My God, he was there again this morning.  But he wasn’t alone.  He had a bodyguard.  A large black man who looked like he needed a crane or a team of small children to lift him from his chair.  He was glorious with his shit-head mustache caressing his chubby cheeks down to his chin.

He might have been Blob, but it’s hard to say.

Like this, only blacker and more velour sweat-suity.

I feel worse for Tracksuit Blob than I do for Corporate Lackey Wolverine, he at least has a job of some sort I think.  Tracksuit Blob just seems to Ed McMahon CLW’s startup company adventures.

I got out my camera to shoot the pair, but the landmass of a bodyguard was watching me.  I began to fear for my life, and then CLW spoke again.  Goddamn it he needs to stop doing that.  It ruins everything.  I can’t be intimidated by the mythos of Corporate Lackey Wolverine when I hear a little girl with a stuffy nose voice coming out of his big barrel chest.

I think I’m becoming obsessed with CLW.  There’s only one option.  I have to talk to him.  I’ve got to meet CLW and find out his story, it’s the only way I can put this to bed.  It’s beginning to distract me from the campaign.