Bob ate chicken until he fell for a vegetarian back in college. Turns out she was not interested in boys at all, but the anti-chicken stance has stuck and if he eats chicken now, he starts to smell like chicken. (Yuck.) Now, salmon, he'll eat that till the cows come home, and as far as he knows, he doesn't smell like salmon.

Bob pushes bits around in an attempt to make something pretty, in contrast to his former writing and performing "career," where he made ugly things. He has hailed from Charleston to Clemson to Austin to Brooklyn to Manhattan to Brooklyn to Jersey City, with a couple of random small detours along the way.