PAPARAZZI IN THE DUMPSTER AGAIN: PASS ME ANOTHER FIRECRACKER

Paparazzi in the dumpster by Rambo Bolillo

It may sound to many of you carefree readers as though I live the good life, living rent-free in Raddy’s basement between jobs for the past ten years as I do, yet living in Raddy’s basement is not always the bed of roses many would imagine. You see, there are paparazzi everywhere, and it is my job to keep them away from the dumpsters in the alley where Raddy dumps unused Gorko paraphernalia: shredded rejections, unused drafts of comic not quite gold, fan mail, Clearinghouse Sweepstakes million dollar claims, and even tissues and actual garbage: pizza boxes, Chinese takeout boxes, high school love letters on scented stationary, and mean-looking dolls.

These animals get in there and root through it like pigs, which is why I have recently switched from Witchkiller rapid-fire chains to the Chin Channy Chin Rattler X-3075, with an astonishing 30 grams of flash nitro attached to a three-second fuse, that makes even the hardiest, dirtiest, most papal paparazzi rattle their chins, stagger from the alley, and wish they had never dived in Raddy’s trash.

Yes, we have experienced a 3 thousand per cent decrease in paparazzi activity in the dumpsters behind Raddy’s house, where we live, since I switched from rapid-fire chains to the big beluga out of Hong Kong. Now we can all breathe a big sigh of relief, yet never let down our guard. Those flashbulb newshounds are just gathering for their next bum rush, I know it.

And I for my part shall keep my knives sharpened and my visco fuses perky, and Hells Angels zippo fully fueled.

Come and get me, little snappers. You might get the photo, but who will inform your family?

Stay off the lawn.


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Image: Darren in dumpster 6.jpg

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