Howdy folks, Skip Walker here. I don't get a chance to write in very often, but you might remember me from the last time I did an update or perhaps the update before the last one that I did (which is also known as the first one) because that one won a lot of awards. I have to be honest with you, however. I was caught completely unprepared to write today and thus have absolutely nothing to talk about. I got a call at three this morning from Randy's agent saying that he was going into the clinic today to get his chemical inbalance treated and could I possibly cover for him? I don't think anyone in their right mind would ever possible cover for Randy, but I still have a soft spot for the little guy despite his not-so-gradual descent into total retardation.
I've thought a lot about what I could possibly pull out of thin air and make an update about, given that I don't have anything planned and good ideas are about as rare as a healthy Ethiopian child. I could spend the entire time talking trash about Randy but that's just too easy and I already wasted an entire past update doing just that. I could sit you children down by the fire and regale you with stories of my past but frankly, I find you offensive and, again, I already did that in the past. I could go into a little more detail about myself, which would be easy, but Randy has already told you more about me than even I knew about myself. I went on The Price Is Right once, but that's hardly refreshing or entertaining. Hmm, let's see if a new paragraph will help any.
Today marks the 100th anniversary of the Great Quake of 1906 that took place in San Francisco. Oddly enough, despite its name, the quake actually took place in 1905 but most historians feel that 1906 simply has a catchier "feel" to it. I was there on the front lines, battling the raging fires and toppled chemical tanks. Of course, I was also on the front lines fighting for my right to party and comsumate with midgets, a struggle I keep alive to this very day. Still, since most of the main water lines were ruptured, we had to literally fight fire with fire. That bright idea didn't work out too well and we wound up burning down and destroying about two-thirds more of the city than we really had to. Oops.
While I took a summer job mowing the lawns at the French Embassy, I ran into a girl that simply stole my heart. Thankfully, she didn't get very far. You see, she had three legs and could only run in circles. I named her "Pi." Despite the relationship getting off to a rocky start, what with me constantly beating the crap out of her because she was different, she stuck by my side. Oh, we had our share of good times I suppose, like when I was on an ether binge and I wound up duct taping her to the ceiling. She didn't find it too amusing at first, but after I let her down a few days later, I think she started to get the joke. I had to eventually cut her loose, however, because the old tripod was starting to cramp my style. I wound up trading her to a bunch of gypsies for a case of beer and a half-pack of Rolaids. I think she rides a unicycle now as part of a traveling circus.
A lot of people approach me on the street and ask me what I do for a living. I generally respond by punching these same people in the face and forcing them to eat the front page of The Washington Post. I'm independently wealthy and I don't have to answer your questions. Of course, by just admitting that I am wealthy, perhaps I already did. I don't really have a set occupation because I've done it all. I've arm wrestled elephants for the title of champion. I wrote the computer game Oregon Trail when I was high on crystal meth. I've hunted giraffe with nothing more than a paint ball gun and still came out on top. That's how I roll. That's how Skip Walker rolls.
So, I admit that, in closing, this probably isn't my best work. It was unplanned; a spur-of-the-moment kind of affair like that one time where I was experimenting with your sister. I liked to put a plastic bag over her head and play astronaut. Still, now that I am semi-back in the mix with this whole update thing, perhaps I will spend a little less time traveling the world and a little more time focused on my writing, but probably not. Frankly, you people simply aren't worth it and there is a game of cribbage over in Spain right now that I am missing on account of you. Perhaps if I do a poor enough job, Randy's agent will stop calling me and having me fill in for his mistakes. I figure let him wallow in his own misery. Shit like that doesn't affect Skip Walker.
I've thought a lot about what I could possibly pull out of thin air and make an update about, given that I don't have anything planned and good ideas are about as rare as a healthy Ethiopian child. I could spend the entire time talking trash about Randy but that's just too easy and I already wasted an entire past update doing just that. I could sit you children down by the fire and regale you with stories of my past but frankly, I find you offensive and, again, I already did that in the past. I could go into a little more detail about myself, which would be easy, but Randy has already told you more about me than even I knew about myself. I went on The Price Is Right once, but that's hardly refreshing or entertaining. Hmm, let's see if a new paragraph will help any.
Today marks the 100th anniversary of the Great Quake of 1906 that took place in San Francisco. Oddly enough, despite its name, the quake actually took place in 1905 but most historians feel that 1906 simply has a catchier "feel" to it. I was there on the front lines, battling the raging fires and toppled chemical tanks. Of course, I was also on the front lines fighting for my right to party and comsumate with midgets, a struggle I keep alive to this very day. Still, since most of the main water lines were ruptured, we had to literally fight fire with fire. That bright idea didn't work out too well and we wound up burning down and destroying about two-thirds more of the city than we really had to. Oops.
While I took a summer job mowing the lawns at the French Embassy, I ran into a girl that simply stole my heart. Thankfully, she didn't get very far. You see, she had three legs and could only run in circles. I named her "Pi." Despite the relationship getting off to a rocky start, what with me constantly beating the crap out of her because she was different, she stuck by my side. Oh, we had our share of good times I suppose, like when I was on an ether binge and I wound up duct taping her to the ceiling. She didn't find it too amusing at first, but after I let her down a few days later, I think she started to get the joke. I had to eventually cut her loose, however, because the old tripod was starting to cramp my style. I wound up trading her to a bunch of gypsies for a case of beer and a half-pack of Rolaids. I think she rides a unicycle now as part of a traveling circus.
A lot of people approach me on the street and ask me what I do for a living. I generally respond by punching these same people in the face and forcing them to eat the front page of The Washington Post. I'm independently wealthy and I don't have to answer your questions. Of course, by just admitting that I am wealthy, perhaps I already did. I don't really have a set occupation because I've done it all. I've arm wrestled elephants for the title of champion. I wrote the computer game Oregon Trail when I was high on crystal meth. I've hunted giraffe with nothing more than a paint ball gun and still came out on top. That's how I roll. That's how Skip Walker rolls.
So, I admit that, in closing, this probably isn't my best work. It was unplanned; a spur-of-the-moment kind of affair like that one time where I was experimenting with your sister. I liked to put a plastic bag over her head and play astronaut. Still, now that I am semi-back in the mix with this whole update thing, perhaps I will spend a little less time traveling the world and a little more time focused on my writing, but probably not. Frankly, you people simply aren't worth it and there is a game of cribbage over in Spain right now that I am missing on account of you. Perhaps if I do a poor enough job, Randy's agent will stop calling me and having me fill in for his mistakes. I figure let him wallow in his own misery. Shit like that doesn't affect Skip Walker.
(0 comments) - Add Comment - Rate This Update