Friday, September 23, 2011

I could think of worse spots... drop off what'll probably be the day's last fare.

Bb: This was a terribly boring post, Bb.
Bb: Even with the picture?
Bb: Fart a little glitter, maybe.
Bb: *blarts*
Bb: You sicken me, yo.


My rig* is a little old but that don't mean she's slow

She cleans up pretty good, tho.

Also, she's not really a *rig.

Or a "she."

She's gender neutral.

And so is he.

Imma call my cab Herm.

That just happened.


Thursday, September 22, 2011

Great news!

Great news, everybody! I just got to the bottom of a thrice refilled cup of coffee.

Some context? Sure, some context: Because I love mother nature so much that all the dry humping I dry hump her with doesn't feel like enough, sometimes I'll use a cup from the previous day as part of my Reduce/Refuse/Tricycle/Or/Some/Shit regimen of really loving mother earth. And today's cup came from yesterday.

And upon finishing my third cup -- my third cup, but the first that I drained right down to its dreggiest dregs -- I remembered a brief interaction I had with my girlfriend's young son as he got off of yesterday's bus.

Bb: Hi, Bubba
Bubba: Do the blog readers know my name's not "Bubba?"
Bb: Oh, that's cute. I don't have any actual readers.
Bubba: None?
Bb: Maybe one. I have one follower, see.
Bubba: Does Patty Smith know my name's not really "Bubba?"
Bbus Dribber: Stop holding the goddamn bus back, fucknut.
Bubba: That's no way to talk to youngsters.
Bbus Drubba: I'm not talking to youngsters that way. I'm talking to fucknut over here. The dickbag with that douchie-ass hat.
DickBbag: I'm not sure I even know who's who and what's where right now. Wasn't I just about to get some coffee or make a little flippy-flop with mother earth or something?
Castro: Somebody's about to get a foot up their ass.
Mother Earth: Just tell them about your coffee, Ddude.
Bubba: Mr. Bernard, I call you that sometimes, don't I? "Mr. Bernard."
Bb: Yup.
Bubba: And you call me "Bubba" sometimes, right, Mr. Bernard?
Bb: Indeed.
Bubba: And it sort of allows you to maintain some degree of anonymity while still kinda recreating the feel of the interaction, yes?
Bb: Verily.
Bubba: Well, Mr. Bernard, can you do me a favor and hold this?
*reaches out with a hand full of what I can only assume is a yak booger*
Bb: What is that, gum?
Bubba: No, it's slime.
Bb: What do you mean, "slime." is it, like, a candy called slime? Or a toy?
Bubba: It's slime.
Bb: Ok, yes. But, I mean, like, is it -
Bubba: Can play tag with Braden?
Bb: Yes.
Bbusa-bus: Are we done here, or what?
Cuppa Coffee: so did you just throw that shit in me? Is that the moral of this bullshit story?
Bb: Yes.
Cuppa Coffee: Blarf
iPhone: you do this whole post on me?
iBb: All but the blarfing, which I couldn't do without Linux.
Penguin: I'm gonna throw up.

Read your Bibles, people. Read your Bibles.


Totally in my cab

Or rather, totally that which is aiding me in my procrastination. Or protaxination. Get it? Get it?

Wednesday, September 21, 2011


This post's title isn't too terribly earth-shattering, but then neither are earthquakes*. But anyway.


I have lotsa blogs, and they each have a gimmick. Mostly the gimmicks are like "starting a blog and then blowing it off," "How to blow off a blog," "How to blow the fuck off of a blog," "Suck taint, oxford comma" or "Fuck you, urge to return to that one blog."

This one's gimmick is shit I write and post from my cab.

Consider this a test, I guess.

*might not be scientifically verified.