Bob claims to have been born in Guam some forty years ago, although no records exist there to support his claim. Some believe (with some evidence backing them up) that Bob isn’t actually a citizen of the U.S. All forms of I.D. ever seen by anyone all have different names, none of which is Robert Leroy (which may, in fact, be another alias). This view is further supported by his unwavering support of illegal immigrants despite a total apathy for just about anything else.

He appeared on the Austin bar scene about five years ago, quickly making a name for himself as a troublemaker and wild drunk. Currently, he is believed to be banned from 60-70% of all the bars in Austin (no small feat in the live music capitol of the world) and does most of his drinking in what he playfully calls “The Bomb Shelter”, despite it’s being located on the top floor of a high-rise apartment building downtown. When asked why, he always replies, “Because I’m bombed!” Then he usually throws an empty bottle at whoever asked and yells, “Air raid!”

The Bomb Shelter, when empty, is a large place, but it is invariably a wreck. Empty bottles, cigarette boxes, and piles and piles of his writing fill almost every available space. At certain points the piles reach above your head, and, since they’re piled randomly, have a tendency to collapse on the unsuspecting. I myself was trapped under a pile of typing paper for three days before Bob found me in the back room. He charged me rent.

His unapologetic and manic style has led some to believe it’s proof of his undiscovered genius, others believe he just drinks too much, and all can agree that he’s an asshole. Bob himself doesn’t give a shit.

As far as The Some Times goes, I myself am unsure if he even knows this site exists. Anything that’s published here I simply take off of a pile in the Bomb Shelter and put in my pocket. Even some of the writing that was obviously meant to be read (Jerk on/Jerk off) was discovered by me accidentally and published. Bob either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. He doesn’t even have the Internet. In fact, if he knew I was writing this about him, he’d probably kick the shit out of me.

Bob’s a big guy.