Requiem For A Deadweight

[Ed. Note: This is what Wheelgun Bob submitted for his “Christmas” blog. He has obviously taken another big step on the long way down. Perhaps we could get him to start drinking again.]

I woke up this Christmas morning alone for the first time in my fifty years. I have a certain evil person to thank for that but I will no longer mention her since she is the one who shall not be named. No doubt she is in the clutches of some whiskey scented Santa Claus.

Well, bored and uncomprehending masses, what shall I blog about on this, the day of Christ's birthday? How about guns? Yes! Its been too damned long since I've slung any lead. Maybe I could take Rita Mae (my S & Wesson .357 magnum) to the end of the harbor and plink away at the Isles of Shoals. I have these little Christmas boxers and Santa hat I could wear that my crazy pal Doug gave me (he once gave me a cock ring and my girlfriend a ball gag for Christmas). What a site I would make! A despondent fat fucker dressed in Santa boxers at the end of a harbor shooting at some goddamned islands in the north Atlantic! How bloody pathetic. Yet oddly festive.

Speaking of festive, I think I will take my Christmas tree, drag it out to my back yard, pour some gas on it and set fire to the mother fucker! It would be “laugh out loud funny” as People Magazine raves! Who knows, maybe some boat will see the conflagration, come pick me up, spirit me to an island populated only by women and I will become their lord-high-god phallic ruler. Hey, stranger things have happened.

Or maybe I will just lay here in bed and watch “Bad Santa.” Some tell me it's a fucking riot. Well, I have my fucking doubts.

just cuz she jacked uh lot o' money from me

I just looked over my last few blogs. I try to avoid re-reading my blogs at all cost because I see all sorts of grammar and speling mistakes when I do that plus I have the extremely annoying habit of writing run-on sentences that seem to go on forever, never ending or beginning, on an ever spinning wheel like a snowball down a mountain or a carnival balloon like a carousel that's turning running rings around the moon like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes on its face and the world is like an apple whirling silently in space like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.

What I found dismayed me. Anyone unfortunate enough to have read my blogs of late would be justified in thinking “Wheelgun Bob. What a miserable fucking bastard!” I complain about my ex-girlfriend too much and bellyache about my life in general too much. Well, I am going to turn over a new leaf. Just because times are tough for ole’ WGB don’t mean I gotta give into them.

Take my ex-girlfriend (please!) for example. Things could be worse. We could have been married and/or had kids together. Man, I would be suicidal if that were the case. Shit! Thank god for small favors. And just because she stole a lot of money from me isn’t the end of the world. I can still earn enough to retire when I’m 104.

I have decided what I’m going to do. I am going to take what little money I have left and move south. Maybe even to Mexico. It’s warm down there and I can catch a decent donkey show whenever I want.

[Ed. Note: The following is a translation of this blog into Ebonics]

I just looked over muh ma fuckin last few blogs. I try ta avoid re-reading muh ma fuckin blogs at all cost cuz I see all sorts o' grammar an' speling mistakes when I do dat plus I gots da extremely annoying habit o' writing run-on sentences dat seem ta jet on forever, never ending or beginning, on an ever spinning wheel like uh snowball down uh mountain or uh carnival balloon like uh carousel dat'sturning running rings around da moon like uh clock whose hands iz sweeping past da minutes on its face an' da world iz like an apple whirling silently in space like da circles dat ya find in da windmills o' yo' mind.

What I found dismayed me. Anyone unfortunate enough ta gots read muh ma fuckin blogs o' late would be justified in thinking “Wheelgun Bob. What uh miserable fucking bastard!” I complain about muh ma fuckin ex-girlfriend too much an' bellyache about muh ma fuckin life in general too much. Well, I be going ta turn over uh new leaf. Just cuz times iz tough fo' ole’ WGB don’t mean I gotta give into dem.

Take muh ma fuckin ex-girlfriend (please!) fo' example. Things could be worse. We could gots been married and/or had kids together. Man, I would be suicidal if dat wuz da case. Shit! Thank god fo' small favors. And just cuz she jacked uh lot o' money from me isn’t da end o' da world. I can still earn enough ta retire when I’m 104.

I gots decided what I’m going ta do. I be going ta take what little money I gots left an' move south. Maybe even ta Mexico. It’s warm down dere an' I can catch uh decent donkey show whenever I wants.

w0rd!

Cheetah Woods

I have finally found someone with worse luck than me. Thank you Tiger Woods!

If there is one thing I find less interesting in this world than golf, its celebrities. So as you can imagine, I don’t give a marsupial’s mons veneris about Tiger Woods. That was, at least, until a few days ago. I hear that the putting putz had his 9 iron in at least 12 hot chicks! No wonder his wife tried to drive his head down the fairway with one of Tiger’s own weapons of choice. Ha! I love it.

I feel for the guy, though. His wife will take him for millions of dollars. I waited on my ex-girlfriend hand and foot for years, never once screwed around on her with a Hooter’s waitress, and she is taking me for all my money too. Hang in there, dude. The world’s not fair at all.

Hey, maybe Nike and Gillette will hire me to do their next commercials now that Tiger has been de-clawed. “Wheel Gun Bob. Just do it, muthafuckas!” Nice.

Actually, now that I think of it, fuck you Tiger Woods. You can sail off into the sunset on your multi-million dollar yacht while I’m trying to sell my 97 Harley Sportster just to make rent. Drop dead, asshole.

Dead Hamster

My life is getting flushed down the toilet like a dead hamster. My ex-girlfriend, who pretended to like me for almost twenty years, has nailed me in the balls so hard I don’t think I will ever be able to walk normally again. She has stolen all my money and is trying to destroy my dignity. But I won’t let her! I am Wheel Gun Fuckin Bob and I used to walk among giants! And to prove it, I will pluck a blog out of the digital ether and present it to you, my steadfast supporters.

Christmas is coming up and I’m trying not to let it depress the hell out of me. One thing you guys can do to buck me up is shower me with gifts. So here we go with another one of my wacky “What you can get Wheelgun Bob for Christmas” lists.


1. A new girlfriend. And I don’t care if she looks like Shemp Howard as long as she is rich.

2. A time machine so I can go back and not break up with my old, old girlfriend so I wouldn’t then hook up with current ex-girlfriend. Confuses me too.

3. A snowmobile. Doesn’t have to go 130MPH. 100MPH would be just fine. Gotta make the damned winter fun somehow.

4. An autographed copy of Sarah Palin’s new book. It’s got to be cheaper than wood for my stove.

5. Speaking of which, a cord of wood would be nice so I can heat up my freezing bachelor pad. Shit, it’s so cold there that my nipples could cut glass.

6. Tickets for a cruise anywhere its warm, including Mercury or Venus.

7. Gift certificate to newegg.com so I can make a new computer. It’s now been 5 years since I made my last computer and I have the computer nerd equivalent of deadly sperm build-up. It will have the added benefit of occupying my dark mind and help stave off thoughts of self destruction or world domination.

8. Dong warmer (XXXL).

9. Money. Dinero, scratch, jack, somalians, greenbacks, dough, shekels, rupees, zlotys, mazuma, moolah, oscar, pap, plaster, rivets, spondulicks, clams, smackers, bread, cabbage, wampum, etc. Just shower me with dead presidents, mutha fuckas!

The Vultures Are Circling, Goddamnit

I’m cowering these days awaiting life’s next big dick punch. Someone put a stuffed vulture in my cube at work as a joke but it’s not even funny. My luck is so bad that if I bought a cemetery people would stop dying.

I am in a shitty mood. So I am going to spew some vitriol your way via this blog. It won’t make me feel any better but if I can bring you down a notch or two to be closer to me, then perhaps it will be worth it.

I need some part time work. I work full time as an IT fag but my evil ex-girlfriend has raped me for almost every last penny I had so I need to make more money.

Someone suggested I could bartend at night when I got out of work. Only trouble is I don’t know anything about mixed drinks. Maybe I could be a waiter. Get some big tips and hot chicks. I'm thinking three nights a week?

Another possibility - I could get a job working on Saturdays. Some retail job. I know they don’t pay well but I’m desperate and every little bit helps. I will perhaps check out the local sex shops. I wouldn’t mind selling dildos to hot chicks. Do hot chicks even go into places like that? Probably just creepy men. Fuck that then. God, maybe I will have to work in the mall. I would almost rather sell $5 blow jobs in the parking garage than work in the fucking mall.

Let me know if you have any suggestions as far as part time employment for me or you know of any get rich quick schemes.