Big Bob

[SnikPlosskin]

There is an imposter in the barn using the name Big Bob.

Sir, I knew Big Bob, and you are no Big Bob. Also, he is dead so there’s that.

Big Bob was a barroom brawling, hard drinking 320 pound mound of sound who played in the Milwaukee area in the eighty’s and nineties. He was a bandleader and a damn good guitar player and singer. He had a particular talent for making hecklers cry. (Men and women)

The band was called “Big Bob and the Blue Torpedos”. I was often a Torpedo. (Bob was packing rooms long before me and gave me some of my first gigs in SE Wisconsin and S Chicago.)

It was a loud ass blues band. Darn loud. Darn DIDDLEY loud.

Bob smoked weed on stage. He OWNED the ****ing room with a strat and a Peavy solid state amp (no shit) because it was light, small and loud enough to pierce God’s holy eardrums. Bob liked the Ice Pick sound that leaves a mark on your forehead if you are within 50 feet of its cone of death.

Bobs mouth was like a bullhorn and his language, shall we say, was distinctly not gentlemanly. He was an alpha. A beer swilling, ass crack showing, OG White Man Substance Intake Unit of the Blues.

That substance was almost anything including impressive feats of eating. He rocked damn hard and had the sweat glands of Adonis.

At some point he got very sick and dropped all the weight. He sobered up and worked hard in some trade (not sure). I don’t know how he died, but I heard that he did. He was 56.

I always think of him when I see the imposter’s name here. Then, I think, “lots of people are big and named Bob. It’s possible it’s just some dude who coincidently goes by the same nickname…”

But I doubt it.

Because that’s exactly what Big Bob would do. He would rise from the grave, drink six beers by 9am and get on here to troll me. I can hear him laughing at me and that ****ing Peavy right now.

Rock on Big Bob.

And the imposter too.

[Big bob]

Sounds like me but a bit fatter and I got kicked out of music class in grade school so I never got to pursue music. I had a cast on my foot and slipped on some sheet music and my feet flew up and the cornet flew out of my hand hitting the teacher in the back of the head. The class erupted in laughter and the teacher never believed it was an accident ending my short music career. :leaving:

[SnikPlosskin]

Sounds like me but a bit fatter and I got kicked out of music class in grade school so I never got to pursue music. I had a cast on my foot and slipped on some sheet music and my feet flew up and the cornet flew out of my hand hitting the teacher in the back of the head. The class erupted in laughter and the teacher never believed it was an accident ending my short music career. :leaving:

What’s it like in the afterworld? Are there chicks?

[Big bob]

But of course. :seasix:

[slewfoot]

There is an imposter in the barn using the name Big Bob.

Sir, I knew Big Bob, and you are no Big Bob. Also, he is dead so there’s that.

Big Bob was a barroom brawling, hard drinking 320 pound mound of sound who played in the Milwaukee area in the eighty’s and nineties. He was a bandleader and a damn good guitar player and singer. He had a particular talent for making hecklers cry. (Men and women)

The band was called “Big Bob and the Blue Torpedos”. I was often a Torpedo. (Bob was packing rooms long before me and gave me some of my first gigs in SE Wisconsin and S Chicago.)

It was a loud ass blues band. Darn loud. Darn DIDDLEY loud.

Bob smoked weed on stage. He OWNED the ****ing room with a strat and a Peavy solid state amp (no shit) because it was light, small and loud enough to pierce God’s holy eardrums. Bob liked the Ice Pick sound that leaves a mark on your forehead if you are within 50 feet of its cone of death.

Bobs mouth was like a bullhorn and his language, shall we say, was distinctly not gentlemanly. He was an alpha. A beer swilling, ass crack showing, OG White Man Substance Intake Unit of the Blues.

That substance was almost anything including impressive feats of eating. He rocked damn hard and had the sweat glands of Adonis.

At some point he got very sick and dropped all the weight. He sobered up and worked hard in some trade (not sure). I don’t know how he died, but I heard that he did. He was 56.

I always think of him when I see the imposter’s name here. Then, I think, “lots of people are big and named Bob. It’s possible it’s just some dude who coincidently goes by the same nickname…”

But I doubt it.

Because that’s exactly what Big Bob would do. He would rise from the grave, drink six beers by 9am and get on here to troll me. I can hear him laughing at me and that ****ing Peavy right now.

Rock on Big Bob.

And the imposter too.



I take it you're feeling better? :D

[Yadkin]

Bob is a fat guy's name.

[Big bob]

Yep that is my pet name for the plump member you can BOB ON. :seasix:

[Burro (He/Haw)]

What’s it like in the afterworld? Are there chicks?

Not for the likes of you phaggot. I’d rather be a lib than take a schlong up the poop chute. Queer.

[LATB]

Not for the likes of you phaggot. I’d rather be a lib than take a schlong up the poop chute. Queer.

You’re a lib? :wow:

[Burro (He/Haw)]

You’re a lib? :wow:

He called me a Lib in another thread. What kind of degenerate hits below the belt THAT low? I’ll tell ya; Snik. He just thinks he’s a big deal because he’s sporting 8 peckers. WGAF. None of them work.

[ThePirate]

Did he go to Florida Keys and rename himself as Big Dick and the Extenders? That guy was a legend more for the way he insulted the audience members than his playing. No one wanted to be picked on by Big Dick.


Woody's Saloon and Restaurant, U.S. 1 at MM 82, Islamorada (tel. 305/664-4335), is a lively, wacky, loud, raunchy, local legend of a place serving up mediocre pizzas, buck-naked strippers, and live bands almost every night. The house band, Big Dick and the Extenders, showcases a 300-pound Native American who does a lewd, rude, and crude routine of politically incorrect jokes and songs starting at 9pm Tuesday through Sunday. He is a legend. By the way, don't think you're lucky if you're offered the front table: It's the target seat for Big Dick's haranguing. Avoid the lame karaoke performance on Sunday and Monday evenings. There's a small cover on most nights. Drink specials, contests, and the legendary Big Dick keep this place packed until 4am almost every night. Note: This place is not for the faint of heart, but more for those from the Howard Stern school of nightlife.

[Taurus]

He called me a Lib in another thread. What kind of degenerate hits below the belt THAT low? I’ll tell ya; Snik. He just thinks he’s a big deal because he’s sporting 8 peckers. WGAF. None of them work.

You get used to it. :D

[Burro (He/Haw)]

You get used to it. :D

8 peckers and none function. I bet he’s got back yard full of junk cars and not one of them starts, nevermind runs.

Oh yeah. Piss off. :rofl:

[LATB]

He called me a Lib in another thread. What kind of degenerate hits below the belt THAT low? I’ll tell ya; Snik. He just thinks he’s a big deal because he’s sporting 8 peckers. WGAF. None of them work.

Well he's a lib, maybe he thought y'all were sympatico.

[Burro (He/Haw)]

Well he's a lib, maybe he thought y'all were sympatico.

Or, the classic deflection technique. I’ve used it myself with some success. :funniest:

[Yadkin]

Yep that is my pet name for the plump member you can BOB ON. :seasix:

Sorry, but I don't swing that way. So you're fat and gaye. :Jeff '79:

[LATB]

Or, the classic deflection technique. I’ve used it myself with some success. :funniest:

You just did. :rofl:

[SnikPlosskin]

He called me a Lib in another thread. What kind of degenerate hits below the belt THAT low? I’ll tell ya; Snik. He just thinks he’s a big deal because he’s sporting 8 peckers. WGAF. None of them work.

I meant Liberace my pet name for you.