Thursday, December 22, 2011

A Letter To Santa Claus

[Ed. Note: We asked WGB to submit a cheery blog for the holidays and this is what he came up with. Our profoundest apologies.]

Dear Santa:

You corpulent piece of reindeer scat. You didn’t get me anything from my fucking Christmas wish list last year! I have half a mind to head on up to the north pole and pound some thermite up your flabby white ass. You spend all year playing weird sex games with your dwarf slaves leaving yourself no time to execute your primary function which is to bring me presents! And lord knows I don’t ask for much. Just a gun or maybe a new car. Too busy getting a Cleveland steamer from a midget to facilitate a new firearm for Wheel Gun Bob, eh? Well fuck you!

Tell you what, this year I will give you one more chance. This is what I want - an over/under 12 gauge shotgun. Simple. Just go to the Kittery Fuckin’ Trading Post (KFTP) and get me one. How hard is that (that’s what Mrs. Claus said)? Just keep this in mind, you bloated shithead – fuck up and you will be shaking like a bowl full of gelignite and there will be a pink mist instead of Saint Nick.

Merry Christmas,

Wheel Gun Bob

Friday, December 02, 2011

Less Wheel Gun Bob To Come

I’m going to get me one of them deli counter take-a-number things. Would you like to know the reason? Well, let me tell you my dearest cyber minions. It’s because the latent Adonis in me is about to re-emerge, much to the delight of those with vaginas. See, I am on a crash diet that will turn me from the larger gentleman I am now into a svelte and desirous object. I will make even Herman Caine jealous with the amount pussay I will get. I will be swarmed with pizda hence the need for the deli number thing. I might even have to cancel some of my subscriptions to porn sites since I won’t have the time to devote to them anymore. In the meantime, I’m fucking hungry.