I got a whole lot of beans.

Big ass beans.

Beans you’ve never seen before.

Beans.

You know who must be the saddest of the American sports fan families?

Texan hockey fans.

Think about it.

The only city in the state with a club? Dallas. The worst city in Texas. A black hole of culture, devoid of any relevance beyond its borders and yet carries an audacity that will lead it to claim otherwise. A mecca of yuppie deviance and boat shoes, with a boring ass skyline, and an attitude to match. It does nothing the worst, nor the best, nor even particularly mediocre. It is insultingly bland to the point you wonder why anyone has any pride in it. It is an insult to a state like Texas.

Also their only cup came from a goal that should not have counted. (lmao)

Austin? They got the Texas Stars that’s cool I guess. But they exist in the shadow of the Stars, therefore they serve their Dallas masters. That’s super fucking lame.

Houston? For having a super successful franchise with some of the top attendance numbers in the league (no seriously), and for being one of the only teams in the city to remain consistently competitive enough to care about, were banished to mother fucking Iowa. A fate worse than death. The one city with hockey history spreading back to the 70s, an established franchise with recognition, merchandising and colors that are already out in the while and could print money in the future if they wanted to do “throwback” stuff, an instant cross-state rivalry with Dallas that would be fucking awesome for the league to see. The War for Texas could potentially rival the Philly-Pittsburgh rivalry, seriously, there are some people with bad blood in Houston for Dallas and Dallas for Houston. It kinda owns for an outsider like me, and I can appreciate the tenacity I anecdotally saw at the Aeros games I attended. Also, an NHL-ready arena sitting in downtown with access to an international airport. Sure traffic sucks, but there is literally no good reason why there isn’t an NHL club there. Even from a business standpoint, leaving such a massive TV audience untapped is beyond dumb.

San Antonio? Fucking RIP to the Rampage, sorry guys.

All those cities and only one NHL squad.

Come on man!

You’re breaking my iced up little balls over this!

Bitch!

Oh man, I haven’t been to the donut shop in ages. It’s packed right now too – must be all the people at the office across the street. Where I’m from. And where I work.

Huh. Never put those two together.

Too bad I’m not at work today. Nope. High as a fuckin’ kite! Ready to roll into some funny ass Netflix standup comedy specials and admonishing myself for getting too stoned again. The perfect vacation.

Gotta start the day properly though. Two dozen donuts for myself sounds great. Guess I’ll get a shitload of random ass donuts.

Man, this is kinda embarrassing though, isn’t it? A little weird? Two dozen just for one guy, man, that’s pushing it. Especially as far as the sugar goes. Hell the carbs alone would weight him down for a week. That’s some goony ass gross shit right there. But they’re so good.

Fuck, I’m next. Fuck. The people behind the counter I’m going to judge the shit out of me. What if I acted like I was ordering for coworkers! Yeah. Yeah, that might work. I might not be dressed like I’m ready for work, my sweatpants don’t exactly scream professional or anything, what with the ten day old Frito’s cheese sauce stain.

Shit, I’m up. Fuck. Now this sucks, this really sucks. I gotta either bail or figure this out.

Shit. Oh! Naw, wait, I know.

I pull out my phone. I gesture wildly. I talk as loud as I can. Everyone must know that I am not the only one who will partake of this bounty. They will know that.

Oh yeah, hi, oh gimme a sec, I say as I keep talking to no one on a dead phone. Hi! Oh yeah, I’lll make sure to get those, Lisa loves those little spinny ones. Yeah, right! Oh yeah, give me six of the bavarian cream for Doug! Ok, gotcha, thanks. Oh, what’s that?

Ok. Ok. Got it. Marty wants about ten of a good mix of normal ass icing ones. Yeah, yeah, he likes the classics, what can he say.

I’m sweating. I feel as if I’m about to vomit. My anus puckers. My teeth chatter. I am ten and standing at the front of class again. I am twelve and still in the same grade because I did nothing but go and stand at the front of the class.

As I’m talking, the phone goes off. The screen lights up. It is now clear I have not been using my handset as previously established. The employee behind the counter and I exchange stares. We say nothing. We know the hard truth. I take my sugary fucking shame in my two boxes that they filled with silence and disappointment. I leave the Weird Donut Shop.

On the way out, I feel a hand at my shoulder. I turn. It’s a UN Inspector. I have violated the Warsaw-Dunkin Act of 2019. I am put in handcuffs and taken away as photographers crowd around. I’m placed in the back of a van. No one is supposed to own that amount of donuts. I should have known better.

I am placed in front of a tribunal. I am sentenced to death.

I probably could have thought this one out a little better.

Hey man, how are you! Yeah, let me get a number five, grande. That’ll be it. Hey you guys accept bitcoin? No? How about dogecoin? Ha ha ha ha, nah man, I’m just kidding. (Unless…?)

Oh, my name? Well, it’s Tom, but some people call me Tommy. Others call me Tom the Bomb. Actually, you know what? Put that on the cup. Tom the Bomb. Make sure everyone knows. Make sure they call it real loud. Make sure they give their best operatic tenor. Make sure they have someone outside to shout, “Hey everyone, Tom the Bomb is here to get his number five!”

Oh wow, it’s already ready? Damn you guys move fast. You’d probably move faster if you drank some of this Soylent. Each Soylent product contains a complete blend of everything the body needs to thrive. Every soylent product tastes like pancake butter cut with cum, it’s great. You’ll love it. It has all the essential vitamins and nutrients that a growing screenplay writer like myself could need.

Ok, I understand. No, I get it. You got a job. I’ll take my number five and take a seat. If you’re interested in anything Soylent related you’ll want to go to http://www.soylent.com. Just check it out man.

Ah, that’s the stuff. Caffeine. Caffine! Computer! Cafes! Surrounded by other people and like-minded individuals! Everyone has a phone or a laptop and certainly some caffeine! I can’t start my day without cuppa coffee! Hey there, excuse me, ma’am? Do you have a cuppa coffee?

…Oh, she’s not answering. Let’s try this guy. Hey sir! Do you have a cuppa coffee!

Well that’s a blunt yes. No, I’m not getting paid to talk to people, but I wish I did!

I gotta start on my script. Been putting it off for years. Got rid of the house, got rid of the job, became homeless, all in a day’s work for the next Ernest Cline! I feel like I’m appearing in this coffee shop like Sgt. Reese did in The Terminator, the hit 1980s B-movie that launched the career of Arnold Schwarzenegger, one of the biggest names in Hollywood. Sgt. Reese returns from the future to have sex with Sarah Connor. The Terminator was directed by James Cameron and was followed by the successful Terminator 2: Judgment Day, which released in the early 90s. Sgt. Reese looked disheveled. He looks like me. It is a movie. I am recalling a movie.

Look at me! All this thinking and no writing. Boy I need to get started writing. This caffeine is kind of fucking with me though. I have the urge to get mad. Real fuckin mad. So fuckin mad. I can’t put a single word to this laptop and I’m fucking mad as shit. This thing isn’t even on.

Wait, it’s not on? What the hell am I doing?

Oh that’s right! I’m writing! I’m also mad as fuck! I’m also not going to shut the fuck up! Hey, everyone, I’m writing a screenplay that I’ll eventually turn a profit on like millions do every year! Let me know if you guys want any help with what you’re writing!

They’re ignoring me. Better stand on this table. Hey! Let’s all read what I’ve written! Hey! Bitch!

I’m sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Please don’t insult me. Don’t make me any more angrier than I am. Please, don’t make me angry! You better shut the fuck up or I’ll poop in my hands and fling it at everyone!

Cool! Can’t wait to put this to paper! Love to be led out in handcuffs, but I left my coffee. Just in the back of the squad car.

Hey, officer – you ever read a screenplay before?

You know what’s going to be a hard thing to confront in the coming years? The existence of nu-metal.

Our children and their children will demand answers.

We will have none.

May god have mercy on our souls.

I need somebody, someone.

Can’t somebody help me?

Hell yeah, COVID didn’t stand a fucking chance. I took it over my knee, broke it’s fucking back, ended its career, fired it from work, banned it from the household, beat up its dad, took a shit on its lawn, stole its lunch money, tongued its butthole, slammed it with a Pog, used a cheat code, burned it at the stake, you name it I’ve done it to COVID and that shit is never coming back.

Oh what, you think your fucking vaccine did anything? You think some pussy ass shot from the doctor’s office with his fake ass degree did anything? You think a decade of school and decades more of training and work experience and writing academic papers and shit is anything compared to me kissing and spitting in my neighbor’s mouth while driving around on my ATV? You think you can compete with this god? You think a little pinprick on your belly button amounts to anything other than the shared, collective embarrassment of every little bitch that got a little bit of the cough-cough-weezy-weezy-bloo-bloo?

Not many can say they defeated COVID. Not many can successfully claim they went to the movie theater last year and licked every single chair, just to show the virus who the alpha male is. You wouldn’t be able to do it. You’re not pure enough.

Just the other day I was sitting at Applebee’s, trying to figure out why my cough has gotten so bad, when some guy came up with a mask. Little dumbass, I started to call him. Was he really wearing a mask around the man that beat the shit out of COVID? I fucking smiled right in his little Fauci Ouchi face and told him the truth. I told him this shit was over. It was defeated. He cried and put in his two-week notice and said he was leaving for Switzerland. All four people clapped, including the guy with oxygen who got carried out on a stretcher a few minutes later.

Going out on a walk is the best. Even better is going to the wrestling event down the block at the VFW. They hold tribute shows for me, the COVID Curer, the man with the plan that worked correctly. I confronted the worst of the worst of the sniffles and I came out on top. I shake hands with everyone at the wrestling show. We touch tongues together and make sure to spit in each others mouths while wiping our hands on our faces and the only issue I’ve ever had is not being able to taste the nugs at Chicken Express for the last twelve weeks.

“All victories require sacrifices.” – Bob, the COVID Crusader.

Put that quote on the president’s tombstone. It’s too good to ignore. I’ve done the world a favor here, you can do me a solid by promoting that and pointing people to my Patreon. And my Gofundme, for my nephew. Who got COVID. Which doesn’t make sense because I killed it? Maybe he’s a tremendous liberal ass bitch.

We should have never shut down. There was no reason to shutdown when I, the COVID Commander, was able to commandeer our public health crisis and put that shit on notice. You don’t fuck around with Bob’s health, especially when he was at the motocross tournament at the community center, coughing directly into the mouths of family and friends. I have to spread my gift to everyone.

Here we are, at summer. A year after everything went down and you know who was at the top? Me. You know who is looking down on all the beta ass health care-havers? Me. You know who knows better than anyone who might have the slightest idea of how perfect my saliva is? You know the answer, fucknut.

It’s time for us all to go back to work. It’s time for everyone to go back to the casinos, the Candleworks, the Jamba Juice, all the places that make us feel human and alive. I am alive and my soul is mine. I refuse to yield any ground to a fake ass disease created by people that want to sell me on some lies about having to listen to other people to protect people. I protect myself and my family better than anyone. It’s why I can’t wait for my dad to come out of his medically induced coma from COVID to come and spend the summer with us. It’s going to be great. I’m going to do it as soon as he’s ready.

Or as soon as I’m done figuring out where this gas leak is coming from. My wife says it’s in the basement but I haven’t been able to smell in weeks.

Or as soon as I can go down the stairs, because I get winded after twelve steps.

Read the quote above again, bitch, and hold it to your heart.

I’m Bob and I killed COVID. You can thank me later.

No.