THE BALLAD OF THE BACKORDERED DVD RECORDER

This is going to be one of those entries that you finish reading and go "Ummmmm ... why did I need to know that?"

Consider yourself sufficiently warned.

I have a boil on my dick the size of a grapefruit.

Not really.

I've just always wanted to start an entry off like that.

In that vein, I watched "The Aristocrats" the other night.

It wasn't as entertaining as I thought it'd be.

I was expecting a non-stop laughfest with tellings and retellings of the joke throughout the movie.

What I got was 80 minutes of comedians explaining the joke and 10 minutes of comedians actually telling "the joke".

For those of you who have no idea what "the joke" is ... I'll tell it in condensed form really quick.

A guy walks in to a talent agent's office and tells him that he has a great act that the talent agent needs to see. It's a family act.

The agent says he doesn't do family acts.

The guy insists that the agent give this family act a chance because it's unlike any other family act.

The agent reluctantly agrees.

The guy brings his family in the room, his wife, son, daughter and grandmother. They all strip down naked and begin having sex with each other while letting bodily fluids fly.

(This is the part of the joke that the individual comedian makes up. The more disgusting and disturbing, the better.)

The family finishes their "act" and the talent agent is impressed, if not taken aback.

"That's a great act," he says. "What do you call it?"

And with a large flourish, the father beams and says "THE ARISTOCRATS!"

And I KNOW that I can.

While I'm a normal, mild-mannered guy, I have a sick, sick mind.

Anyway, that's something I need to work on ... my own version of "The Aristocrats".

I know, I know ... you're just tickled shitless at the thought of it.

They swear to me that not only is my recorder back in stock ... they're getting ready to ship it!!

A little pee shoots out of my boil-infested penis as I squeal with joy.

(I realize that if I keep saying I have boils on my penis and then turn around and say "Not really" that eventually you're all going to start thinking "Maybe he DOES have boils all over his penis if he keeps talking about it and saying he doesn't really" but that can't be further than the truth. I have absolutely NO boils on my penis. This fact is not really important because none of you are ever going to see my penis anyway. And it's not because it's covered in boils and I'm too embarrassed to post photos of my boil-infested penis. It's because I'm just not the type to post photos of my penis on my website ... with or without boils. Which, there are no boils. Seriously. I just like to say there are. I don't know why. I told you already ... I have a sick, sick mind)

I check the website and they say that it'll be delivered on Wednesday and they need a signature for it.

One of you (I'll be damned if I can remember who ... sorry) suggested that I leave a note for the DHL guy saying it's okay to leave the DVD Recorder on the front porch. Really. It's okay. Just put it down and walk away slowly, get in your truck and never come back.

So I write the note and tape it to the front door early yesterday morning.

I tell my wife what I've done.

"No!" she says. "Do you REALLY wanna leave a $400 DVD thing on the front porch all day?"

"Nobody's going to steal it," I say.

"But if someone DOES steal it, you're out $400!"

Hmmmm.

She's got a point. If the damned thing sits out there all day, someone's bound to drive by and say "Hmmm...a nice big box full of cool DVD recorder! I must have it."

And then ... *POOF* ... I'm out $400 and a cool DVD Recorder thing.

So I make a mental note to pull the real note off the front door and just play a cat and mouse game with the DHL driver where he tries to show up when I'm home.

Except ... guess what?

I forgot to remove the note.

And didn't realize it until I got to work.

Panic set in as I fretted over my poor DVD Recorder actually having to be subjected to living in a poor Mexican gardener's home as he had stolen it off my front porch after trimming the neighbor lady's hedges and because he doesn't speak or read English, thinks it's a computer and takes it home and tries to use it to play solitaire, but guess what, Pepe? It doesn't play solitaire. So he smashes it with a Mexican hammer into a million pieces.

And I'm out $400.

I log on to the DHL site where they have this reassuring, comforting service where a robot calls you once your package has been delivered.

I give the robot my phone number and the robot says "Thank. You." in a robotic voice.

At 10:17 a.m. yesterday my cell phone rings.

It's an 800 number.

I tense up.

Mainly because ... what if it's that place that said they could help with the boils on my penis but they weren't being as fucking DISCRETE as they said they would be?

I answer the phone.

"This is Uncle Bob!" I say cheerfully into the phone.

The robot tells me that my package was delivered at 9:50.

It's 10:17.

Not the most punctual robot on the face of the earth.

I breathlessly try to tell my boss that I must rush home because there's $400 flying around on my front porch.

I'm excused to rush home before the Mexicans do a Custer's last stand on my DVD recorder.

Traffic's a bitch.

I curse each and every person in each and every car I pass as I weave in and out of traffic screaming "THE MEXICANS ARE COMING! THE MEXICANS ARE COMING!"

It takes me 20 minutes to get home.

As I turn onto my street, a white truck is coming in my direction.

I check the front cab of the truck.

Whew! No Mexicans!

I get my house in view and ... and ... and ...

...There it is.

All brown and cardboardey.

The box.

I jump out of the car and then quickly jump back in it to put it in "park".

I rush to the front porch.

I hug the box.

I now have a DVR/DVD Recorder.

The world is a better place.