IF THE FIREMEN COME SCREECHING UP BEFORE EVERYONE GETS THERE ... YOU KNOW YOU'VE GOT A PARTY ON YOUR HANDS

I firmly believe that anytime a woman feels her career swirling toward the bottom of the toilet bowl, if she just tosses a little Clairol Light 'n' Lively into the ol' noggin, everything's gonna be alright -- not to mention she'll probably get a raise and many many offers of free oral sex from total strangers on the street.

God bless ya, Ashlee.

Welcome back.

Sorry.

It was supposed to be dripping from every word but surprisingly, I almost sound like I meant it.

Maybe my sarcasm bone is broken.

Would you mind checking it?

It's right below my belly button and just above my testicles.

Heh.

Dumbass.

So what the hell did Uncle Bob do this weekend, you ask?

Lemme seeeeee ...

Saturday night I DJ'ed a surprise birthday party for my boy Edweird who I haven't written about here in a while.

I got to his house early to set up my stuff while he was out golfing with his brother-in-law.

I brought the fog machine and the infamous Swamp Juice which is so strong it has killed lesser men.

Lesser than what, I don't know. Just ... you know ... lesser men.

I crank the fog machine up and go through a test run.

There's a blizzard of fog in about 10 seconds.

The smoke alarm goes off.

Wow ... it's loud.

I try to shut it off and can't.

Man, is it ever loud.

Now another alarm's going off.

It's even louder.

I'm stumbling around Edweird's house in a thick fog, holding my ears and screaming "MAKE IT STOP!! MAKE IT STOP!!"

However, those alarms aren't nearly as loud as the sirens on the firetruck as it pulls up outside the house.

No fucking shit.

The fire department was there.

The only people in the house were me and Edweird's two sisters-in-law.

So the three of us go outside and tell the firemen there's no fire, it's just this amazing Swamp Juice that defies all other fog juices in terms of texture and durability. Or something like that.

The firemen come in and inspect the house and THANK GOD there were no drugs in the immediate vicinity (you haven't met Edweird's sisters-in-law) and then they leave with the sisters-in-law practically dry humping their knees as they left because ... well ... the sisters-in-law are in a perpetual state of horniness and thought the firemen were "hot".

The party went really well after that, since I unplugged the fog machine and ONCE AGAIN couldn't play with it because this swamp juice is like ... almost deadly.

Met lots of cool people who have filled the void in Edweird's party life now that I have officially retired from being his party bud due to the fact that I've got a four year-old at home and I'm one of those parents who NEVER wants to be arrested ever ever ever because I think it'd scar my kid for life if his dad spent a night in jail and paid $1,000 in fines if he got pulled over drunk on the way home from a surprise birthday party.

Edweird's brother-in-law is a former DJ himself and he asked to spin a few discs.

I told him to go for it.

It was right around that time he told me that he DJ'ed mostly raves where everyone was strung out on drugs and that he played mostly jungle music.

Ahhh ... the music of the African tribes. Go for it, my good man.

Holy shit.

He was playing stuff that nobody had ever heard. Not even me. And they were MY DISCS.

He was good at it ... but this most definitely wasn't a "rave" crowd.

And ... rule number one of a good DJ ... you have to look at the crowd, determine what you think they want to hear and play it.

If the crowd is standing around, talking about their stock options and babysitters while drinking Bud Light out of the keg ... you probably don't have a rave on your hands.

Anyway, Edweird did many keg stands (where your friends lift you up so you're hanging upside down over the keg and you suck the beer straight out of the hose until you almost lose consciousness and have to be rushed to the hospital) later on and ... from what I saw ... never vomited once in front of everyone.

Which is a major feat for Edweird who is almost known as much for his public puking of alcohol as he is for his consumption of it.

His most famous pukefest was outside a popular nightclub in the dead of winter while on crutches. It was so cold that his puke froze when it hit the sidewalk and even though he was nursing a broken leg, he never managed to topple over and land face first in a frozen puddle of his own vomit. Nor did he let the repulsed stares from fellow bar patrons deter him from accomplishing his mission which was simply to unload the liquid portions of his guts onto the cold cement.

Yes ... technically you could call him the King Of Inappropriate Vomiting.

I'm sure he spent most of Sunday slithering around his toilet.

But he did good on Saturday night.

Alright ... gotta get the Mrs.'s lunch together for her first day on the new job.

Coincidentally, my little sister went into the hospital this morning to induce labor for her first baby.

New job ... new niece.

Whatta day this is going to be.