My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

Have you ever dreamed you’d someday become famous? Do you take that fantasy so far as to imagine yourself on the front of a bag of beef jerky?

I sent out this invitation to my party:

Howdy folks, happy new year, both of them. (Chinese and Anglo) anyfuckingwho I’m having an old fashioned shed raising this next Sunday the 17th of Feb. You’ll have given your lady enough attention on the 14th to justify an afternoon doing some manly construction and beer/tequila drinking, followed by a bonfire at the beach for those who are willing. You can have your old lady meet you at the beach for that part, but as it stands, we will be men building buildings and bbq’ing on Sunday afternoon. The shed is basically done, so if you want to drink and throw an axe at the fence while others put the finishing touches on the roof and nail off the interior walls, then by god do it. It’s pretty small so not too many people can work on it at once anyway. I bought a couple of rifles, but don’t have any ammo. but we can hold them and point them at each other. In other words we’re gonna do a lot of things we used to do, were told we can’t do, never got around to trying. I don’t care if you’ve never swung a hammer or pulled a trigger, if you have hairy armpits, you’re in.

So the party was a success. Thanks to everyone who made the long trip to the Richmond District yesterday, I really appreciate it. Let’s recap: No one did anything to the shed, but Paul and I hung the elk on the wall. Then we shot bottle rockets through the chamber of my rifle, jumped off the shed into the rose bushes, kicked the beehive, got stung, kicked the bbq over and ruined the chicken so we went to the beach where i took my clothes off and ran into the ocean, but only up to my knees, then realized it was a really bright moon and everyone at the fire had seen my glowing ass. Now my arm hurts where matt conway put me in an arm bar and I can’t put pressure on my left foot. I believe I fractured it jumping over the fire and that was around midnight, so I went home and passed out in my sandy clothes and here we are. I’m heading to the emergency room sometime tomorrow if it doesn’t stop hurting.

What is Dante going to think? I worked for Wal*Mart yesterday, moving furniture and set pieces (fake walls and windows) to a photo studio for an advertising shoot. I worked for two hours and they paid me for four. Handsomely. What was the problem with Wal*Mart again?

The mailbag has been bursting at the seams this week. Alert reading team Al and Cora Carey sent in this adaptation of the child beating episode. Thanks!

These valentines to Ozzy come from Rachel and Matt Jasper, who purchased them from the estate of Lisa Carver, who recently lured me into mail fraud, but that is sort of irrelevant. The point is, its Valentines Day and these people loved Ozzy. I’ve been trying to get Steve Ravioli to send me his fan letter to Peter Wolf of J. Geils but he refuses.

Notice the difference in tone between the two letters, both of which may have appeared in Rollerderby long before blogs were invented. (they were both postmarked May 1990)

He is earnest and encouraging and thankful and hopeful, like a midwesterner should be.

This guy is a typical seen it all jaded new englander who would appreciate an autographed picture, but he wouldn’t “treasure it.” Notice how he talks like he is owed a photo, after all, “he’s been a good fan for a long while.” Now pay up bitch. You see this attitude all up and down the north eastern coast. Like we all owe them for being american or something. Get over it.

I found a free clinic and went to get an aids test. i wanted them all, clap, drip, syph, whatever they could detect i wanted to know if i had it or not. Pulling open the door to a STD clinic is hard to do. It’s a heavy door. So slow. Everyone driving by looking at you…

Inside are rows of chairs, and people waiting. You look at them quickly to see what a slut looks like. Oh yeah. Like you. You check in, get a number and a bunch of paper work. WHAT’S THIS?

“Due to the volume of requests, we can only test you for disease you are likely to be at risk for. Also, we can only test you if you have an existing sympton, are under 25, or a man having sex with men.”

I didn’t fit any of the requirements. It was time to lie. The nurse calls me into her office.
She looks like a lunch lady. I don’t remember her name. She knows I don’t have any existing conditions and she knows I’m not under 25. So I’m gay.

“Have you had penis to mouth contact in the last three months?”

“NO!”
shoot. I’m gay I’m gay I’m gay. I’ll have to make up for that last answer.

“Have you had penis to anus contact in the last three months?”

remember, they only give me a test if I’m in a high risk population…

“Um…no. Just my brother I guess.”

“What?”

“I mean does my brother’s penis count?”
ohh, that should work. I’m going to the front of the line with that answer…

“Yes that counts. Have you had sex while on drugs in the last three months?”

okay, let’s keep the dream alive…

“I wasn’t high, but there was a guy who nodded off in the park and I did have sex with him.”

whatever she wasn’t gonna test me for, she just reconsidered…

“Have you paid for sex or been paid for sex in the last three months?”

“Who sees these records? Because for tax purposes, I don’t feel comfortable answering that question.”

i better be careful or i’ll end up locked up for a three day evaluation..

“That’s fine, I think we have enough information. Take off your pants, I’ll be taking an anal swab.”

looks like I overplayed that one a little too much…

Here’s an idea Sophia came up with…should we make t-shirts?

Lyle took up the challenge!

Sonja came over and we decided to make back drops for a photo booth. It’s something I wanted to do at the DMV but I don’t think they’d let me.

Also, I’m considering plastic surgery to remove my belly button.

She ordered a Shirley Temple with vodka. A beer for her friend. They talked about which one was darkest. It was the Prohibition Ale. The red walls were chipped and giving the room a warm glow. The jukebox was playing a song about the depression motherhood causes. Everyone knew it.

Beer stayed in rings on the bar where foam had run over the edges and pooled. Just one barkeep. She didn’t care if you put your arm in beer. She wasn’t mean – it was that kind of place. Wipe it up if it bothers you. She cut her thumb slicing limes but didn’t swear…looked at it, stuck it in her mouth, sucked it quick, took it out and shook it. She poured me a Sierra and took my twenty.

Work is slowing down. The remodel almost done.

“Didn’t he die or make a comeback?”

The question was about Tiny Tim.

“He’s dead,” was the answer.

I shouldn’t be here. I’m broke. But the money will come soon.

Right?

This lady was putting on the black outline around the number ten when I walked by. I asked her to pose with her sign and at first she said, “No, they’ll think we’re only ten dollars!” but then she relented.

Speaking of New Hampshire, Joshua O. Millar wrote in:

“I found this list crumpled up on the sidewalk on State Street in Portsmouth. It’s a recipe for a life on the run. I thought you would appreciate it. The first thing I noticed was the rather ornate penmanship executed in the word ‘welfare’.”

the scan obscured the lighter Mad Lib entries in pencil…”we were so poor we used our Mad Libs twice”.

Lisa Suckdog Carver is a New Hampshire born folk heroine. She got hit with a mighty big tax bill so she put up artifacts from her rock and roll past to raise some dough. I sent her $25 bucks hoping to get a letter GG Allin wrote to her. I was waiting patiently by my mail box for weeks, and finally a package arrived. As you can tell by my tone, there was no letter from GG to Lisa. “They sold for $500!” she excitedly apologized. As a consolation prize I got her (twice) used Mad Libs and a photo of her seventh or eighth husband and her on their wedding day. I love her antlers. As far as New Hampshire artifacts are concerned, someone got a deal at $500. I just couldn’t swing it. She should have called the Historical Society.

i smashed my finger working on my truck. This was a few weeks ago. Now the nail is close to falling off. I’ll get a good picture of that.