Some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some spend their days screaming into a CB radio from a dingy Boston apartment, fueled by lukewarm Schlitz and the ghost of a roast beef sandwich. Enter Dick Bulger—renegade radio troll, proud unemployed layabout, and undisputed king of antagonizing MAGA diehards over the airwaves.
When Dick isn’t causing aneurysms among truckers who still think JFK Jr. is coming back, he’s dreaming of something sweeter—something named Charlie. Ah, Charlie. The man, the myth, the poor bastard who has yet to realize he’s Dick’s one true love. All Dick wants is a romantic evening at Monte’s Pizza, where they can share a greasy, heart-stopping pie before retreating to the plush, vinyl embrace of Charlie’s Cadillac for a little post-pizza snuggling.
Of course, Dick’s romantic aspirations are often derailed by his tragic flaws: his obsession with doing deeply inappropriate things with Olive Garden breadsticks, his unwavering commitment to drinking whiskey like it’s a competitive sport, and his refusal to hold down a job on principle. But hope springs eternal.
So if you’re out there, Charlie—pick up that CB radio and answer the call. Dick Bulger is waiting. And he’s got a hot slice with your name on it.
