FuckBumble

There's this guy that I (wish I didn't) know. For the purposes of this blog, I shall call him 'FuckBumble'. Actually, I call him that blog or no blog. You have a FuckBumble in your life. Everybody does. He's that big, over-grown, OAF of a man (and you use the term 'man' loosely - 'cuz he lacks the confidence that makes a man a 'man') who, with his constant and incessant, and annoying BANTER, likes to let people know he's around. Starting to get a clear picture? See...I told you you had a 'FuckBumble' in your world. My 'FuckBumble' walks funny too. In fact, that's sorta how I developed the FB monniker... by watching him walk one day. My soft breath quietly exhaled, "F-u-u-u-u-u-u-c-k-B-u-u-u-u-u-m-b-l-e..." and it stuck. It's quite fitting. FuckBumble thinks he's SMART too! O boy does he ever! And, he probably is...but his 100% assoholic demeanor completely washes out that trait. It's like, if he ever came up with the idea to have peace on Earth, for example, he wouldn't be able to deliver the solution without making you walk away thinking, "Boy, what a Jack-Hole! What the hell was he babbling about anyway?!??!" While FuckBumble watches your retreat, thinking that he just floored and impressed the hell outta you by sharing his God-given knowledge. I hate FuckBumble. In fact, the only reason I choose to write about FuckBumble is that, while online today, I found a picutre that reminded me of him. You see, the other notable thing about FuckBumble...he needs new shirts. The shirts donned by FuckBumble have CAKED YELLOW STAINS in the armpits!!! ALL OF THEM! It is the grossest thing!!! There is nothing worse than when you find yourself in a situation where your FORCED to talk to FuckBumble, and he leans back, puts his arms up and interlaces his fingers behind his head... CAKESTAINS - 12:00! You'd think FuckBumble's wife would know better. But then again, maybe she does! Does your FuckBumble look like my FuckBumble?