You might remember Robert Bobo, my old friend from high school who has a hostile imaginary monkey, and a terminal illness, and a bunch of weird stories about urinating with Robin Williams and making Hollywood special effects.
The reason I’m pretty sure you remember him is that when he posted a blog here, it continued to get traffic for weeks, and that’s the sort of thing I monitor here in my skull-shaped fortress in the middle of the Everglades – Future Tom Headquarters.
You would be shocked by what I can see here in my gargantuan mastodon-bone chair, on my eighteen monitors that I watch while petting my ironically cute and fluffy white dog. Like for instance, I saw you texting from your car the other day, at a red light – you know, you’re not supposed to do that anymore, right?
Yes, even if the light’s red. Even if nothing’s going on. Even if the text is shorter than a phone number, for some reason you can enter the phone number, but not the requiring-fewer-buttons text. This world’s going to Hell in a handbasket.
Another reason I’m pretty sure you remember Bobo is that when I told you all to head over to his page and insult him because he was craving confrontation and hostility – not sure why, when his monkey seems perfectly capable of providing both – about a dozen of you obliged, piling on so hard that I eventually had to show up and say, “All right that’s enough. Knock it off in here, Future Tom readers.”
Originally I was thinking, go ahead and email something over once a week or so, Bobo, and I’ll stick it up here on Future Tom, and that way you’ll have a voice and a platform, and you can ask to be insulted or hugged or whatever the frank you want.
Soon after, the universe backed up truckload of stuff to do and dumped it right in front of my skull-shaped swamp fortress – right on the porch, so it looked like Future Tom Headquarters just barfed.
To make matters worse, all of my winged monkey minions and my army of cyborg alligator robots were busy with some stuff my wife wanted them doing, back in Grove City in the garden.
You should hear them complain – bunch of sissy little girls. You know, I said to my winged monkey and robot alligator minions, I have three actual little girls inside, and they don’t complain like you all.
I can’t stand the place in the summer – that’s what I was doing hanging out in the left eye socket of my swamp fortress. And those little girls – not so little anymore. It’s like prison rules, when it comes to getting something to eat.
Anyway, I got super duper busy is another way to put it, and I kept putting Bobo off. He’s like, uh, dude, I don’t know if I mentioned it, but you know. Terminally ill here. Let’s pick up the pace a little.
So what I did – at an unbelievably slow pace, like I was getting carried around by snails – was I set up Bobo with his own blog over at WordPress, so that he doesn’t have to wait on me to get his stuff out there. He can just put it up himself.
Of course, he doesn’t get my super-editing powers that way, but really, I’m lucky I’m getting them myself. I’ve been sticking stuff up here on Future Tom with five minutes to spare sometimes, then it’s eight o’clock, and my family wants to know why I don’t turn off my lunar-mounted freeze-ray controls for a little bit and come on out of my eye socket lair and spend a little time with them.
You should hear me barking at them. I BLOG! I tell them, totally straight-faced and urgent, like Clooney in The Perfect Storm when he screams at his wife, “Look I catch fish! That’s what I do! I have to take the boat out into the eye of this perfect storm and do that so quit carping at me!”
Or something like that.
Hey, I blog, Marilyn! It’s what I do! I’m a blogger!
Makes me feel a little queasy, just typing that. Hold on, let me get myself together a little.
You see, that kind of crap is why she got all my robots and winged monkeys. Dr. Phil says it’s not a scorekeeping thing, it’s not 50-50. It’s 100-100. My 100% includes robot alligators and winged monkeys. Hers is something about being bilingual and on the Dean’s List.
Whatever, Marilyn. Quit stinking up the place with your smartness.
Anyway, finally I got Bobo’s blog up, and he’s already put up his first post, so head on over and check it out. I don’t think he’s looking for insults this time – he’ll be sure to let you know if that changes – so keep your pistols holstered, you bunch of volatile, gun-slapping Future Tom readers.
Once I figure out how the blogroll works, I’ll put him on my blogroll. That means you’ll be able to link to his blog from my home page, and vice versa.
Yes, just when you thought it was safe to go back in the blogosphere – Bobo returns. I’m not sure if it’s him blogging or his hostile imaginary monkey, but whichever one it is, tell him Future Tom sent you. You get half off appetizers and a free kid’s sundae.