Monthly Archive for May, 2004

May 21, 2004

A Dear Diarrhea that the whole family should read….

“The Beautiful Bird”

A short story by Bobby T

…..There once was a beautiful song bird sitting in a laboratory waiting for a scientist to install his new voice box. The scientist was waiting for the tar and nicotine results to come back before he could do the procedure.
This made the little bird very impatient. For he was tired of smoking and chewing all of that tobacco, it was time to regain his voice so he could sing to his new cousin that hatched the day before. “Two more minutes, little Carl!”, said the scientist as he chipped a piece of bird feces off his lab coat. Carl was the sweetest little fella the scientist has ever worked with. The scientist had no doubt that little carl would sing again.
Especially during the rough first two weeks of chain smoking and tobacco gargling, you could hear the scientist giving Carl words of encouragment…”Smoke them if you have them, Carl!…Chew it all up! Chew it for science, Carl!”.

So here the two of them sat in that cold laboratory, only minutes away from the corrective surgery that will add some electric spunk to the little song bird¹s tattered singing voice…”Hey Carl! You awake over there? Let me hear you sing a cute little song if you’re awake!” ….Carl was awake. Wide awake. He hasn’t been able to sing for a solid month now because of the f’ing asshole in white. Why bother straining his voice for the sake of science. Not again. Not for the man in white. “But what if he makes me smoke another cigarette!?”, Carl says to himself as the scientist violently packs a pack of cigarettes with the palm of his hand. “Come on over here and try to sing daddy a pretty little song!”. Just do what he says, Carl thought to himself. Just fly over there, perch on his shoulder and belt out a tune for science one last time.

And that is what Carl did. He sat on the scientist’s shoulder like he has done time and time again. “One second Carl. Let me just get the recorder ready… all right! Let’s hear it, Carl!” So Carl flapped his wings to loosen up. Any and every chance he had to shit on his shoulder he surely took advantage of, it was the only legitimate way of getting the scientist back for screwing up his singing voice. “Wow! That was big one Carl. You always seem to do this on me and not in your cute little sterile cage that I house you in.” And it was a doozy. Right smack down his neck this one ended up. “This is it Carl. The last attempt at a song before I slice open that voice box of yours and put in this new Electro-Vox 2000! Forget the tracheotomy! Hello E-V 2000!”

And so this was it. The last time Carl would be able to sing with his natural, yet damaged, singing voice. “Do it for your cousin”, Carl says to himself. “Pretend that the man in white is just your cousin, sitting all pretty in Aunt Lillie’s nest looking at you with those cute beady eyes…
You can do it! Savior the moment!”… Carl clears his throat one last time… “Khuh..khuh-kuh! Haaach!”… Carl was really choking on something big here. The scientist excitedly logged data as Carl hacked and hacked, trying to sing for the last time with his natural voice. “Having a little trouble singing, Carl?… Need a little Electro-Vox to brighten up your day?”. The scientist knew it was time as he unwrapped the electronic voice box out if it’s sterile package. “Once Dr. Keeplerps brings in the T&N results, we are golden my feathered friend.”
“Haach…khuuuh…haaach!”. The scientist was beaming from ear to ear as the little song bird tried his darndest to hock up a ball of phlegm. Then there was a knock on the door. It was Dr. Keeplerps with the data. Carl’s eye lit up as he entered the room. It was now or never! And in one loud and nasty cough from his little fluid filled lungs, about 250 cigarettes and 10 packs of chewing tobacco came screaming out of Carl’s body, hitting both the scientist and Dr. Keeplerps in the face. Off he flew through the open door and out to freedom! Stopping only to take one last crap on the scientist’s car window as a little reminder of all the fun he had in captivity….

The flight to his cousin’s nest took every ounce of energy to get him there. Now it was time to sing a little song to the newest member of the family. Aunt Lillie was so excited to hear his voice again. It had been a long time coming. Carl took a deep breath and flapped his singing wings together for a song to remember. His little cousin precariously perched his head on his mamma’s lap, waiting for his uncle to sing him a song.
“Are you ready little guy?” Carl’s voice sounding like a fifty year old smoker, cool and raspy but at the same time a little disgusting. “I would like to sing you the same song that my uncle sang to me when I was your age…. A little something like this, … Birds birds birds. Singing and chirping, chirping and singing. Birds birds birds. Happy and silly, silly and happy…. Birds birds birds… Watch them fly… Watch them build nests… Watch them eat birdie bird food on the ground… Birdie bird birds… Eat them when you are hungry… Turkey bird birds are high in protein… Chicken birdie bird birds are good to fry-”

The little cousin bird was clueless to Carl’s lyrical disaster. Momma Lillie was in shock listening to his song with that nasty voice. This is when Carl even shocked himself. He pulled out a cigarette from under a secrete feather hiding place and says to his Aunt, “Got a light?” Carl was losing it. “Do you have a light, woman!!!”. She shook her beak in disgust. “Fine! I’ll just eat it then!” Then Carl ate the cigarette and took his cousin by the mouth and regurgitated it down his throat. Carl then looked at his cousin in the eye and yelled, “You are a faggot!” Aunt Lillie was all up in arms at that moment, flapping her wings in Carl’s face and shouting, “Get out of my nest you nasty bird! Where did you learn that language! What happened to you!” Carl took that as a sign to be getting on his way.

And that is what he did. He got the hell out of there… He felt really bad about what he did and a week later apologized to his aunt and cousin, saying that his cousin looked like a pasty cigarette and he didn’t know what came over him. Momma Lillie asked Carl why he called her son a faggot and Carl said, “I thought I just told you that I thought your son looked like a pasty cigarette….” Anyway, all was forgiven and before Carl left he sang his cousin a beautiful song. This time with a clearer voice and a much better attitude.

May 19, 2004

Here I go again making another “to do” list… I don’t want to even read what I wrote down.. It’s starting to get old writing these things… If I had a list of all the “to do” lists I’ve made in the last 10 years, I would have a lot of money… Wait, that’s not right… If I could just make my lists much smaller and more attainable, I wouldn’t be so stressed out when I check off what I’ve done during the day… Maybe I should do the opposite and write a bunch of negative things on my planner and if I don’t do them, it’s a good thing! Yea!!!

To Do List!

1. Write Satan a love letter.
2. Poison roommate’s cat.
3. Drink protein mix with glass shards.
4. Slash neighbor’s tires.
5. Pay taxes.
6. Rent “She’s Having a Baby”
7. Tie my friend’s tubes.
8. Poison Roommate.
9. Jog in the West Village without a shirt on.
10. Buy a new kitten.

This way I can say, “Shoo! I’m sure glad I forgot to do these things on my list today!”….

I mentioned “Tie my friend’s tubes” at the 7 spot. This is something that happens in a lot of cases, the seventh spot on a list is usually one of the better spots. For example, on a rock and roll album, the seventh song is usually one of my faves on the album. Just pick up any album and go to the seventh song and see (or hear) for yourself. Do it!!!….. Seeeee! I told you so! And thanks for jumping out of your seat to look at an album right when I asked you to. That means we are seeing eye to eye on this thing here.
Good to see you are on board with me…. My seventh spot on my “to do” list is pretty funny if I say so myself… I didn’t plan it to be that way, it’s just the rule of sevens… Some say that the number seven is lucky. Let me just put that in numbers that you will understand a little bit more… Over SIX THOUSAND people have claimed that the number seven is lucky! Now do you get it?!
Number six is pretty lucky for me too… Go back to my list and read number six… Pretty funny, huh? Ya see, it is a movie that I refer to all the time. Just ask anyone that really knows me. I want to talk about how lucky the number six is for me in a later Dear Diarrhea… Let me just put it this way, next time I walk into a sleazy, Indian run casino in upstate Connecticut, I’m putting my money on black six… And I’m not talking about a silly Indian name, I’m talking about the number! (and color) A great story coming your way!!!

Now, for real. Go look at some of your albums and check out the seven spot…. DO IT NOW!!!

Bobby Tisdale signing out with another Dear Diarrhea for my friends…

May 12, 2004

Here we go again. Another hot spring day in the city! It’s time for a fake love letter…

I miss you. I always miss you in this weather and humidity. Reminds me of those hot summer days on the beach and the nights in the water. I would take your hand, lead you into the ocean and say, “Swimming with the sharks with night vision goggles.” You would laugh and splash me in the face with a handful of salt water. It would get in my eyes and burn for a few seconds and when my temporary blindness faded away, you are all up in my face with those huge horse teeth, smiling and laughing. I would point to the sky and say, “Hey look, a shooting star just went by a few seconds ago!”… You would look up and then I would go under water and pull up a bunch of seaweed and shove a bunch of it in your top. You would laugh so hard that I could taste it. Then we would hug and I would curl my toes around a jelly fish. For I was a master at grabbing them in the non-sting area… I would say, “Do you have any peanut butter to go with my jelly fish?”, then I would go under water, and put the jelly fish really close to your face and point to it with my other big toe as if to say,”Look at me! I have a jelly fish between my toes!”. You would scream and I would never hear you…

Remember that time we got sucked out too far and we both started to panic a little too much and you asked me to stop doing my “Whett Butler” impressions so you didn’t waste so much energy laughing. We so barely made it to the shore alive! That was so much fun! Oh oh oh! Remember when I replaced the water in the shower stalls with crude oil! People were all like, “Shit! Is this oil?!” And I would pass out those Exxon Valdez fliers and throw seagull shit all over them and yell out, “Ain’t my fault, I voted for Gore!”. Then we would be so exhausted and we would curl up on a large terrycloth towel and rest in each other’s arms.
I would kiss you goodnight and rub sunscreen on your shoulders and say, “Moon sure is awfully bright tonight. Don’t want you to get burned.” You knew it was my final joke of the night and it is impossible to get moon-burned. You still loved me rubbing spf 50 on you anyway….And just like clockwork you would say to me before you closed your eyes, “Who had the night vision goggles, you or the sharks?” Then I would take your hand and squeeze them a little too hard and say, “The sharks, honey. The sharks wear them. Those things cost too much money. I’m saving that money to buy you a trip to the dentist to get those chompers filed down a notch or two.” Then we would sleep under the moonlight. It was so magical.

Yep. Another Dear Diarrhea entry from Bobby Tisdale. Thanks for reading.

May 10, 2004

All these monologue shows going up all over the city now. If you’re not familiar with it, let me remind you. It started with the vagina-logues, hip girls talking shop about being a woman. Big hit for a long time. People have run with that idea ever since. I know a couple guys that have a hit show called the marajuana-louges. A collection of funny stories involving pot and stuff like that. Stuff that 97.8 percent of the population can relate to.
Which is why it is so popular with the masses now-a-days. I came up with a good idea for a monologue show that I’m willing to bet that everyone has experienced in one way or another, and it’s called “Catalogue” . I know what some of you are saying right now, “I’ve looked at a catalogue but never have I actually ORDERED anything from one of them!….YUCK!” Exactly! That’s why this monologue show is about cats and a few of the crazy stories that a select few of my star studded friends have had with them. Here is an example of a monologue from my first guest star, the super fast and talented, Richard Petty.

“I was runnin’ fifth at Daytona, lap 245 to be exact… When it happened…
It was nineteen-hundred and seventy-five. That was back in the day where you could drink liquor and could bring up to seventy pounds of farm animals with you in your car… This was a funny race for some reason… Normally I bring a half dozen or so egg layin’ chickens with me… for protein and camaraderie… but this race was much different. I decided to go with about sixty pounds of feline and a couple chickens to see if that would get me out of my mini-slump. Jimmy Johnson told me that he won three races in a row with his cat ridin’ shotgun so I’s like “What the hell’, can’t hurt.”
Anyway, the first 124 laps where great… The cats were behavin’ just fine, had two of ‘em kneadin’ my shoulders with their paws for about an hour long message and the other four just sat there cleaning up after eating one of my chickens. Shit started to hit the fan at around lap 200. Cats were startin’ to get dehydrated and angry. They wouldn’t touch my peach brandy which I thank my lucky stars because these guys were gettin’ pissed. The last thing I needed were sixty pounds of drunk cat with me closing in on the front four. These cats were hot and thirsty and so was I… I had to make a choice, do I take a pit stop and get us some water?… By doing that I would surly be lapped by the front four. Or do I sweat it out and trust that I had enough fuel to get me to the finish line and hope the other guys run out of gas. I chose the latter…. So then comes infamous lap 245… When I look back on it today, the cats looked like they were stuck to the floor in a coma or somethin’ of that nature. I kep on sayin’ to ‘em, “Only five more laps ta go! Stick with me now! Don’t you go dying on me!”. Boy was it hot in there. I was so hot I decided to take the top of my racing suit off to cool down. That’s when all the luck in heaven above broke that day. Not two seconds after I exposed myself, all sixty pounds of feline jumped on my chest and started lapping up every drop of liquid on my body. It felt like someone turned six power sanders loose on my chest and stomach. That’s when my luck switched into over-drive! Maybe it was me stomping on the gas extra hard as I screamed in pain, but whatever it was, I found myself passing the fourth and third car in less than five seconds. I was running second with a half a lap to go with less than a car length from guess who? Jimmy Johnson!
Here we are running neck and neck down the final stretch with me screaming like a crazed cat lady, and I’m starin’ down the checkered flag for the first time in a long, long time. I look over at Jimmy and guess who was ridin’ shotgun? Yep, his lucky cat was strapped right there in the front seat. Completely bald from three hundred laps of two hundred mile per hour winds! Jimmy looks over at me with all these cats slurpin’ up my sweat and he just gave up. It was like he just hit the brakes as I cruised to an easy two car length victory. At the winners circle a few minutes later Jimmy comes up and says, “Richard. You run a hell of a race today. I guess six cats are luckier than one, huh?” He had obviously been crying for a while.
He started to walk away and that’s when I decided to give him one of my victory cats as a token of thanks for his idea in the first place. Remember that Coke commercial where Mean Joe Green says “Hey kid, catch.” and he throws him his jersey? Well, I did the same thing that day at the winners circle. I grabbed one of my recovering cats from the hood of my car and tossed it in the general direction of Jimmy. “Hey, Jimmy! Catch!” Jimmy looked up at me with those old, drunken bloodshot eyes, picks up the cat from the ground and says, “Thanks Richard. That’s why you are the king!” …

That’s just a little sample of the great cat-alogues you will hear in my new show. I suggest you get your tickets now because it’s selling out fast!
Especially when I let everyone know that Lionel Richie is telling a cat-alogue about his run in with a siamese cat as he was recording “Dancing on the Ceiling”.

That’s all for now. This is Bobby Tisdale signing out with another Dear Diarrhea for the people.

May 6, 2004

So a bird came within an inch of my face on my walk to my favorite coffee shop. I think it’s good luck to have a bird hit you on the face. Remember when Fabio was hit by a bird while riding a roller coaster a few years ago? Broke his nose. If you don’t remember, look it up on the web because it is very funny.. Anyway, I heard that Fabio had upwards to four weeks of good luck after the accident. I might try starting a new paragraph now just for the hell if it.

There we go. A brand new paragraph for everyone to see! People might read more of my stuff if I break it up some. Starting now, my diarrhea’s will be chopped into funny little pieces. Wow, I just saw a guy riding in an electric wheel chair reading a magazine with his right foot sitting on his left knee. The “man” leg cross. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. It looked like someone did it for him before he left the house. “Honey, could you cross my legs for me, I have a very casual meeting to go to?” Or maybe it was the opposite…”Damnit honey, uncross my legs, I have a serious meeting to go to!” .

Oh, I don’t know, can you say fresh paragraph! Here is the thing. My sister just googled Dear Diarrhea and it looks like we have a few thieves out there. For those assholes that are using my idea, I hope you forever have explosive diarrhea all over yourself and your family. I’m serious! I don’t wish physical harm on anyone, even people that are too stupid to come up with their own ideas. But I do wish uncomfortable situations on these jerks. I tend to hate the hell out of assholes. People are dumb as hell. I’m too tired to write much more about these shit heads. A total waste of time… So I will make this quick… I want these people to have stomach cramps for a good hour, then I want them to run in a marathon wearing only white underwear. About six feet from the finish line I want them to get diarrhea in a bad way. Then I want to be there at the finish line with a hose. When they ask me to rinse them off I’ll say, “Ain’t plugged into nothin’” as I point to the other end of the garden hose. Then I’ll hand them one of those silver foil wraps and say, “Here, wrap this around you. It will cover up all that shit that sprayed out of you because you tried to steal my idea.” And on the back of the foil wrap it will read, “Dear Diarrhea was Bobby’s idea first” And under that it will read, “Hug me, I just ran a marathon for crying out loud!”. That’s it.

Hello! New idea! So I think I will come close to having good luck today. I might go for it and put some bread crumbs on my head so a pigeon will land on me. You have to touch feather for the luck to kick in. You know they say that if you break a mirror that you will have seven years of bad luck, am I right or am I right?! Well, what if you break one-thousand mirrors? Do you have seven-thousand years bad luck?

Oh, I don’t think so! Because humans don’t LIVE that long!!!!…. If I was a lady or a girl I would wear a summer dress all the time. It looks like a good way to live. I only got two hours of sleep last night so it’s looking crazy all up on my screen now. Bye for now.