BTB Knows Just What To Do

Bald Tire Bob says when Life gives you lemons, Son, you paint ‘em to look like hand grenades. Then when you throw them lemon grenades at people, they’ll make their own lemonade, if you know what Bob is tellin’ you.

BTB Would Hammer in the Morning.

So if and The Man is comin’ down on you, well, remember son: if The Man has himself a kneecap and you got a hammer you’re halfway to figuring it out yerself.

BTB Is a Friendly Sort

Son, if you’re startin’ to feel like you’re being played for a sucker, well then chances are you passed that done off-ramp aways-and-some back. Probably gonna take a LOT of unsuckage jess to get yourself back to the county line of Sucktown, population you plus all the other suckers. That’s where friends come in: specifically, friends with tanks, say. Bald Tire Bob, he’s a friendly sort. Here to help, man, here to help.

Success Has Many Roadways

The road to success is dotted with many tempting parking places. ~Author Unknown

Also:

The road to success has no carpool lane. ~Author Unknown

The road to success has many gas stations, but only some of the gas stations sell hot dogs. ~Author Unknown

The road to success has no speed limit, but watch out for the highway patrol, anyway. They can always ticket you for something. ~Author Unknown

The road to success has the occasional crosswalk: thus, pedestrians are obstacles on the road to success. Drive accordingly, and watch out, grandma. ~Author Unknown

The road to success goes by that place, that sells that stuff, that that guy on TV yells about, in that commercial. Yeah, that one. ~Author Unknown

The road to success has no Yield signs, as slowing down for others is for suckers: suck on that, Mr. Failure in the mini-van. ~Author Unknown

Bag, Box, Flute….

A bag is but a box without the fluting. A stick is but a flute without the holes. Foo Fighters are but Jethro Tull without the flute.

Flute = past-tense plural of fly: he flew, they flute.

BTB Gonna Lesson You Here

“Sometimes you can try so hard to see the good in people that you don’t see how dang stupid it makes you look.”

BTB Says Ten Will Get You Twenty

Bald Tire Bob, he knows himself the value of earning an honest dollar. Heck, he tries himself to earn one of those for every three he puts in his right pocket. Sometimes one in four, if’n it’s too good to pass up: things, they’ve been known to fall off the back of a truck for example, right where Bob’s sittin’ in the LeBaron with room in the trunk, it happens.

Anyhow, it’s sort of a balance, like meat to potatoes & pudding in a TV dinner. Bob, he might’n even call it kind of a yin-yang thing, if being that yin were three times the size of yang over there. Yep, Bob figures himself that yin could go all Jaws on yang, like a shark on a squirrel: nature don’t like no 50-50.

BTB’s Got a Deal For You, Mr. Germany…

So Bald Tire Bob, he was thinkin’ himself about the State of our Nation, what with the economy being all flat and baboon-ugly, like Big Chuck’s foot after that vending machine at the cement factory all fell on him when he tried to shake himself loose the snack cake he had rightly paid for but wouldn’t come down the chute none. And now, with the Feds takin’ even more cheese from a working man’s cheese-and-pumice pie, Bob he figured he could solve himself some things right quick if people would just get out of the way some.

See, it ain’t that Bob is seein’ much pain himself, wallet-wise: all a man of Bob’s standing has to do is, say, drive himself around town a little bit, toss a handful or three of nails out the window of a LeBaron all quiet-like, and then Bob he’s gonna be sellin’ himself some tires this week.

But Bob, he cares about this country even if there are too many lawyers and hippies and hippie lawyers, all eatin’ away at the common man like fleas on a dog rollin’ in bacon grease, Bob’s seen it.

So Bob, he was sippin’ a Colt .45 as he got himself to figuring what needs to be done, and then it hit him like a blind man jaywalkin’ in front of a school bus: we could raise us a whole lot of big money if we was to go and sell Hawaii to another country.

Heck, it’s not like Hawaii is even really part of the U.S. of A., it ain’t even connected. Now, Bob knows himself that Alaska ain’t really connected itself either, but it’s only got Canada in the way, not half an ocean, and Canada ain’t like a real country anyway, its sorta like North Dakota maybe, but even Norther, with a lot of Frenchmen all speakin’ French and spellin’ their English wrong.

Anyhow, we sell ourselves Hawaii at top dollar American and then we get to stimulatin’ the economy by having all the flag-makers making new 49-star flags for everybody, it’d probably take three shifts even.

Yep, Bald Tire Bob, he could get some things done, son.