Steve OTR Spotted in Internet Café

Steve OTR, has been ducking the Junk Bros. News submission. “I have to keep a low profile, because of my 22 years in the Navy. I’m not sure how much of it McAnic remembers, but let’s just say that his crew picked up that ‘lipstick on a pit bull’ shtick from me, and I may even have said some crude things about hockey moms as recently as breakfast.” Steve is currently doing pick up work at a Tampa internet café; although Steve insists that if they make it into a casino, they would make a lot more money, and he sure could use the drinks. Steve recently spotted another “Smash mouth” as he calls, Sergey, the Russian. “Go back to Georgia, ya commie!” Steve asks that you keep this sighting on the down low, because he doesn’t want the CIA’s attention about his taxes. “Yeah, you know those men in black, are into fetishes like water voiding, rubber-rooms and straight jackets. This whole bailout will blow over,” says Steve, “we may end up getting shredded, but you betcha, yes we can be the kings of confetti come Rosh Hashanah, New Years and Chinese Take-out! What we really need right now is more of the same change… how much can you spare, Bossmund? In the Navy, or On The Road, I’m still number one when it comes to bailing out no matter who’s having to row. It’s sink or drown, is what I always say.” Steve believes that the Secret Service should remain a 976 number, and not get involved with the work that is On The Road. “Please tell Obomber, that I don’t have a phone and to quit ringing me already! DAMMIT! There he is again! Listen McAnic, you’re not taking my car, it’s been impounded under copyright protection! You just don’t understand that you don’t get it… HEY! Sergey, we don’t allow them lewd TaTu’s in here! I’m orter move to Alaska!”



In other news, the Internet Café is offering Fannie & Freddie Free Parking for the credit-crunch bargain price of $5, redeemable only by cliping ads found exclusively on the internet. Shshshshssss, mum’s in the other room, she’s took a tumbler an stove up her yager, mister! They’ll be no more chocolate Yahoo for her until she can wash my shirt!”