Well, Fuck This.
Bill Fans, (all that are left)
I think I'm lost. Right now I'm on some kind of hog farm in Iowa in the spare bedroom of a farmer named Jim Somethingorother (I don't want to incriminate the poor fuck). He found me sleeping next to a dumpster and was nice enough to let me stay with him for a day or two while I figure out how the fuck I was in Texas and almost to the Arizona border one day and then in Iowa, where I'm told 'corn is king.'
Son of a bitch.
How hard is it to get to California? By hitchhiking or walking, I mean? I guess I should learn not to fall asleep while I'm in a stranger's car. Dammit. I knew I would need my bayonet...and a map.
So, I'm using Jim's computer (why he has one, I have no idea) to update all of you pukes as to my whereabouts. I tried to help him do chores this morning. I milked a couple cows and actually got an erection doing it. What the fuck?!?!? I guess it's been so long since I've touched a nipple, that it just did something to Little Tabby downstairs.
Later on, I slipped and fell down inside the henhouse and covered my Frank Sinatra t-shirt in wet, snot-like chicken shit. Thanks, Iowa. Thanks a whole fucking lot.
Well, I miss my apartment. I miss having a Hot Pocket whenever I wanted and I miss riffing with all of you kids on a semi-constant basis. I also miss making fun of 85% of the shitbirds on the internet thing.
I haven't forgotten about the t-shirt. If you all can sit tight, it'll happen. I've just got no way to send it out from where I'm at.
And where I'm at? It's the road...
Send nudity and such to me. I told Jim you can see all kinds of great looking broads naked on this thing and he immediately went into his other room and started praying. I don't know if the guy is a zealot, a serial killer or what.
One thing I do know. The air in Iowa smells like pig-shit. I'm not kidding. I know I don't always smell too pretty, but goddamn.
Well, I think it's time to milk the cows again. Hopefully I can keep my cock in my pants.
Your lovin',
Bill Tabernacle
I think I'm lost. Right now I'm on some kind of hog farm in Iowa in the spare bedroom of a farmer named Jim Somethingorother (I don't want to incriminate the poor fuck). He found me sleeping next to a dumpster and was nice enough to let me stay with him for a day or two while I figure out how the fuck I was in Texas and almost to the Arizona border one day and then in Iowa, where I'm told 'corn is king.'
Son of a bitch.
How hard is it to get to California? By hitchhiking or walking, I mean? I guess I should learn not to fall asleep while I'm in a stranger's car. Dammit. I knew I would need my bayonet...and a map.
So, I'm using Jim's computer (why he has one, I have no idea) to update all of you pukes as to my whereabouts. I tried to help him do chores this morning. I milked a couple cows and actually got an erection doing it. What the fuck?!?!? I guess it's been so long since I've touched a nipple, that it just did something to Little Tabby downstairs.
Later on, I slipped and fell down inside the henhouse and covered my Frank Sinatra t-shirt in wet, snot-like chicken shit. Thanks, Iowa. Thanks a whole fucking lot.
Well, I miss my apartment. I miss having a Hot Pocket whenever I wanted and I miss riffing with all of you kids on a semi-constant basis. I also miss making fun of 85% of the shitbirds on the internet thing.
I haven't forgotten about the t-shirt. If you all can sit tight, it'll happen. I've just got no way to send it out from where I'm at.
And where I'm at? It's the road...
Send nudity and such to me. I told Jim you can see all kinds of great looking broads naked on this thing and he immediately went into his other room and started praying. I don't know if the guy is a zealot, a serial killer or what.
One thing I do know. The air in Iowa smells like pig-shit. I'm not kidding. I know I don't always smell too pretty, but goddamn.
Well, I think it's time to milk the cows again. Hopefully I can keep my cock in my pants.
Your lovin',
Bill Tabernacle