PURCHASE MY AMATEURISH CRAP RIGHT THIS INSTANT

I have had a Zazzle Store for quite a while and never really promoted it, but I have a total of TWO products.

1. The “Bob is Love” U.S. postal stamps, in a variety of denominations, featuring a touching and artistical black & white photo of Mr. Bob Trout, my best friend and an icon of the greater Newport-Mesa area:

 

2. The tiresome “nerd freedom” Software is Speech shirt, featuring said slogan on the front and what I am pretty sure is the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America in binary on the back. You see, it’s cool because it’s nerdy and also because you can stand up for an abstract idea of freedom without any risk simply by purchasing an inexpensive consumer item:

The back of the shirt

 

Go buy lots of both now.

That was a different Friday afternoon.

SCRAMBLE

So Bob and his dog Stain got run over by a garbage truck today. Literally, like in a MAD Magazine cartoon.

I found this out because I was reading in the patio when my phone said “DING” and the message was a Facebook update. A few of my friends I have set to text me when they update. Bob’s one of them. His update was, basically: “Stain and I hit by truck. No phone. At home. Bloody mess. HALP”

I zipped over there to find them both bloody and shocked. A garbage truck had essentially parked on Stain’s front paws and he was licking them mournfully. Bob was a bit of a scratch and dent himself. The kitchen looked, as Bob put it, “like Charlie Manson came over for lunch.”

So far, so good. Remains to be seen how badly Stain’s paw is injured. Bob appears intact.

This is an example of the power of the Internet, though. With no minutes left on his prepaid phone, the $200 netbook plus some neighbor’s wifi plus facebook plus text alerts meant that several people immediately saw an alarm. Daniel turned around and biked back from Seal Beach on that alarm, I went across town here, and half a dozen other people immediately responded.

Here’s to a fast healing dog.

Vocabulary of the day, courtesy Bob

Whiskey Car (n). A car which has been operated by a heavy drinker for some time. A particular damage pattern identifies a Whiskey Car. There will be parking lot dents, small ones with a bit of paint from another car or a pole. A distinctive pattern of impacts will be seen on the top of the fenders or bumpers due to angry car-whacking, for example with a pool cue or a hand tool. The inside of the car will smell vaguely bad, similar to the tobacco and old alcohol aroma of its owner at the end of the evening. Any keyhole will be scratched from impaired attempts to get the key in.

The whiskey car is immediately identifiable by observant people who’ve spent time in bars.

In which the local police department provides amusement

Right after I saw Bob yesterday, he was pedaling home when accosted by Costa Mesa’s finest.

Picture Bob in a big straw hat, reflective bright yellow vest, riding a bike, towing a trailer on which there is a blue dog who is barking happily.

The cops decided he was the one who had just robbed a bank. Bob’s description of the event is below:

Uttered by a blue dog on a trailer and overheard by a passerby…In front of the trailered dog lay sprawled at gunpoint his unphased owner,muttering some bile ladden filth and saying things like “What the fuck” etc. long story short the dog confessed and both parties were released …..fuck me! what is it?break out the Kool Aid and jam for the fucking bridge??!! beyond Keystone we need pictures of me in bike outfit/bank robbery getaway outfit! later

Some days I can’t get enough of my town.

bob had his surgery.

Dropped him off this morning at 6:30 (YAWWN) and just dropped him off back at home.

He’s high as a kite, still in considerable discomfort, and demanded chocolate milk, which I provided.

I’m going to call him tomorrorw to make sure he’s not dead. He could probably use help getting food, etc for the next few days if anyone has extra time.

Another win from Bob

A discussion about how old people can make money with some insurance thing.

PERSON1: Yeah, my mom was a candidate for it. Still doing great too, and she’s 50 grand richer.

PERSON2: My mom could qualify but there’s no way she would go for a financial thing she didn’t understand.

BOB: We had to hold my mother down and pound six holly stakes through her heart. We used young Nubian boys. Actually they were from Asbury Park, they were just dressed as young Nubian boys.

If anyone sees bob…

Tell him to gimme a call! Collect, or pay phone, or whatever. His prepaid phone is dead and has the cheery message saying I should call again later.

I guess they decided that prepaid phones were “urban” because the error message guy sounds like Will Smith.

Or tell Bob I’ll be at BG tonight, and he can have a ride if he wants. He can’t ride his WHIZZER right now so I want to make sure he gets out of the house, gets food, etc.