WRITTEN BY BOB

Date of birth: too close to the present day for comfort

Place of birth: Droperstown city pig-sty

Born on a day that is as nondescript as his (?) gender, due to the lack of calendars and people educated enough to read them, the only reason he survived the birthing “process” was because the doctor and orderlies were so shocked by his visage (that only a gorilla- toad half breed mother would love) that they didn’t have enough time to pull the trigger before he had been distracted out the door to plague the local town by a peculiar smell, or was it the sound of someone’s voice saying “mars bars for sale!”?

Anyhoo, moving swiftly on a few minutes takes us to the present day. Stevi, or Stevi “not- so-wonderful” as he is known to his contemporaries (or Stevi “the ninth wonder of the world” or Stevi “wonder bra” or “Oh please, I’m tryin’ to eat here!” or more appropriately “Hey Stevie why don’t you go and ‘play hide and go *$!% yourself’!), after enjoying a brief career in the Droperstown Sentra, was able to break the threshold of a single figure salary by becoming an endorsee for tampax. Or was it Pretty Polly? Ah who gives a shit? Oh wait, Stevi does! Or does he?

Okay folks I apologise for that last bit, it was quite inappropriate- imagine that, me going on in a loop of questions when I should be cutting through the crap cake and telling you more about the life of Stevi. There I go again. So where was I? Ah yes, after featuring his personal portrait in Cosmopolitan Magazine sporting, ahem- “sexy” lingerie (issue no2, published last week, the portrait can be seen on page(s) 4 through 68, just after the article the article on how to be a better(?) slag) went on to campaign for Lesbian rights in Britain. As if they didn’t have enough rights already, he had the term “lesbian” changed to “women (?) in comfortable footwear”.

I’ll have to make another apology, due to the fact that Meo is ((MEO GETS SLAGGED HERE)), I haven’t been able to afford a lawyer to make a disclaimer to warn you all that this would be such a crap bio with so many question marks needlessly placed within brackets (?) and so many insensitive remarks. Hey, if you could smell this article you’d be able to tell it was Bob that wrote it. Oh no, now Stevi’ll come after me now that he knows I revealed the shoddy truth about his miserable existence. Wait a minute, what am I worryin’ about? That fool couldn’t beat the dung out of crap! But he could do other things…

After the burning of the bra ceremony at the lesbo protest (GAG! BARF! CHOKE! WIPE MOUTH ON SLEEVE! CONTINUE TYPING!) a light bulb appeared above Stevi’s head in comic fashion. Simultaneously disappearing and leaving a Stevi shaped cloud of dust, he was encountered in the local bank (no, a money bank, not a food bank). Taking all the cash from his account, completely full courtesy of several teenage girls magazines and God knows how many “Female Only” department stores, he transferred it into the stock market- as shares for the Mars© company, in between ogling and playing footsie ((hee hee)) with the middle aged, balding, overweight bank manager, who probably already has a wife.

Yes that’s right folks, by paying attention in Economics, Stevi was able to deduce (God knows how) (?) that by securing a permanent means by which a business can sell its product or service (i.e. Stevi devouring scores of mars bar at a time in a Marlon Brando-esque fashion) one can …earn a whole lotta money. Gone are the days of K-Mart and Primark raids and wearing the “Droperstown belt” (i.e. bailer twine), and here are those of Louis Vitton handbags and Burberry scarves, both of which are seen sported by council-flat-dwelling-accidentally-pregnant-for-the-third-time-in-two-years-to-a-different-man-each-time-overweight-ex-wives-of-McDonalds-managers all throughout the nation. (?).

Since then our erstwhile endomorph can be seen in the chill out lounge, imbibing on the contents of an overfilled Sper © bag. That’s right, since Stevi realized that he had the God given right (unfortunately) to leave the college premises at food time, the proprietors of the local Sper© have had to employ the services of an Australian crocodile hunter to help distract Stevi from the hot food counter in the store. Filled to the brim are the local asylums with the poor demented former employees of Sper ©, who have had to witness the “gorging” process. “He once tried to eat his way through the walls when the sliding doors wouldn’t open”, cried one of the poor souls whilst rocking back and forth like a novelty Churchill parcel shelf dog.

That brings us to the end of our nice little bio. If you have any complaints (which you had better have ‘cos offensive bios don’t grow on trees) please e-mail them to we_all_love_stevi@hotmail.com, and our buxom secretary (Stevi) will reply, as soon as the ((MANY NASTY CURSE WORDS)) has time in between…..

Excerpt from “Handbags and Sadfags”, the essential biography of Stevi, coming soon to a pawn brokers near you.