Monthly Archives: November 2010

Mohammed Dressup is back!

http://mohammeddressup.com/
So now that the old muhammaddressup.com is officially hacked, stolen & reposted with a much MUCH less funny version of the game (I mean, it’s just horrible! The directions on how to play it go on forever, and then there’s no game to play, and the directions don’t even talk about the game anyhow!), I can now open up the new and improved MohammedDressup.com to all of you! This should easily snuff out whatever it is they were hoping to gain by taking my URL, and now that that Times article is out should put me well on my way to getting my very own Fatwā! I’m so excited! I hope you are too.

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The Fall of Amazing Strangers

http://normalbobsmith.com/amazingstrangers/107.html
Believe me, I realize it’s entirely my responsibility to bring you a consistent stream of Amazing Strangers no matter how cold it is outside or how big a Christmas shopping mall they build atop Union Square. So just for you I went and got an exclusive interview from the sister of the most talked about (lately) Stranger on the site! That and much much more on this latest page of Amazing Strangers!

The Sword of Tragedy

http://normalbobsmith.com/hatemail464.html
So here you go. Exactly the kind of hate mail page that gets me in trouble. And this sort of thing has been happening a lot lately. What I’m talking about is the worry-free, back-n-forth between me and the believer, then suddenly, tragedy! All fun is erased and I’m left rummaging through the pile of twisted bones and dead loved ones in an attempt to salvage what’s left of my soul.
Take a look and see if I’ve called this out just as it is, or if I deserve to have the heat turned up even higher in hell. Your comments on this are especially appreciated.
Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Amazing Hate Mailers

http://normalbobsmith.com/hatemail463.html
Yes, there’s always more hate mail, and this page is all kinds of special! I swear they never cease to dazzle me with their levels of ignorance. Don’t know what I’m talking about? For instance, someone really said to me: “Why does the wind blow? ‘It’s the uneven heating of the earth’s atmosphere.’ – World Magazine. Are you kidding me?! It just blows!”
Where else are you going to hear it put so poetically? Only here, the Hate Mail section of NormalBobSmith.com
Share the magic with friends.

Normal Bob interview by Derek Gordon at Comic Con 2010

I’m so happy to bring you this video of us at Comic Con! It was put together by Derek Gordon (writer, producer, director, shooter, editor, interviewer, etc) who captured exactly what I hoped he would at our booth. Funny stuff that I’m sure you’ll find satisfying.


Video is courtesy of Garage Door FAILDieHard Wrestling

Union Cafeteria Street Justice

If you’re at Union Square and you hear someone say “I’m going to the cafeteria!” or “Meet me at the Union Square cafeteria!” they’re talking about the 14th Street Taco Bell. Union Square’s the playground and Bell’s the cafeteria. That’s just common park knowledge, and when you get there you’ll see why.

So I’m walking into the cafeteria and the place is packed. Noisy and packed, like a fucking high school lunchroom. Now, if you’re a regular like I am you know the line to order your food is in a winding S shape on the right, and after you order you take your receipt and wait for your food in the chaotic mob on the left. However, on this particular day they’ve got two separate aisles formed to order your food. Straight lines in front of two different registers, except right now there’s just one line formed and the other one is left empty. There’s about eight people standing there, to which I get at the end.

Not long after, in comes four loud meatheads. They’re in some kind of blue collar uniform, like they’re movers, or repairmen or something. They walk right up past us in line into the empty lane to our right where no one’s waiting. A register opens and there they are skipping ahead of us all, laughing at their cleverness. “I told you guys you wouldn’t have to wait if you’re with me!” one of them shouts. And they’ve got no problem whatsoever looking back at the rest of us waiting there like chumps.

Of course no one in line has balls enough to say anything because not only is it a fucking 3rd world country inside this place with no policing, but these guys are big and obnoxious. A few people in front of me are grumbling, but not enough to make any kind of real statement. All the while they’re laughing and taking their sweet time making their order. Of course the people who work there don’t give two shits about any injustice that happens in the lines, or anywhere on earth for that matter. “Just order your fucking food, hand over your money and get out of my face” is the policy at the Bell.

The real line, our line, chugs along slowly while these assholes ask what’s the ingredients in a Chalupa, how much is a burrito supreme, and changing their minds several times because they’re fucking idiots. Of course now there’s only one register to help our line, and to make matters even worse a line forms behind these douchebags making it obvious to everyone it’s going to be forever.

Anyhow, these guys take so much time that the eight people in front of me all get taken care of and they’re still there. They finally finish and the girl behind the counter has to point them where to go to wait. “Fucking idiots” I think to myself, and I walk up to finally place my order.

Now, any park rat knows the drill at the cafeteria. You order your food, take your receipt, and wait impatiently for your number to be called so you can take your food and get the fuck out of there. It’s Taco Bell 101. But when I get to the register to order my Double Decker Supreme, sitting there like a golden fucking ticket is their receipt. The girl had put it in the guy’s hand, and like a fucking amateur he left it behind because “what the fuck do I want that shit for?” I can hear the voice in his head declare.

Without a second thought I palm that innocent looking slip of paper, order my food, TAKE MY RECEIPT, and join the pile of people bunched up on the left.

There’ve got to be 20 people here on their tip-toes listening for their number to be shouted. The four assholes are standing in front of the Pepsi machine banging their cups under the ice dispenser but getting no ice. And instead of going to the other dispenser two feet to the right they each have a go at it. Still no ice for any of them. These guys are in way over their heads.

I’m staying perfectly calm, because if there’s one thing I’m going to get right in this world it’s going to be making life as much of a nuisance for them as I possibly can.

“404!” I hear the girl yell. These guys aren’t paying any attention to what’s going on as they laugh at how funny they are, talking about pussy and how they’re starving to death. It’s music to my ears. I work my way up to the front as “406!” is called. That’s my taco/burrito and I hand over my receipt. I see over to where they’re bagging food and theirs is enough to feed twenty bums. I look over my shoulder. They’ve got not a clue they’re about to get fucked. And when that shopping bag is brought to the counter they don’t even have to say the number. I’m already looking into her eyes with the receipt in hand. She takes it, sees “405,” knows I am clearly the proper recipient, and hands me everything without any doubt whatsoever. As I walk by them their words echo in my head, “I told you guys you wouldn’t have to wait.”

At the exit is your typical bum holding the door open, his other hand out for a donation. I give him the feast-bag and say, “Merry Christmas” then head on over to the outdoor tables on the west side of Union to feed my hunger.

I regret not staying there to watch what happened and savor my revenge even further. No one would have probably even remembered who took what wherever. But afterwards, when I was sharing my adventure with Shaggy, I was able to decipher what probably happened after I was out the building, and I’m sure it went something like this:

They stood there for a long-ass time without a clue what the next step in their complicated trip to Taco Bell was supposed to be. They waited and waited until one of them got brains enough to go up and say “Where’s our food?” To which they would have responded “Do you have your receipt?” To which they would have responded “WHAT RECEIPT?!?” And instead of not having to wait like their friend had promised, they all were forced to stand there in that stink longer than anyone else while everything they ordered was made all over again as the pains of hunger ate their guts.

New shirt to piss everybody off

http://normalbobsmith.com/store/tees.html
Have you ever had one of those weeks where you’re at a funeral for a family member and the pastor actually alludes that the deceased is maybe in hell burning forever because there was no clear declaration of accepting Jesus before he died? And it was preached right to the faces of weeping loved ones? Then a day later someone walks by you wearing one of those stupid Unitarian “Coexist” shirts that they probably bought because he saw a picture of it on Bono, and Bono’s always right about everything? Well, I had one of those, and it’s exactly what inspired the latest product I’ve just added to my store.

Tell everyone exactly where you stand and do it with an obnoxious, don’t-give-a-shit smirk. This new anti-Unitarian, anti-Bono statement will do exactly that. Guaranteed.