A Day in the Life

NOTE: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual individuals, living or dead, is a god-damned shame.

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The crash and boom of the nearby automotive dismantling business woke up the swarthy gambler.

He looked outside: The giant machines were lifting car hulks and dumping them in the crusher; just another day in paradise.

He got out of his sleeping nook, pissed in the tiny bathroom ("Sure stinks, I better fix it someday") and then went online to flame and joust: ahhh, the joys of retirement.

Having given his detracors the good old "what for," Rob left his little RV and walked a few steps to his son's front door: time for breakfast.

Shit, locked, and the key doesn't work.

He got on his flip phone and called junior.

"Hey, did you lock me out?"

"Yes, we sure did, we changed the locks. Sorry dad, but you and mom are gonna have to leave again. We're tired of all your bullshit."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, like how you keep telling us how you won $1.5 million on one VP pull, but you keep mooching off of us and hitting us up for "loans.""

"Now son, you know how these things work. That's a lot of money for a casino to pay out, they can't do it all at once. They need to sell stock, reshufflle portfolios, cut wages and only then will I be able to get paid."

"Well I can't wait any longer, dad: the town gave us a citation for you living in your little RV in our driveway, contrary to code, and your vehicle is leaking oil like a sieve."

"Son, I promise you that all this will be taken care of when the casino pays me the $1.5M. I have it on good authority that it could be as soon as this summer."

"That ain't good enough, dad, I need for you and mom to hit the road today. We're tired of fielding calls from strangers who tell us about the wierd shit you do and claim on gambling boards. Give it a rest, why dontcha?"

"They're all liars, son, just jealous of your dear old dad."

"Jealous of what, dad? You're broke as a joke and lie like a drunken sailor chatting up a whore."

Rob shook his head, paused for effect and said "You better reconsider or else I'll have to have some of my CIA brethren pay you a visit."

"CIA? Shit dad, you were a fucking mail clerk at the post office."

Rob turned away, went back into his tiny RV and went online, spouting venom and showing firm resolution: the game was on.

Tuesday, a day like any other day: hellish and just flat wrong.

Summarily evicted and having no place to go, a quandary was presented.

"Where to now, dear?" asked Rob.

"Take me to the Old Folks' Home, I've had enough of your unending blizzard of bullshit" his better half chimed in.

Rob realized she was right, the game was over, the chickens had come home to roost, there were no more "Special Plays" open to him.

"OK, but first I want to try something out."

Rob stopped at a Wally-World, bought a magnifying glass and then went into a field behind the big box store: there he espied his quarry...ants.

Rob held the magnifying glass "just so" in order to focus the beam on a hapless ant: it sizzled and smoked.

Rob guffawed: "Take that, KJ."

Another target: up in smoke.

"Ha, mock me will ya, V? It's curtains for you.?"

Rob burned ten more ants, maniacally ascribing the name of a detractor to each of them.

He got back into his Pinto, fired it up and told his better half "Let's go to the home, I found something new to keep me busy."

She smiled, hoping that this would end better than the DUB fantasy, the Newell illusion and the $1.5MVP jackpot scam.

Mister V, starting a thread purely to talk shit about Rob is ... Not good and is sad and pathetic. :(

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Tasha

Mister V, starting a thread purely to talk shit about Rob is ... Not good and is sad and pathetic. :(

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Are you fucking kidding me?

Parody is certainly a well known and acceptable means to respond to detractors, and few detract as much as he does.

Perhaps you should try it?

Never mind, you aren't talented enough to pull it off: best stay in the slow lane.

The following is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.

******


Billy, who was last seen hijacking a city bus to tour his one man show, had finally made it to Viva Las Vegas. The back of the bus was filled with Walmart bags filled with his excrement. He needed to find a dumpster to unload them. He espied a greasy spoon joint with an unsecured dumpster in the back alley. Jackpot, he yipped out loud, pun intended. As he made his way to the back, he espied something even more fortuitous, a man burning ants with a magnifying glass. Billy bent down to examine his excellent and efficient work and as he did so he let rip a hot squeaker smelling of sulfur and maple syrup. He had been living on McDonald's pancakes and egg mcmuffins for two weeks after all. The man burning ants did not twitch his nose the slightest.

"Nice work man. I'm Axl Rose," Billy lied as he held out his hand.

"They call me Mr. V." the man burning ants lied. Seeing Billy's outstretched hand, he dropped trou and laid a steaming deuce in it.

"What the fuck was that for?" Billy yelled.

"I read on the internet Axl Rose likes to play with fresh dumps. Dont tell me it was a lie. I'm very sorry sir."

Billy collected himself. "Oh yeah, I do indeed. It's just that I already got two from a fan earlier, so, you know, I'm good on fresh dumps for today. "

The two men shook hands, thanked, and welcomed one another before going their separate ways. Billy mused that although he had no idea what was going on, he was glad that he showed up to make a gaseous contribution to this man's life story.

Mr. V re-read and accepted the invitation to meet Rob at Pelican Brewery and clapped his hands gleefully, for at last he'd finally meet the Worshipful Master, the current undisputed king of internet trolls.

V thought he was pretty good at trolling but knew for a fact that he could learn a lot more at the feet of the Master.

Time slowly crawled until the day his date with Destiny finally arrived; ebullient and open-minded, he fired up his F-250 4x4 and motored through the streets of downtown Portland.

Feeling curiously upbeat and civic-minded he drove onto the sidewalk and mowed down at least ten homeless bums in and near their tents.

"Ah, taking out this trash is better than passing gas" he laughed, and he simply LOVED to pass gas.

A Portland cop saw the whole thing unfold and instead of cuffing V he gave him a golf clap, followed by a salute.

V stopped at a car wash to clean the brain tissue and blood off his Ford and then drove to the Oregon coast; V pulled into the parking lot of the Pelican Brewery.

"Where is his hot Dodge?" V wondered, as he espied no such vehicle.

Checking his watch he verified he was there at the agreed time; V thanked and welcomed himself for being punctual.

He entered the brewery and looked around: no Rob; V waited a half hour and left, bitterly disappointed but not surprised: he figured this would happen.

While at the coast he went to Chinook Winds and played Double Diamond in the Elite room, but the handpay did little to dispel the gloom he felt over being blown off by his mentor.

"I could have been a contender" V moaned, "had I only been shown the True Path."

His deep emotions led to a gaseous emission of Biblical proportions, a true anus shredder which permeated the air to a redolent degree, clearing all the players out of the Elite room.

"Woe is me" moaned the stood up wannabe acolyte, "Woe is me."