Bill Hoobstank Shares More of Himself

Hello again! My photobucket runneth over!

So I thought I'd post some things HERE.

I'm one of those grinning goofballs who figures the world should see ALL my photos. This includes over 500 "family pictures," and snapshots of every time I've been to a movie theater, stadium or men's room. It includes hundreds of photos of celebrity graves! Yum! My prizes are the SELFIES with CELEBRITIES I PAID.

Most of those ME and CELEBRITY photos this blog has posted, show me as a 60-something dizzy fat slob with the same monotonous yellow-toothed grimacing death grin.

When I was younger, I didn't have quite so much character in my face. I still had gobs of fat, though.

Here I am, tipping over slightly and happily getting ready to throw up. Yes, I was drunk in Ireland 20 years ago!

I wanted to get an autographed photo of Blarney Stone. I had no idea it wasn't a person. I also couldn't get a photo with a leprechaun, although I was assured that I was a social leper. That made me feel so good that like the gnarled alien of "E.T." I went off to "call home" and tell my mother that the Irish agree with her that I'm a leper! This warmed her heart, to the point where it attacked her.

More about my late mother later.

Right now, I want you to see the ultimate prize for the stay-at-home nerd. It's like CINERAMA. It's an HD TV.

Notice the glazed expression on my young, pudgy face.

Yes, I was wearing glasses very early, since I was ALWAYS WATCHING MOVIES.

Another reason I had to wear glasses is, well, er, uh, YOU KNOW, don't you? I was so glad to discover "R-rated" movies that I could sneak into when I was a mere child-like pudgy fool with no experience with women. Oh, that could be now!

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Oh dear.

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There are several movies I want to see today, and a cemetery I'm dying to visit. So I'll have to stop endulging in my second favorite hobby of POSTING PHOTOS OF EVERYTHING I DO.

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I'll leave you with a sample of my first favorite hobby, which is telling everybody on FACEBOOK of the highlights of my New Jersey life.

BELOW is a sample FACEBOOK post from 2010.

The quotes are absolutely real, the names were changed to protect the identities of those who might be ashamed to know me.

As you'll see, in one particular month, THE most important thing was going to a MEMORABILIA SHOW! I had my photo taken with Patty Duke and other popular current stars who are in A-list movies and high demand.

The other thing that month? Oh, my dying mother had to go to a nursing home. You remember, she had a heart attack when she learned I was a social leper.

She once said, "Your big stupid bald head widened my twat so that my pussy lips twanged like a banjo ever since. I never had another orgasm, and my reward is a useless fat blob with a movie fixation!"

Oh well. That explains why I never bothered taking photos of myself with her.

She's no celebrity, which is why only a few people left me "nice comments" about her going to a home for her last days.

"Nice comments." It's an Internet catch-phrase, isn't it? Guys like me, who are emotional robots that only react when Louise Lasser or Joan Collins is sitting at a table, have a limited vocabulary.

To a celebrity it's "I loved your movies."

And to people who actually leave a "nice comment" upon seeing a photo of me or reading some egocentric selfish thing I wrote about myself? It's: "thank you for your nice comment."

Nice comment are nice, but I really live to take pictures of celebrity tombstones and celebrities who are almost ready to be buried, like the ones who do memorabilia shows.

My life is not complete. I have not yet paid to have my picture taken with Mike Nesmith.

I chased him (well, waddled after him) in a parking lot once. I clutched a $50 bill and said, "Pose for me!"

He suddenly turned and charged me. He grabbed me by the head and brushed every tooth in my head with "Wite Out." Maybe that was just his way of being "nice?"

You know, his mother invented "Wite Out" and made a fortune with it, before typewriters became as obsolete as my face.

As he ran away, I called out, "But why is it WITE out and not WHITE OUT with an H? Mike? Mike?"

And he shouted, "Get the H out of my life..."

This bothered me so much I only had seven helpings of pancakes at Applebees that evening.

Little things like my mother going into a nursing home didn't bother me half so much.

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