Disclaimer: this is a re-post from Thursday, due to another diarist & I getting our wires crossed and both putting up "save Bill" diaries. I’m putting this back up for the late day and West Coast Kossacks who may not have seen yesterday's diaries before they fell off the list. Warning: Heavy snark content
Most of you don’t know the true story of Cheers and Jeers author, Bill Harnsberger,aka BiPM. But I am here to fill you in. It's a tale that will bring tears to your eyes, a smile to your lips, and might even make you throw up in your mouth a little. Follow me over the jump for the tragic saga of our collective employee.
Bill was born a poor Black child in - oops, sorry, I’m getting him confused with an other silly guy. Our Bill is an unfortunate child of the great Midwest, a hapless victim of circumstance, and a constant embarrassment to his family.
Bill’s ancestors were of sturdy German and Swiss stock, which makes our puny scribe a genetic anomaly. When ol’ Hans Johan Harrensparger first landed in Virginia in 1717, and changed his name to John Harnsberger to avoid the inevitable spitting in his face when folks tried to say his name, little did he know how withered one small branch of the family tree would become a mere 292 years later.
On a small plantation in Culpepper Co, the Harensberger clan toiled in the hot sun and slowly built a dynasty. Four Harsbergers fought in the Revolutionary War, and their descendents have fought honorably in every war since. Unfortunately, our Bill did not inherit the bravery gene. He has been shunned by his relatives due to his aversion to weapons of any kind. His wimpiness was first detected at age 6 when he was given a sling shot for his birthday, and tried to wear it as a G-string.
On his mother's side, Bill’s maternal grandpa sold the huge family farm and orchard in 1916 to make way for the Grandview Heights subdivision in Chicago, and frittered away the money – cruelly crushing the hopes of any of his descendents who envisioned inherited wealth. Thus when Bill came along, he had to make his own way in the world, using only his God-given talent for making spit-balls, and his penchant for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time
Although he was not the sharpest cookie in the drawer, Bill managed to finish school, largely because of his early affliction with strabismus. His condition, which caused each of his eyes to look in a different direction, made it impossible for his teachers to catch him cheating off his classmates’ papers.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Bill, age 9
After college, corrective surgery repaired his vision, and also allowed him to date for the first time.
He wandered about Ohio and Michigan for several years, vainly trying find to find gainful employment, or a sugar daddy. Desperation led him to Portland Maine, where, inexplicably, a handsome young man asked him to go steady. Bill managed to con his way into a marketing job, but after discovering he had lied on his resume (misrepresenting his Christmas job selling athletic supporters at Sears by saying he was the National Sales Director of Undergarments) he was let go.
As Bill has written before, his Grandma, Caroline Thomas Harnsberger, was a paragon who painted, golfed, wrote 13 books, was an accomplished pilot, and played Carnegie Hall at age 22. In a family of over-achievers, Bill’s inability to keep and hold a job was a stunning disappointment to this fine woman - which brings me to the point of this diary.
We must keep Bill employed. We cannot allow this lovable, yet obviously untalented family scion to further tarnish the heretofore sterling Harnsberger-Thomas reputation. Is this the image by which we want generations of hard-working, patriotic ancestors to be represented?
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
I think not.
We must save Bill from a life in the gutter – not for his own sake, but for the sake of his family.
Granted he is a few blueberries short of a cobbler, but he’s our Bill, and we have to do something. Bill does not need our pity, but he does need our money. Think of the little ones who depend on him. Molly, the loyal Lab, asks only for a few kibbles, but tiny Fantom, pootie extraordinaire, won’t eat anything except free-range chicken breast poached in truffle sauce. Are there any among us who are so hard-hearted as to let these innocents starve?
Finally, although I hesitate to mention his name for fear of embarrassing him further, there is Bill’s stoic life partner and companion, Michael. Imagine the shame he must feel knowing that but for the kindness of Kossacks, his sweetie would be forced to stand on street corners holding a pathetic cardboard sign reading "Will snark for food." It is a testament to the character of this man that he remains steadfast and faithful to a partner with no ambition, and no prospects - except to continue his mad scribbling, under the patronage and encouragement of our merry band of Kossaks.
So I ask you, fellow Kiddie Poolers, diarists, and lurkers, to open you pocketbooks and wallets and come to the rescue of our feckless foster child, Bill in Portland, Maine. Give generously. Give from your heart. Give out the wazoo, if that’s where you keep your cash.
Then hold up your head and say proudly, "I made a difference today. I made the world safer for all mankind by keeping BiPM off the streets."
One time contribution: click here.
$5 monthly contribution: click here
$10 monthly contribution: click here
$20 monthly contribution: click here
Or you can mail him a check or money order via snail mail to: Bill Harnsberger, 16 Pitt Street, Portland, ME, 04103.
And if you can’t give, then just leave a comment that shows Bill how you really feel.
I'll let my woozle go first.
