Count the times this damn dude says "you know."

Earlier today I decided to really mail it in with this post's title.

I could think of worse spots...

...to 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.

Love,
-Bblarter

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.

Love,
-Bb

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.

Love,
-Bb

Totally in my cab

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

9.21.2011

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

Hi.

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.