3 thoughts on “BFO2354 – Praise Hydrogen”

  1. Thank you for answering my all little questions, Big Fatty!

    But are you sure you want to name your Ford Entendre “Ruby Red”?
    It’s like naming your firstborn child “Orange”.
    You know those nasty children (chirren?) are gonna make fun of little Orange at school or on the bus or even on the Snatchap.

    Just sayin.’

    I’ll try to write an entry for that GusChad contest before the deadline.
    I’m not so good at expressing my emotions under pressure like this.
    Maybe I’ll put it in the US mail.
    I just like to think of the postal carrier dropping off the mail at the Villa, and scratching his (or her) head, and saying, “Another postcard for that Big Fatty, Poodle McNoodle, and Squeaky Kitty. The fellow who lives here sure has a lotta STRANGE roommates.”

    Then… the postal carrier will give the Villa another once over and will surely think, “That Villa’s kind of PETITE for all those people to be living there.” He (or she–why does it gotta be a he?) is bound to get philosophical after that and say, “It takes all kinds. Maybe he’s running a BROTHEL or something…”

    It’ll be a while after that, maybe even the next day–after all, neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds–and the postal carrier will be delivering a package to the Fat Villa… but now she (or he) will have had more time to ruminate about Big Fatty and all his roommates… and he (or she) will think, “Whatever it is, it must be working. Everybody seems to LOVE them.”

    Then she (or he) will shake the package, and say “Oh. shit. I think this one is BROKEN.” He (or she) will give it another exploratory rattle. “Reminds me of something…”
    Shake-a-shake-a-shake-a- “Why, it sounds just like a Volcano Mug in several pieces.”

    Do you think the postal carrier has a Thera-Flu habit?
    Probably.
    Lotta that going around.

  2. Here’s the closest I’m going to get to a January Content Contest entry:

    Last week, I found myself eating dinner in a Cuban restaurant. It was lovely. The food was spicy, but not overly so. I ate quite a bit, but not overly so. I imbibed some rum beverages, but not overly so. It was, as I said, lovely.

    The next morning, I felt an early-warning rumbling in my tummy, which was not used to all those plantains and such. I made it to the bathroom in time to unleash a flood of waste that was epic in its magnitude, and foul in its stench. The Cuban food, lovely as it was, was too much for my fragile system to handle. Still, at the end of that expulsion, I felt about 20 pounds lighter, and had a spring in my step the rest of the day.

    Listening to the BFO is a little like that, for me. It can seem lovely at the time, even though by the time I get to the end of it all, I can’t shake the feeling that a funky aroma has overtaken me. Even so, it gives me a lightness in my bearing that carries me through the day. Thank you, Big Fatty, for the spiritual fibering effect that your little show has for me.

  3. Excellent thought Cathy 🙂
    People could think all his gentleman callers actually live there.
    And why do we name our cars? Is it the ikea syndrome?
    If so, I wonder, what does he call his special chair? Sitting Bull?

    By the way, does anybody know the name or species of that furry little animal that lives on Donald”s
    head? His trum pet?

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