Yea, I'm back. Been a while.

I've been in rehab.
I got hooked, big time.

Styrofoam. It's not a gateway drug.

It all started innocently enough. One wet burrito was all it took. That started me down the road to my styrofoam addiction. Not surprisingly, it looks like a coffin. It's a sign.

A friend received a porcelin roofing hammer through UPS. It was packed full with this. I was hooked. Like most styrofoam abusers, I started by snorting the stuff. Burns a little, you can't see for 7 minutes, usually you shart...but worth the rush.

I stepped up and started doing styrofoam cush. I could order all kinds of really cheap shit from China and they'd send it wrapped in styro-cush (street name). No idea how this gets past customs or those pesky beagles.

Within a year, I'd discovered styro's nasty little secret: People were selling it as giant robot models on the dark side of the interweb. It's what made BitCoin what it
is today was.

As my addiction increased, I started making deeper and deeper connections, eventually hanging out with the guys who actually make this stuff.

I was all in. I quit snorting it, started smoking my own hand-rolled blunts.I learned the fine art of creating suppositories. It was bad.

Carl Georg Munters invented extruded polystyrene foam. Dow has exclusive rights. They were gods to me. Even the National Bureau of Standards Center for Fire Research found 57 chemical by-products released when you burned it. Incredible!

Can't say I'm proud of it, but at the time I would do just about anything to scrounge up the coin for more styro-love.

I finally crashed. I knew I was hooked. I knew I had to stop. I knew it was time to get my life back together. I didn't know there was a lip on the office roof, and I fell off the f#$king thing. Bummer. 750 cc's of Elmers white and I was good to go.

And I went in style. My friend Bubba and I turned it into an unforgettible road trip. Our destination was the Anonymous Styrofoam Society (ASS), where I would get helped.

Along the way we traced some very historic routes, traveling down the exact same roads as some of America's most famous historical people doing brave and historic-like things.

I finally arrived at the ASS Center and was warmly greeted by the Head Dean, the insightful Ms. Leticia Hobson.

I met my roommate. This is Bob. Before styro took over his life, he was a professoinal drone pilot. On weekends he played Piano Bars up and down the eastern seaboard. Still cool. Still there.

Throughout my rehab, I had some really weird dreams. This wasn't one of them. This really happened. Swear.

My first counselor was Sped. I only knew him a few weeks, and then he went on vacation. This Instagram post from Sped's buddy "Buddy", proves that he's probably still out there, living the wild life he yearned for. You go Sped! Happy for ya!

When it became obvious that Sped would stay a woodsman, they assigned Julian as my new styro counselor. Nice guy, but kinda hard to read sometimes. And don't park in his spot. Or eat his yogurt. Don't.

We did lots of arts & crafts at the ASS rehab center. I found this worthless old ball at the beach and repurposed it as a centerpiece for an arsonist banquet.

I wrote some books. None of them sold very well. I then decided that I could probably make as much money as a Sign Author, writing badly needed signs for people who...well...needed signs.

This was one of my earlier signs. It seemed so obviously needed in ever so many places. Maybe it just wasn't hitting the target market.

I sold a few of these, but it was really hard to track the response and results.

I really thought this one would go viral, ya know? I mean....where wouldn't it be applicable?

Abandoning the sign career, I went into modeling.

And then stunt work. I specialized in the "donkey in hole" genre. Google work is everywhere!

When the Kardashians demanded that they must also have a donkey in hole happen totally spontaneously in their backyard...guess who they called.

From there I started managing the modeling careers of other friends I'd met while in ASS, like Rodney, of Rod's Mo-Bike Transpo.

Doug the Wheelie Cow was another mild success that I nurtured from a Loretta's beginner to 2nd 450 alternate at a Red Bud qualifier.

Chester's career didn't quite pan out. You'd think a mouse with a born talent for cake cutting would be in high demand....but no.

I finally realized that I had to go back to my career at Motonation. They welcomed me with open arms, but their orientation video is a little off subject. I think....still... not...really...sure.

The girls were happy to have me back. "Now we don't have to fight over which one of us is in the middle!" they said.  Not really sure what that means either, but I 'll find out...repeatedly.

Now I'm back to hanging at Motonation. I hang suits, jackets, pants...I even hang new boots on the slat wall. far...I haven't been hanging out in the shipping department because...well, you know.




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