Hello, I’m Bob.
…and being Bob and of a certain age, I must be honest and let you know that because of the Winter wind and sac-freezing weather, I am unable to type very much due to a little known condition called “Scanlon’s Finger Frost”, brought on by the bones in my fingers becoming brittle and non-responsive due to a steady diet of popsicles, frozen margaritas, and an angry refrigerator door. The cold triggers it and I am unable to push down on the keys of my keyboard because my digits will shatter and I will no longer be able to pick my nose or wipe myself. This intro is being typed by my butler and lackey, Manuel Labourio, a gentleman who was won by my father in a poker game on Cinqo de Mayo. a Mexican celebration of the 5 uses of mayonnaise, on May 5th, 1951
Without further ado, Here’s E. Ray…and Senor Bob, either quit putting snakes in my sleeping bag, or I will inform the SPCA that the Rescue Dogs you adopt are fed to your cats who, in turn, are sold to Chinese restaurants at inflated prices.