Here's the title of Bob's latest thing (I refuse to call anything he
writes a blog, column, article, essay, etc.):
"Why Stephen can't read but hates to admit it"
So you read the fucking thing and not one word is about why I can't
read. It's like me titling this wonderful bit of craftmanship "That
Pesky Spoon On The Chair" and then having the gall not to mention
ANYTHING about a spoon, a chair or anything pesky.
See how that's totally fucked?
You start reading his THING expecting something interesting, but he
drones on about putting shit in an archive or something, drinking,
smoking and then some dander about the bailout. Not one mention of my
supposed inability to read (or his crack habit either).
Well, you can fight back. Send me a dollar and I'll give you his phone
number so you can call him and vent your rage and frustration upon his
To make matters worse for everyone, he claims that, coming next, is
"Reading can be fun for everyone but Stephen who can't". Wanna bet he
doesn't write about that?
He'll probably write about something like filling up the lawnmower with
gas and then how he got high from the fumes and "accidentally" ran over
his next door neighbor who just happened to be sunning themselves in
their backyard even though it's the beginning of April and only a
complete moron would sun themselves this time of year.
And then he'll go on about something topical, how he can "make it
better" and so on and so forth. Don't you see that these are just the
ramblings of a subhuman completely in a drug induced haze, someone who
has no clue about what their fingers are doing as he sits in front of a
But enough about him. Let's talk about Detroit and how they sent out
street cleaners during rush hour to beautify the city in time for that
FInal Four shit, causing massive traffic backups so they could pick up
all those pieces of paper and dead bodies.
Look, it doesn't make a difference. People everywhere know what a
cesspool Detroit is so no amount of cleaning will change that image.
Don't put on a false front. Let the people see the true Detroit. Let the
bodies lie where they are.
Just imagine someone coming to Detroit and it's clean so they decide to
move there, then they see the REAL Detroit and then they figure out
they've made a huge mistake and jump off a bridge becoming just another
body lying on just another street. How sad is that?
It's as sad as living in, say, Omaha where the only thing to do is grow
a goatee and rub your bullum-head because it's hurts oh so much.
Bob's an asshole.
COMING NEXT: The yellow egg is in two pieces