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5:36 a.m. - 2003-07-09

HUMP YOUR KNEE FOR A SHILLING, GUV'NOR?

There are certain phrases that when I hear them, they send a chill down my spine.

Phrases like "Your tie is on fire" and "I guess I should have told you before we did all that, but I have syphilis" are usually sufficient.

But the one phrase that I hear at least once a year is by far the worst phrase of all:

"My sister just called. She and the boys will be here next week."

Yes, it's time for the annual trek from Texas to Alabama for the Dreaded Knee-Humping Nephews.

I'm just thankful they live so far away because it takes me a freakin' year for my knees to recuperate after each time they visit.

The nephews are getting older now, so that may work out to my advantage. The youngest is now 12 I think. But he's a big boy for 12 … probably tipping the scales at about 150. Which means as soon as his eyes lock in on my knobbly knees, come wrap his arms around my waist, his legs around my shins and start dry humping my knees like a rabbit on a Chihuahua.

So anyway, as always, my fucking sister-in-law waits until the last goddamned second to let us know that they're coming to town. They will be here a week from yesterday and were fully expecting to stay here at our new home.

Well guess what, Sis? UH-UH.

My cousin will be here on Wednesday and he's already scheduled his stay at Chateau Le Bob well in advance like most NORMAL FUCKING PEOPLE.

But…he's only staying until Saturday.

At which time, our house will be invaded by at least three humping nephews, a sister-in-law, the girlfriend of the oldest nephew who will stay back in Texas but she's the mother of the baby of the family so she has to come along and around 3,200 fleas because, by God, these are flea-carrying humans I'm talking about.

I am already preparing myself for the inevitable conversations.

"Uncle Bob, can we play Play Station?"

"No. It's broken."

"Uncle Bob, can we watch an R-rated DVD?"

"No. You're not old enough."

"Uncle Bob, can we get on the Internet?"

"No. The Internet is broken."

"Uncle Bob, do you still have those boxes of Playboys?"

"No. I gave them all to your other perverted Uncle."

"Uncle Bob, do you have a bong we can borrow?"

"No. I …..huh?? Uhhhh…YEAH! Grab a Coke can, some tin foil and a ball point pen! I'll teach you kids how to make a bong reeeeal quick!"


Anyway ... so yeah.

They're staying for their prerequisite 12 days.

I think that's the thing that gets me the most about her family. I fully understand that it's a long drive out here and that they're going to stay longer than regular company.

But 12 fucking days?!?

I mean...that's the gestation period of a rabbit's pregnancy, isn't it?

And with three different homes to stay in while they're here, ours is the only one that's cleaned on a semi-regular basis.

Susie's brother (Pervy's dad) and his wife haven't cleaned their home since the 80s and a few years ago it was broadcast that none of us were allowed in their house anymore because they were embarrassed about how bad it had gotten.

But that doesn't mean they're going to clean it.

Susie had to go over there for some reason a few months ago and she said it was "baaaaad".

"Hell, it was baaaaad the last time I went in there in '97," I said.

"No," Susie reiterated. "That was NOTHING compared to how it looks now. The paths that went from the couch to the bedrooms are now gone. You have to wedge yourself through some boxes to get to the bathroom. It's BAD."

So...of course...Susie's sister and her three boys, kinda-sorta daughter-in-law and grandson can't stay there.

Grandma's house isn't much better. These people suffer from a serious case of Pack Rat-itis.

So they're jonesing to stay in our new, big, CLEAN house.

Well, jones away, peeps. Shoulda called before my cousin did.

Jackasses.


This diet is killing me.

It started on Sunday really, although I technically say it started on Monday.

It's two diets combined into one.

In 1998, I lost 50 lbs. on the Slim Fast diet. So that's been one of my more successful ventures into dieting.

So for breakfast each morning, instead of three Diet Dr. Peppers and half a bag of chips ... I drink one Slim Fast shake.

AFTER I have walked two miles.

Then for lunch, I switch to my diabetic diet and have a bagel with three slices of thin chicken breast, some pretzels, a banana and a small cup of yogurt.

Rather than the Whopper and large fries that I had become so fond of lately.

For dinner, a salad.

AFTER I have walked another two miles.

For a snack, popcorn. No butter or caramel on it...just popcorn.

I figure in 6-8 months I will have lost 40-50 lbs. and I can take it easy after that.

BUT ... my new rule ... I'm going to set a weight limit and when I reach that limit, I will go BACK on the diet until I get far away from that limit.

Anyway ... the hunger that has generated from the first few days of this diet have made me ultra cranky.

On Monday, I get in the elevator with my boss.

"I made cookies!" she says, lifting a tray of cookies in front of me.

"You ASSHOLE!" I blurted out. "I'm on a diet!"

NEW JOB RULE #1: It's usually best not to call your new boss an asshole when they offer you cookies.

I later went in her office and apologized for the remark and she understood where I was coming from, saying she had never been on a diet that didn't make her a bitch.

Whew.

I kinda need this job to keep paying the bills.

Then ... my evil former boss, now evil co-worker at my new job Wendigo comes into my office and proudly exclaims that she and her husband are going to my favorite restaurant for dinner ... Copeland's.

"You whore! You vicious, gluttonous, evil whore!!" I yelled.

"Oh that's right," she says. "You're on a diet."

...Oh that's right, nah nah nah nah nah.

Seriously ... if I could lift my fat assed leg that high, I would have taken her out with a swift kick to the side of the head. I was STARVING, dammit!!!

Anyway...so far I'm as moody as Andrea Yates on her period with this new diet.

And haven't lost a single pound.

I seriously need to just punch something hard.

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