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2:55 p.m. - 2002-12-02

THE BITCH IS BACK PT. II

A’ight…now that the initial furor over me losing my entry this morning has subsided, I feel I can give this another try.

First off, thanks for all the ummmm…whatever you call it. Well-wishes…the cards, the letters, the flowers, the many gifts purchased from my Amazon wish list and the naked boobie pictures to entice me to come back and grace your computer screen once more.

Alright … fine…nobody bought me crap from my Wish List. After all the pleasure I’ve given you people for almost three years…none of you care enough to order me a damned DVD. I’m sad and disgusted by you cretins.

Alright … fine … I haven’t even posted my Wish List here at all yet so how the hell could you have possibly known I even had an Amazon Wish List?

I dunno. Research?!?

Anyway…thanks. The vacation from doing this rocked my f’n socks and has given me a new outlook on this whole shebang. I’ll admit…Uncle Bob was beginning to bore me. The last real entry I wrote…the one about the handicapped people in Pizza Hut … that was just to see if I could still “be” Uncle Bob and ruffle a few feathers.

I can. And I will. And if you don’t like it, kiss my big black ass.

Sorry. My big white ass. I was feeling extra special bad-assed just now.

I plan on going back to what I do best … being offensive and politically incorrect in this diary. Some of you won’t notice the difference … others will be horrified to read the words “retarded” and “fat bitches” in this diary like it’s the first time you’ve heard the words.

I’m no longer writing Uncle Bob for an audience. That’s where I slipped up. When I tried to please the masses and make everyone love me.

Fuck that.

You wanna keep lovin’ me…fine and dandy. Send me those boobie shots if that’s the case. Pull your shirt up over your head and write the words “I Love Uncle Bob” in lipstick across your chest and send me the photo.

…You know…unless your boobies ain’t nothin’ to write home about. In that case…keep ‘em in the bra, sistah.

Oh…and no underaged boobies. That’s the last thing I need…cops busting down my door over a joke.

But I’m no longer writing to please you. I’m writing to please me.

Keep that in mind if I write anything here that might offend you from now on. I ain’t twistin’ no arms to keep you here. So quit acting like I am.

This rant isn’t geared toward anyone in particular…just everyone in general. It’s more a message to myself to quit being a pussy and start kicking ass and taking names than trying to put any of you in your so-called place.


So anyway…yeah…how was YOUR WEEK???

..Like I give two shits. I just got through saying…this diary is all about me now and not you. Quit thinking I can hear your ass chatting away with your monitor.

Here’s a quick rundown of my week…

I finally got my CPAP machine that will keep me from choking on my tonsils seven billion times a night. So far it’s been working like a dream in that I’m still fucking alive which may or may not be a plus to you personally, but it means a lot to me.

This thing is so freakin’ weird to get used to. It’s a clear mask that I strap over my nose at night with a tube forcing fresh air in there all night long.

That’s not really the bad part. The bad part is when you try to talk with this thing on. The air pressure coming up your nose and down your throat will come out your mouth if you open it. So I can be wearing the mask and I’ll open my mouth and air comes rushing out like a fan. It’s kinda creepy at first, but it gets to be pretty cool after a while.

And it’s an uncomfortable feeling to have air rushing out of your mouth with no effort on your part. When you talk, it sounds like you’re being strangled. It’s really a neat little party trick to try and talk normally while you have it on.

Am I sleeping better?

Yeah. I’m sleeping better. No snoring at all.

Except every morning I wake up and my eyes are all puffy, I’ve got welts and marks across my face and I have a pretty severe headache. Basically I look and feel like I just called Mike Tyson a limp-dicked pusswad.

I had to take the machine back at lunch today since they were giving me a loaner machine to make sure that it worked properly for me before they raped my insurance company up the ass for a new machine. It worked fine, my insurance agency is going to be taking a heavy blow on the chin in a few days and life will be good for me soon.

As always…thanks for asking.


Thanksgiving was awesome for the most part.

It marked the first time my entire family have been together in five years. There’s ten of us now and the new house provided us with plenty of room so that we weren’t all tripping over each other and everyone was comfortable.

One incident happened that kinda made me a bit queasy.

You know how I’ve always ragged on my nephew Pervy for being a bit strange?

Dude…the Pervmeister doesn’t hold a candle to my middle sister.

Julie and her husband and two children stayed with us at the house. Before they came, I had emailed her and told her about our new shower and how she could shower in there if she wanted. I added “It’s big enough for two if you get my drift”. To which she replied “That’s okay…my hubby and I will just have sex in the guest bed.”

Ha ha, right? She’s a funny gal.

So anyway, Wednesday night comes around and Julie wants to take a shower in my bathroom.

That’s cool. I’m busy in the kitchen or something and tell her to help herself.

At one point, my niece comes out and asks me to come back there and show Julie something about the shower.

I go back there and everyone’s dressed, so that’s cool. I can’t remember what Julie needed because the ensuing act has scarred my memory.

I turn to leave the bathroom and kinda motion for my niece to come with me so my sister can shower in private.

My sister says that my niece will be staying in there with her.

…To shower with her.

This is perfectly okay if my niece is three years old or younger.

…My niece is 17 and a senior in high school.

For the record, my sister is college educated, is a former school teacher, has never home-schooled my niece so that they have some sort of strange assed homeschooling bond going and we are not originally from Alabama where showering with your teenage kids is practically a prerequisite.

I was in shock.

I said “No, your daughter can shower after you’re done showering.”

I was laughed at by both of them and the door was closed in my face.

Alright…I’m not saying that my sister and niece are incestuous lesbians.

But I’ve got to come right out and say … “EWWWWWW”.

Even you lesbos out there … you’ve gotta admit…showering with your mother has got to qualify as being “EWWWW”….right?

I walked back out into the kitchen and immediately told everyone there that my sister and my niece were back in my shower showering together.

The rest of the family THANKFULLY agreed that we were all privy to an “EWWWWWW” moment. Except for my sister’s husband and son who were in my office playing Play Station and couldn’t hear the smackdown we were giving his wife and stepdaughter.

They get done and exit my bedroom with towels around their heads and bathrobes on. My sister told her husband to get their son and get in there and shower together.

Okay. This is the part where my brain went “Check please!!”

I put my foot down and said that NOBODY in this house HAD to shower together. It was an innocent remark that I had made in an email to my sister that I had a bathroom big enough for two people to have sex in. But I’ll be damned if there were going to be any more FAMILIES showering in my shower.

That didn’t work. My brother-in-law and his eight year-old son got in the shower together.

They left on Friday, which gave my parents, us and my other sister ample time to talk about how disturbing that was.

Julie is very anal about things. Her house is spotless and she’s constantly turning off lights and unplugging things to save money on their electricity bills.

But if you’re a guest in my home and you need a shower, I refuse to make you shower with someone else just to save a few pennies on my water bill. To my sister, those pennies add up and someday form a fucking dime or something.

Other than that uncomfortable evening, the week went great. We all had a lot of fun playing board games and getting snarky on losers who post their pics on Am I Hot Or Not.

But now I’ve got a skeleton in my closet for years to come.

Or in my shower.

Whatever.


Saturday, after my other sister left for her home in Georgia, Susie and I decided that it would be the only day when we could decorate the house for Christmas.

Susie was excited because she has been accumulating tons of Christmas crap for years and years and we never had the room to display it all in the old house.

But in the new house, we’ve got buttloads of room to put everything up.

So much room that we actually have three Christmas trees up. One in the hallway outside the bedrooms, one in the dining room and a four foot-tall tree in our bathroom.

Susie even found a box of old tacky and cheesy Christmas stuff that we hadn’t opened in years. Inside we had two Beavis and Butthead stockings (tube socks with stuffed cartoon heads at the top of them) , and all of my priceless Hallmark ornaments that I collected that Susie would never put on the tree.

My Muhammad Ali Christmas ornament. What Christmas tree is complete without a Muhammad Ali Christmas ornament, dammit?!?

So now…my Christmas tree has Ali punching out Barbie while Captain Kirk checks them out.

Anywayyyy…the doorbell rings and it’s Pervy and his Mom, sister and brother. Pervy’s older sister is in town from college and they wanted to drop by and check out the new house since my niece has yet to see it.

They see the house. Yay.

We ask how the niece is doing in college. She’s doing good. Yay.

We sit and all stare at each other in uncomfortable silence. Yay.

Finally Sissy Boy speaks up.

“Do you have anything for lunch, Aunt Susie?” he says.

“Sissy Boy!” his mom hisses, trying to make it look like she’s raised the little ingrate better than that.

Susie starts pulling out the Thanksgiving leftovers and these scavengers attack the leftovers like buzzards on roadkill.

I don’t really mind because all those leftovers would have went to waste anyway since I don’t like Thanksgiving dinner and it was up to Susie to eat all the leftovers.

But damn. It quickly became apparent that they came over strictly for a free handout.

They all eat and then go back to the den to sit and watch TV.

Susie and I stared at them, giving them the look that says “Hey…we’d really like to not have to entertain you guys and instead decorate our home for Christmas. We thought the hundreds of boxes stacked all over the house would have given you people a clue that we were kinda busy here. But obviously that didn’t work, so we’re going to sit here and give you this stare until you all pack up and go.”

It didn’t work. They sat there until Sissy Boy discovered the rented copy of “Spiderman” I thought I had hidden in the bookcase.

Obviously it wasn’t hidden enough because two hours later, they were all hooting and hollering for Spiderman to whoop some Green Goblin ass.

They ended up staying at our house for five hours on Saturday.

FIVE FUCKING HOURS.

“Gee…hope you didn’t plan on getting anything done on your day off because some uninvited guests are here to watch all your DVDs and eat all your food.”

After about the first two hours, Susie and I shrugged our shoulders and began doing the best job we could at decorating the house while these morons all sprawled out on the floor like dead dogs.

We barely got anything accomplished.

The house is still a wreck.

And tonight, they’re back again for week 11 of Pervy Watch.

Which…if you haven’t figured it out by now … is why I asked for the boobie shots earlier.

I’ve GOT to stay motivated to live somehow.

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