Tales from Croatia
the secret origin of bobert:
Day 09
Bobert the Supermodel/Gangsta/All Around Bad Ass
In case I forgot to say it before, I'm back at Zagreb where we have the apartment. We drove back on Sunday, unfortunately we suffered one causality. For you see I was holding my weapon (a book, Snowcrash, great book by the way) in the car and riding shotgun with the window wide open. Well this thing, this huge bug (actually I have no idea what it was for all I know it might have been a blade of dead grass, and it probably was. Please ignore me, I am merely the voice of reason, like now he usually does) flew at me from outside. It was huge, 3 feet long and a foot across (again it was probably a blade of grass). At this point we entered a death duel that lasted hours. It darts at me with its giant sword/head, I parry with my blade and make an attempt to swipe at which it narrowly misses. This deadly cycle repeats several times until I finally I strike at it, and shove the foul demon back into the black void that spawned it (um I'm pretty sure he means outside the car). But the beast grabs my weapon, my beloved Snowcrash. I tussle with it to make it release but to no avail. So for the safety of the car I release my sword and send it too, into the blackest realms of the deep. To which the entire car erupts with appreciation of my bravery and loss (ok so what really happened is that he was reading, paying no attention to reality yet again. And the aforementioned blade of grass hits him. He freaks and in the process tosses the book out of the car. The entire car sees this happen and asks if they should stop, turn around and go get it, while the entire time thinking him to be a mental idgit and major spazz and rightfully so. Being the embarrassed ninny that he is Sir Spazz-a-lot declines saying its ok because he was just rereading it anyway, and pulls out another book, while the entire car waits for it again. Sorry for destroying the magic.) I then pulled out my backup short sword ever vigilant to defend us from another onslaught. But luckily for the beasts, they dared not attack again.
So it turns out that the reason that people keep looking at me is because NOTE THE REASON IS NOT BECAUSE I"M A TOTAL LOON. FOR STARTERS ITS NOT true OR OBVIIOUS FROM A GLANCE. YOU GOTTA LOOK FOR AT LEAST 30 SECONDS (but like everything else over here because) I'm an American. Here people here find out about the latest fashion, and general trends via TV and movies. So the idea of an honest to god American (let alone a black one) sends thrills up their spines. Plus through a mere 5 second glimpse they can see the pinnacle of American fashion. There's only one problem with this masterful plan. The American they're looking is me, Bobert Jenkins. If you have no idea what a Bobert Jenkins is, then you can at least imagine the possible style, grace, and keen fashion sense of any thing (whether it be a person, thing, animal or figurine made of play-doh) named Bobert. If you know exactly what a Bobert Jenkins is, then there is no need to go into greater detail.
But just imagine the scene if in 6 months word has traveled far and wide, and everyone is dressed a la Bobert. Then Bobert boutiques pop up all over Eastern Europe. I'm sure it gives everyone a warm feeling. Hopefully this is from joy and not from messing themselves.
The good news is that today I found out that not only are reporters in general drunks and lushes but that they are often seen with young girls, especially the married ones. This means that some debauchery might very well take place. In fact Karen (mentioned in earlier letters) told me that the reporters would probably be as wild if not wilder than the Gong group. But I recently found out the Gong group wants me to do. Its to design them a web page, and 2 databases. Both jobs are conceptually rather simple, the tiny stumbling block really not worth mentioning is that I don't speak Croatian. So to solve this they gave me an assistant who I meet tomorrow, who I'm told is about 20 or 21 years old. He's done web stuff before so he'll be helping me make the page, and translate everything I do into Croatian. The funny thing about my assistant is that unlike me, the little bastard is getting paid. But rest assured I'll be having several conversations with Gong to change this.
Later though as I was walking back from Gong, lost in the galaxy that is my mind, this guy sitting at a cafi table yelled "Yo man" at me while pointing two fingers at me, you know gangsta like. In another universe I took this to be a sign that he was a true brother and did a double West-Side (you know when a person makes a .w' their hands. So a double West-side would be a .w' in each hand. As my pappy says its gangsta-riffic) with my arms crossed, across my chest. He then stands up and yells "Yo Holms! You da bomb" with a huge grin on his face. Then I finish him off with a blood (again... when a person spells blood with his hands. If I fucking know this, where the fuck were you), after seeing this he then collapses in his seat unable to comprehend how this guy is so damn black, how's he's such a huge black bad ass, but also how the fuck did he do those cool things with his hands. Well that was all in a another universe, in this one, the would-be bad ass said "Yeah, hey." And while walking away thought to himself "What the fuck is wrong with these people."
Tonight I was watching a TV and saw a commercial for RC Cola. I knew they were still making it but I always wondered, "Who the fuck still drinks RC Cola." Well tonight that question was answered, Eastern Europe. Not only does a part of the Croatian population [still] drink RC Cola but it's a population large enough so that a television commercial is cost effective. As opposed to the states where there are only 5 RC Cola drinkers left. They have meetings in abandoned crack houses because they are so ashamed of their drinking habits. And you know what, they FUCKING should be.
-Bobert the Valiant (Quixotic)
SHOULD BOBERT WAKE UP TO SEE ALF RESULTS:
YES: 1
NO: 1
WHAT'S ALF: 1 (WIL PLEASE EDUCATE YOUR GIRLFRIEND) PEOPLE TO LAZY TO FUCKING RESPOND: 8
CONCLUSION:
OK TURDS, GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND ROCK THE FUCKING ALF VOTE
PS: and no I know what you're thinking and I do not need to fucking get out more. I'm quite happy annoying you fucks with these fucking emails. All I need is to decide is whether or not ALF needs to be part of my fucking weekly Saturday regiment. So get off your fucking asses and do something important with your lives, like fucking telling me if I should fucking watch Alf or not. PSS: and no I don't fucking think, I say fucking "fuck" too much. Goddamn fuckers. Your problem is you don't know who the fuck you're fucking around with here. Its Bobert, and fucking remember dat.
In case I forgot to say it before, I'm back at Zagreb where we have the apartment. We drove back on Sunday, unfortunately we suffered one causality. For you see I was holding my weapon (a book, Snowcrash, great book by the way) in the car and riding shotgun with the window wide open. Well this thing, this huge bug (actually I have no idea what it was for all I know it might have been a blade of dead grass, and it probably was. Please ignore me, I am merely the voice of reason, like now he usually does) flew at me from outside. It was huge, 3 feet long and a foot across (again it was probably a blade of grass). At this point we entered a death duel that lasted hours. It darts at me with its giant sword/head, I parry with my blade and make an attempt to swipe at which it narrowly misses. This deadly cycle repeats several times until I finally I strike at it, and shove the foul demon back into the black void that spawned it (um I'm pretty sure he means outside the car). But the beast grabs my weapon, my beloved Snowcrash. I tussle with it to make it release but to no avail. So for the safety of the car I release my sword and send it too, into the blackest realms of the deep. To which the entire car erupts with appreciation of my bravery and loss (ok so what really happened is that he was reading, paying no attention to reality yet again. And the aforementioned blade of grass hits him. He freaks and in the process tosses the book out of the car. The entire car sees this happen and asks if they should stop, turn around and go get it, while the entire time thinking him to be a mental idgit and major spazz and rightfully so. Being the embarrassed ninny that he is Sir Spazz-a-lot declines saying its ok because he was just rereading it anyway, and pulls out another book, while the entire car waits for it again. Sorry for destroying the magic.) I then pulled out my backup short sword ever vigilant to defend us from another onslaught. But luckily for the beasts, they dared not attack again.
So it turns out that the reason that people keep looking at me is because NOTE THE REASON IS NOT BECAUSE I"M A TOTAL LOON. FOR STARTERS ITS NOT true OR OBVIIOUS FROM A GLANCE. YOU GOTTA LOOK FOR AT LEAST 30 SECONDS (but like everything else over here because) I'm an American. Here people here find out about the latest fashion, and general trends via TV and movies. So the idea of an honest to god American (let alone a black one) sends thrills up their spines. Plus through a mere 5 second glimpse they can see the pinnacle of American fashion. There's only one problem with this masterful plan. The American they're looking is me, Bobert Jenkins. If you have no idea what a Bobert Jenkins is, then you can at least imagine the possible style, grace, and keen fashion sense of any thing (whether it be a person, thing, animal or figurine made of play-doh) named Bobert. If you know exactly what a Bobert Jenkins is, then there is no need to go into greater detail.
But just imagine the scene if in 6 months word has traveled far and wide, and everyone is dressed a la Bobert. Then Bobert boutiques pop up all over Eastern Europe. I'm sure it gives everyone a warm feeling. Hopefully this is from joy and not from messing themselves.
The good news is that today I found out that not only are reporters in general drunks and lushes but that they are often seen with young girls, especially the married ones. This means that some debauchery might very well take place. In fact Karen (mentioned in earlier letters) told me that the reporters would probably be as wild if not wilder than the Gong group. But I recently found out the Gong group wants me to do. Its to design them a web page, and 2 databases. Both jobs are conceptually rather simple, the tiny stumbling block really not worth mentioning is that I don't speak Croatian. So to solve this they gave me an assistant who I meet tomorrow, who I'm told is about 20 or 21 years old. He's done web stuff before so he'll be helping me make the page, and translate everything I do into Croatian. The funny thing about my assistant is that unlike me, the little bastard is getting paid. But rest assured I'll be having several conversations with Gong to change this.
Later though as I was walking back from Gong, lost in the galaxy that is my mind, this guy sitting at a cafi table yelled "Yo man" at me while pointing two fingers at me, you know gangsta like. In another universe I took this to be a sign that he was a true brother and did a double West-Side (you know when a person makes a .w' their hands. So a double West-side would be a .w' in each hand. As my pappy says its gangsta-riffic) with my arms crossed, across my chest. He then stands up and yells "Yo Holms! You da bomb" with a huge grin on his face. Then I finish him off with a blood (again... when a person spells blood with his hands. If I fucking know this, where the fuck were you), after seeing this he then collapses in his seat unable to comprehend how this guy is so damn black, how's he's such a huge black bad ass, but also how the fuck did he do those cool things with his hands. Well that was all in a another universe, in this one, the would-be bad ass said "Yeah, hey." And while walking away thought to himself "What the fuck is wrong with these people."
Tonight I was watching a TV and saw a commercial for RC Cola. I knew they were still making it but I always wondered, "Who the fuck still drinks RC Cola." Well tonight that question was answered, Eastern Europe. Not only does a part of the Croatian population [still] drink RC Cola but it's a population large enough so that a television commercial is cost effective. As opposed to the states where there are only 5 RC Cola drinkers left. They have meetings in abandoned crack houses because they are so ashamed of their drinking habits. And you know what, they FUCKING should be.
-Bobert the Valiant (Quixotic)
SHOULD BOBERT WAKE UP TO SEE ALF RESULTS:
YES: 1
NO: 1
WHAT'S ALF: 1 (WIL PLEASE EDUCATE YOUR GIRLFRIEND) PEOPLE TO LAZY TO FUCKING RESPOND: 8
CONCLUSION:
OK TURDS, GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND ROCK THE FUCKING ALF VOTE
PS: and no I know what you're thinking and I do not need to fucking get out more. I'm quite happy annoying you fucks with these fucking emails. All I need is to decide is whether or not ALF needs to be part of my fucking weekly Saturday regiment. So get off your fucking asses and do something important with your lives, like fucking telling me if I should fucking watch Alf or not. PSS: and no I don't fucking think, I say fucking "fuck" too much. Goddamn fuckers. Your problem is you don't know who the fuck you're fucking around with here. Its Bobert, and fucking remember dat.