Tales from Croatia
the secret origin of bobert:
Day 18
Why did i get out of bed this morning
Why did i get out of bed this morning
Oh my fucking god. That's really the only way I know how to start describing this day. You know you wake up sometimes, never realizing that, that's where your day started going downhill.
So I had to go to a meeting this morning (ok fine it was 2pm but I had only been awake for 2 hours). On the way I passed through a square blasting this cool drum and base set, but alas I had a meeting to got to. At the meeting Nikola (again the guy I'm doing the web page with) and I got some information for the site and we went to his house. Along the way I saw his old high school. He told me it used to be a Nazi prison. At Nikola's house I met his dad, who then dragged me into a conversation about how Americans view tradition and the past. He told me how when he was in the states, he met a guy with last name Guido who pronounced it like Guy-doh. Nikola's dad then told the man that he was pronouncing his name wrong and that in Italy it is pronounced Gey-doh. The guy then got upset with Nikola's dad for daring to tell him how to pronounce his own name. Yeah well, as intriguing as this story is you can imagine how much more interesting it was in person. He then goes on to tell me how this shows how Americans don't appreciate the past and tradition as much as Europeans. I try to explain to him that his city has cobble stones older than our entire country. And that the past is not really as prevalent, or old as in his country. Citing that there are not Roman ruins in my hometown as there in his. Totally ignoring this statement he then mistakes me for Alex Halley (you philistine, the author of Roots), and asks me if I or my family have traced my roots back to Africa. Now of course I'm thinking, "Are you fucking nuts you stupid idiot," but he's a new friend's dad, and I am in his house. So I say, no neither I nor my family have researched our roots back to Africa. I neglected to tell him that I also did not ghost write the biography of Malcolm X. Ignoring this also he tells me how in Europe, or at least Eastern Europe, that they take stuff like their family history very seriously. And that knowing their past is very important to them. To begin with, both my dad's father and mom's mother were both orphans and adopted. Also, though I admit I'm not an expert, that slavers did not really keep records of where they got their slaves from. I'm pretty sure they thought that as long the slaves were chained up and in the ship ready to be sold, that they didn't really give a flying fuck about Toby/Kunta Kinte's or Mandigo's home village. I try to tell him that for me and most everybody else from my homeland that we all consider ourselves Americans, and that the land of my ancestors is the United States of America, where my pappy, his pappy before him, and even great grandpappy was born. Not because of nationalism or a fetish for apple pie, but because we're all fucking mutts. Our blood is so dirty that it makes the streets over here look clean. My blood probably contains most of the northern tip of the African coast, and I'm sure Masa Jenkins (who I found out was once British, because Jenkins is an English name) found one or two of his slave girls a bit pretty, probably translating to a bit of limey blood in me too. But its ok, because the man whose proud of the knowledge of his past had a son, who went to high school in former a Nazi prison, and that's.... true history.
Anyway that night (tonight actually) I was loitering in front of a clock tower trying to decide what my next course of action should be. I spotted a group of young girls, about 4 or 5 eighth or ninth graders. NOTE: SETTLE DOWN BENNY. After seeing them I resumed my deep contemplation. From time to time I noticed that they would glance at me. This came to an abrupt halt when the entire group came to me, with two girls at point. They glanced at each other and then fixed their sight at me, while I pretended that I was often approached by groups of high school girls. One says "English" and I say yeah. They then hand me about 15 fliers for this club (the silly Europeans called it a disco), and tell me to invite all my friends. First off, none of my friends are over here, if they were I'd be telling them all of this in person. Secondly, I think that the girls wanted me to take the flyers to the hidden cave or clubhouse of young black males. One I don't think there is one, also even if there is one people should know by now that I don't go to meetings. That was pretty cool but how was I to know that the night would not only make a wrong turn, but that it would run into a wall while doing so.
So there I was walking down a street when I spot a group of guys walking towards me. I pretty much ignore them since I pass people on streets all the time, often when they are in large numbers. I saw that they were all about Benny and Charles' height, I ignored this too since many people (including Benny and Charles) share the same malady. What intrigued me though was the short guy tagging along. I looked at him and noticed that he was of the James variety, you may be familiar with the type, an annoying little tag-along fuck. He was about a head shorter, and 50 pounds heavier (and no it was not from Creatine, the wonderful dietary supplement). He was sipping from a beer. I guess he could see the contempt in my eyes because when I turned away the little bitch spat on me. I mean he spat in my hair on my left profile. I turned around to confront him, but I thought to myself did that really happen. I thought it did but come on, I've passed a whole bunch of people and they never did that, so why would he. And granted they don't like the Serbs over here, but it's pretty fucking obvious that I'm not a goddamn Serb. 5 seconds before the incident I was thinking of going to a cafi, 5 seconds after the incident I thought about how great it'd be to go home. When I first set out on the return trek, I was really confused. A little bit later I was still really confused but wanted to beat the crap out of him, and was shocked to find out maybe even kill him with my bare hands. While I was washing my hair, the confusion had not yet left but I realized that I was wrong for wanting to kill him. That's only because I wanted (and still want) to piss in his eye before and after, beating the crap out of him. Then I thought how grand it would be, if alongside the beating, Noah were to recite his haiku about pissing into a guy's eye and if Noah also performed an an interpretive dance (when I say interpretive dance I mean Noah wearing his big black boots and kicking the guy in the face, chest, and crotch. And maybe him even brandishing the machete menacingly. From the dance the guy would be interpreting a lot of pain, and from the machete fear). You might be wondering why I did not pursue the asshole. And the answer is a lot of reasons. The first is that while I could easily have kicked the living shit out of the asshole, his 7 or 8 friends would have been a whole other story. And while they alsp, might take him to be a little bitch, after about 5 minutes of watching me kick the punk's ass they would begrudgingly return the favor. Reasons 2 to infinity is that, though we all expect me to start an international incident, I should try to hold out as long as possible in not creating one. Especially in a country where there are 2.5 policeman for every citizen, and because it is my life, the cop would not speak English, charge me with resisting arrest and go Rodney King on my ass after I try to explain to him what happened. After he had seen what I did to the fucker he would not hold back. Let's just say that after the little fucker received his just desserts, in a beauty contest between the fucker and a piece of shit; the fucker would have gotten the booby prize.
You should all realize that the little fucker is the first bad thing to have happened to me over here, and besides this day I'm having a pretty good time over here. And that most of my adventures and the blatant stares, arise out of curiosity on the local's part, and not out of malicious intent unlike some Shop Rite security guards. But it just reminds me what Toto should have said "Yes Dorothy, you twit, we're not in fucking Kansas anymore," and the ol' saying "On certain days one should look at the day, and say .Fuck This,' roll over and go back to bed." Well at least they should say it.
-Bobert The Confused (but its ok because most people keep their bodily fluids to themselves)
NOTE: Some have written to me stating that the redness in Andrew's eyes is from the flash. Those that believe this are monkeys (especially Benny one of the largest monkeys to go down in recorded history). Divine guidance has led me to the belief that it was from associations with those from below SUBNOTE: FOR THOSE BAD WITH IMAGERY I MEAN HELL. TV watch: They have Airwolf over here, did you know that it was I horrible show. I didn't when I was 7, I loved it. They also have that 80's show with the all black motorcycle, starring Frank from Murphy Brown. Did you ever realize that, that show, Airwolf, and Knight Rider (all of which I loved when I was 7) are really the same show, with the same plot but with different vehicles. And they all suck too, except for Knight Rider which still has some nostalgic value (though it ebbs very quickly when I actually watch it). PS: Fuck the international incident, look for tickets in the mail so that we can take on the asshole, and the friends he wishes he had PSS: Oh boy does James suck
Why did i get out of bed this morning
Oh my fucking god. That's really the only way I know how to start describing this day. You know you wake up sometimes, never realizing that, that's where your day started going downhill.
So I had to go to a meeting this morning (ok fine it was 2pm but I had only been awake for 2 hours). On the way I passed through a square blasting this cool drum and base set, but alas I had a meeting to got to. At the meeting Nikola (again the guy I'm doing the web page with) and I got some information for the site and we went to his house. Along the way I saw his old high school. He told me it used to be a Nazi prison. At Nikola's house I met his dad, who then dragged me into a conversation about how Americans view tradition and the past. He told me how when he was in the states, he met a guy with last name Guido who pronounced it like Guy-doh. Nikola's dad then told the man that he was pronouncing his name wrong and that in Italy it is pronounced Gey-doh. The guy then got upset with Nikola's dad for daring to tell him how to pronounce his own name. Yeah well, as intriguing as this story is you can imagine how much more interesting it was in person. He then goes on to tell me how this shows how Americans don't appreciate the past and tradition as much as Europeans. I try to explain to him that his city has cobble stones older than our entire country. And that the past is not really as prevalent, or old as in his country. Citing that there are not Roman ruins in my hometown as there in his. Totally ignoring this statement he then mistakes me for Alex Halley (you philistine, the author of Roots), and asks me if I or my family have traced my roots back to Africa. Now of course I'm thinking, "Are you fucking nuts you stupid idiot," but he's a new friend's dad, and I am in his house. So I say, no neither I nor my family have researched our roots back to Africa. I neglected to tell him that I also did not ghost write the biography of Malcolm X. Ignoring this also he tells me how in Europe, or at least Eastern Europe, that they take stuff like their family history very seriously. And that knowing their past is very important to them. To begin with, both my dad's father and mom's mother were both orphans and adopted. Also, though I admit I'm not an expert, that slavers did not really keep records of where they got their slaves from. I'm pretty sure they thought that as long the slaves were chained up and in the ship ready to be sold, that they didn't really give a flying fuck about Toby/Kunta Kinte's or Mandigo's home village. I try to tell him that for me and most everybody else from my homeland that we all consider ourselves Americans, and that the land of my ancestors is the United States of America, where my pappy, his pappy before him, and even great grandpappy was born. Not because of nationalism or a fetish for apple pie, but because we're all fucking mutts. Our blood is so dirty that it makes the streets over here look clean. My blood probably contains most of the northern tip of the African coast, and I'm sure Masa Jenkins (who I found out was once British, because Jenkins is an English name) found one or two of his slave girls a bit pretty, probably translating to a bit of limey blood in me too. But its ok, because the man whose proud of the knowledge of his past had a son, who went to high school in former a Nazi prison, and that's.... true history.
Anyway that night (tonight actually) I was loitering in front of a clock tower trying to decide what my next course of action should be. I spotted a group of young girls, about 4 or 5 eighth or ninth graders. NOTE: SETTLE DOWN BENNY. After seeing them I resumed my deep contemplation. From time to time I noticed that they would glance at me. This came to an abrupt halt when the entire group came to me, with two girls at point. They glanced at each other and then fixed their sight at me, while I pretended that I was often approached by groups of high school girls. One says "English" and I say yeah. They then hand me about 15 fliers for this club (the silly Europeans called it a disco), and tell me to invite all my friends. First off, none of my friends are over here, if they were I'd be telling them all of this in person. Secondly, I think that the girls wanted me to take the flyers to the hidden cave or clubhouse of young black males. One I don't think there is one, also even if there is one people should know by now that I don't go to meetings. That was pretty cool but how was I to know that the night would not only make a wrong turn, but that it would run into a wall while doing so.
So there I was walking down a street when I spot a group of guys walking towards me. I pretty much ignore them since I pass people on streets all the time, often when they are in large numbers. I saw that they were all about Benny and Charles' height, I ignored this too since many people (including Benny and Charles) share the same malady. What intrigued me though was the short guy tagging along. I looked at him and noticed that he was of the James variety, you may be familiar with the type, an annoying little tag-along fuck. He was about a head shorter, and 50 pounds heavier (and no it was not from Creatine, the wonderful dietary supplement). He was sipping from a beer. I guess he could see the contempt in my eyes because when I turned away the little bitch spat on me. I mean he spat in my hair on my left profile. I turned around to confront him, but I thought to myself did that really happen. I thought it did but come on, I've passed a whole bunch of people and they never did that, so why would he. And granted they don't like the Serbs over here, but it's pretty fucking obvious that I'm not a goddamn Serb. 5 seconds before the incident I was thinking of going to a cafi, 5 seconds after the incident I thought about how great it'd be to go home. When I first set out on the return trek, I was really confused. A little bit later I was still really confused but wanted to beat the crap out of him, and was shocked to find out maybe even kill him with my bare hands. While I was washing my hair, the confusion had not yet left but I realized that I was wrong for wanting to kill him. That's only because I wanted (and still want) to piss in his eye before and after, beating the crap out of him. Then I thought how grand it would be, if alongside the beating, Noah were to recite his haiku about pissing into a guy's eye and if Noah also performed an an interpretive dance (when I say interpretive dance I mean Noah wearing his big black boots and kicking the guy in the face, chest, and crotch. And maybe him even brandishing the machete menacingly. From the dance the guy would be interpreting a lot of pain, and from the machete fear). You might be wondering why I did not pursue the asshole. And the answer is a lot of reasons. The first is that while I could easily have kicked the living shit out of the asshole, his 7 or 8 friends would have been a whole other story. And while they alsp, might take him to be a little bitch, after about 5 minutes of watching me kick the punk's ass they would begrudgingly return the favor. Reasons 2 to infinity is that, though we all expect me to start an international incident, I should try to hold out as long as possible in not creating one. Especially in a country where there are 2.5 policeman for every citizen, and because it is my life, the cop would not speak English, charge me with resisting arrest and go Rodney King on my ass after I try to explain to him what happened. After he had seen what I did to the fucker he would not hold back. Let's just say that after the little fucker received his just desserts, in a beauty contest between the fucker and a piece of shit; the fucker would have gotten the booby prize.
You should all realize that the little fucker is the first bad thing to have happened to me over here, and besides this day I'm having a pretty good time over here. And that most of my adventures and the blatant stares, arise out of curiosity on the local's part, and not out of malicious intent unlike some Shop Rite security guards. But it just reminds me what Toto should have said "Yes Dorothy, you twit, we're not in fucking Kansas anymore," and the ol' saying "On certain days one should look at the day, and say .Fuck This,' roll over and go back to bed." Well at least they should say it.
-Bobert The Confused (but its ok because most people keep their bodily fluids to themselves)
NOTE: Some have written to me stating that the redness in Andrew's eyes is from the flash. Those that believe this are monkeys (especially Benny one of the largest monkeys to go down in recorded history). Divine guidance has led me to the belief that it was from associations with those from below SUBNOTE: FOR THOSE BAD WITH IMAGERY I MEAN HELL. TV watch: They have Airwolf over here, did you know that it was I horrible show. I didn't when I was 7, I loved it. They also have that 80's show with the all black motorcycle, starring Frank from Murphy Brown. Did you ever realize that, that show, Airwolf, and Knight Rider (all of which I loved when I was 7) are really the same show, with the same plot but with different vehicles. And they all suck too, except for Knight Rider which still has some nostalgic value (though it ebbs very quickly when I actually watch it). PS: Fuck the international incident, look for tickets in the mail so that we can take on the asshole, and the friends he wishes he had PSS: Oh boy does James suck