Vomit on Robert!
Posted on Thursday, November 19, 2009 at 05:30 PM
RSS 
Recent Posts
- Oprah Winfrey hunting for 'Twilight' fanatics!
- The Brits, the IRA, the Lusitania, and the QE2
- 'Irish Viagra,' and the law about Irish jokes
- No flushing money (or water) down toilet in Ireland!
- Toasted Irish soccer fans says 'wee' to French bread
Archives
Posted by wolfhound at 3/14/2009 8:05 PM EDT
Let's just get this out in the open. The Wolfhound hates Robert Schork. Hates him like a fart in a phonebooth.
Robert, or “Mr. Schork” or “Hey you!” to his friends, is at the helm of the well-known Westchester magazine, and declared in a recent column that he “hates St. Patrick’s Day.”
So, Wolfie hates him right back – but pities him, too. He's probably the kid in elementary school who never got any Valentines. He's never won anything in any contest, lottery, bingo game, or even at a carnival - where every game is rigged so any hapless dope can’t at least walk away with a stuffed porcupine. He's never been asked his opinion about anything by a pollster, and his TV isn't connected to a Nielsen box. In fact, it's not connected at all. He's the person they have in mind when they address letters to "Occupant." The barber gives him "the usual." If someone asks if he's busy on (put in any day, date, time), he's not.
And - he has a burden to bear that's far worse than all this: He's German-Protestant. Just like the famous... er, nobody. He's Mr. Cellophane - you can see right through him.
But Wolfie is very sad that he – and we have only his word on this near-psychotic hallucination -- sees so much vomit on the train as he goes home to New Olde East West South Northport in Westchester. I'm very, very, very sorry - because he should be totally covered in vomit! Seriously, readers: If you see this man, get a finger down your throats, and make him greener than he wishes his lawn was (but isn't).
Of course, he makes a few points - though none as sharp as the one at the top of his head. They don't close down Fifth Avenue for Oktoberfest. They don't need to. Nobody's there to celebrate it. But there are a few fat drunks in lederhosen who manage to close down East 86th St. on Steuben Day - the day that celebrates, you know, Steuben. Yes, THAT Steuben. The man who.... well, look it up in Wikipedia!
Let's just get this out in the open. The Wolfhound hates Robert Schork. Hates him like a fart in a phonebooth.
Robert, or “Mr. Schork” or “Hey you!” to his friends, is at the helm of the well-known Westchester magazine, and declared in a recent column that he “hates St. Patrick’s Day.”
So, Wolfie hates him right back – but pities him, too. He's probably the kid in elementary school who never got any Valentines. He's never won anything in any contest, lottery, bingo game, or even at a carnival - where every game is rigged so any hapless dope can’t at least walk away with a stuffed porcupine. He's never been asked his opinion about anything by a pollster, and his TV isn't connected to a Nielsen box. In fact, it's not connected at all. He's the person they have in mind when they address letters to "Occupant." The barber gives him "the usual." If someone asks if he's busy on (put in any day, date, time), he's not.
And - he has a burden to bear that's far worse than all this: He's German-Protestant. Just like the famous... er, nobody. He's Mr. Cellophane - you can see right through him.
But Wolfie is very sad that he – and we have only his word on this near-psychotic hallucination -- sees so much vomit on the train as he goes home to New Olde East West South Northport in Westchester. I'm very, very, very sorry - because he should be totally covered in vomit! Seriously, readers: If you see this man, get a finger down your throats, and make him greener than he wishes his lawn was (but isn't).
Of course, he makes a few points - though none as sharp as the one at the top of his head. They don't close down Fifth Avenue for Oktoberfest. They don't need to. Nobody's there to celebrate it. But there are a few fat drunks in lederhosen who manage to close down East 86th St. on Steuben Day - the day that celebrates, you know, Steuben. Yes, THAT Steuben. The man who.... well, look it up in Wikipedia!
Make a comment