be had as of yet. And I should know because I’ve been on the Olympic board since nineteen hundred and ninety-seven!”. Then I punch them in the kidney and drop a bag of ice by their sprawled out body for them to apply to the swelling. Most of the time I quote Annie Hall and scream out, “It’s a hard knock life, Fag breath!”. I was always told the sticks will break bones and cause lacerations, but words, typed letters and what not, usually is the best way to go. We all have our breaking points unfortunately and even I, Bobby T of NYC, can muster up enough anger to strike a blabbing asshole on a vital organ. For the record, I haven’t ever hit anyone in the face. The most I would ever do in that area is scratch them like a chicken across their nose. A good scratchin’ goes a long way in the embarrassment department which causes more psychological harm than physical, which is very important to me. Don’t like violence! I’m a lover not a scratcher. Well, it’s time to head to the freezer and fill up my bags. If anyone is in the mood for a good speed walk, let me know. I have some killer tunes to try out!
Until next time!
Bobby T
Back in the city! Hope to be on a regular schedule now that I’m outta the farming business. I had a lot to say while I was gone but unfortunately didn’t have the means to communicate with the masses. How great it is to be back in the city that I like to call New York. Snow angels everywhere you look. I never thought that a guardian snow angel would ever save my life but that all changed last night. Sit back and enjoy the story that changed my life for awhile…It was a cold winter night in the big city. Saturday night that is. A night when all the crazies come out to play and cause a ruckus. Well, I just finished reading my assigned chapter in the classic novel “Life After Harry and the Henderson’s”, when my book club offered to wash down the evening with a fresh bowl of electric lemonade. If you’re unfamiliar with electric lemonade, it’s a mixture of lemonade and two to three hundred volts of electricity, and lots of vodka. So to get to the point, our group of casual readers was well lit for the night. My friend and co-founder of Bobby’s Book Club for the ADD, walks up to me with this shit eating grin and says, “Bobby! There’s a pack of super attractive lit agents outside asking for your Alf spec script”. I was freaking, looking out the window and shouting “Where!? I don’t see anything but the reflection of my face as I peer out of these classic eighteen hundred’s window panes. I can’t see a trace of any of the beautiful literary agents that you say are asking for my Alf speculation script!”. There’s something about the electrical lemonade that acts like a truth serum. Or at least that’s the case with me. It unfortunately is not the case with my friend and partner Larry Skabs. Old Larry was pulling a fast one on me about the lit agents. I found out the hard way when I went outside for a closer look at the lit ladies. As I walked toward my big break in both the business and soul mate world, I noticed that there wasn’t a pack of super attractive lit agents like Larry suggested earlier, there was more like a pack of illiterary crazies waiting for me. Before I could turn around and run, one of the bigger girls shouts to me, “Hey, carrot top! Get over here and kiss me on the mouth using your tongue!”. My first thought was, ” shit, they’re on the electricity as well, she must want to french kiss me”. There was about twelve of the eager women coming after me pretty fast with puckered lips and lots of aggression. I had to think fast. “Get over here Red!” another girl shouts out. “I’m wanna hold your hand real good like!” “Are you guys literary agents?”, I nervously called out. No answer. They just kept on walking towards me with open arms. They say when you get spooked real bad you either want to fight someone or flight away from someone. In this situation I peed in my pants and jumped up and down screaming, “Snake! Snake! Help me! Snake!”. I figured that if someone heard a man scream rape, it could come off as a drunk man looking to play a prank on the neighborhood. I had a better chance of getting help with a possible snake attack in the middle of a New York winter, that is just too bizarre to ignore. Lots of lights came on in the buildings around me. This didn’t stop the women from completely surrounding me. I was in trouble. That’s when the miracle on ice happened. Just as a big female paw caresses my beautiful red hair, I see an angel. My guardian snow angel was standing right there at my feet. A six foot frozen wing span of an angel was right there to save me. “Catch me if you can!” I shouted as I ran between a set of girl legs. It was like dominos, a dozen women slipping and falling on my guardian snow angel trying to capture me. Too late! I was up those stairs and back in the apartment without a single peck on the cheek. The pile of grossness slowly removed themselves from the street and off they went. Defeated by some cleaver maneuvering on my part and a gift from a slippery snow angel that I now call…. Harry. I want to invite people to my next book club meeting. We will be reading a pamphlet on bobcats.
Until next time
Bobby.
“Holly smokes Ant man, I’m in a heap of trouble here, I need back up!”…. That’s my alter ego speaking just in case you’re wondering. Me last day on the farm…. Ahhh, how fast the time goes by on the great ant plantation! I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels to be over and done with this whole Christmas thing. I know the magical date is a few weeks away, but it seems like this elf done tapped out on the Christmas spirit! You should look at my hands and arms….If you want to know how it feels to be bitten by a few hundred ants, just let me know, I’ll send you an envelope full of the rowdy worker ants that seemed to have it out for me since day one. Ass holes!! Join a union “worker ants”, and stop complaining about everything under the sun. Let me brief you on a little something about these guys. The worker ants are a bunch of cocky butt holes that think the whole world revolves around them. Sure you do all the work around the place and you get no sleep, but let me remind you of something that can change the way you carry your cocky little workaholic asses. I can kill you and all of your biting buddies in one of the many “natural disasters” I have up my sleeve. “Oh no, the rain is coming down like kittens and pups! Head for the hills before we all perish in this epic flood of two thousand and two!” Those ants haven’t a glue of who’s boss around these parts. Don’t get me wrong, most of the queens and the other guys were a pleasure to work with. Even Farmer Todd wasn’t that bad to deal with. It’s just those worker ants! ….I will be very happy when I can get rid of this massive pit stain on my favorite shirt. I found out from a good friend of mine that pit stains are caused by sweat and it’s chemical reaction to the Anti-perspirant, not by a ph imbalance secreting somethin’ yaller under your pits. What’s your takes on the subject? Write and tell me and I’ll read the good ones on my show on a wed. night. (Directions on the home page) I’ll be willing to bet that I’m not the only one to think that way about it. Let me know. Did everybody have a good brunch on Thanksgiving? Would I normally talk to strangers in my diary? Two very good questions?
See ya soon,
Bobby