current entry older entries message board contact
6:05 a.m. - 2002-02-07

THE ONE THAT WOULD MAKE MY PASTOR BLUSH

I was woken up by a goddamned charley horse in my right calf this morning at 5:25 a.m.

And don't email me saying (in whiny voice) "Ewwww, Uncle Bawwwwb...yewwww don't get enough POTASSIUM in yer diiiiiet."

Fuck you. I eat two goddamned bananas a day. I eat more goddamned bananas than your average goddamned monkey every goddamned day.

Fuck.

I fucking hate being thrown out of goddamned bed for a goddamned charley horse.


Want a cheap laugh?

Listen to U2's "With Or Without You", BUT in your head pretend that Bono's singing "Whistle Without You" and that he has a horrible lisp.

You'll chuckle your ass right into a coronary, you will.


So I'm addicted to the Dristan nasal spray once again.

I didn't wanna say anything because I didn't wanna get the emails saying (in whiny voices) "Ewwwww Uncle Bawwwwwb...just use the Dristan in one nostril instead of boooooooth nostrils and that way you won't get addiiiiiiiicted."

Fuck off. It's a little late for that nonsense, isn't it?

I know I'm addicted because I woke up at 2:30 a.m. with my mouth wide open and dry because my sinuses were swollen shut. That's what happens when you use Dristan for more than three days, the membranes in your sinuses swell to the point that you HAVE to use the Dristan in order to open your nasal passages.

Of course, if you dare go to a doctor to complain about this, you get "The Lecture". Where the doctor sits you down and tells you how bad Dristan is for your nasal passages.

Yeah Doc, that's just swell. Meanwhile, I've got a winnebago wedged in my sinuses and I can't fucking breathe without looking like a Neanderthal. So spare me the goddamned lecture and amputate my nose leaving me with a gaping hole in the middle of my face that I can actually breathe out of, you simple minded bastard.

But nooooooo. There's no nose amputation. They give you this shit called Nasanex. I've got a medicine cabinet full of this shit.

All it is is water in a spray bottle. Fucking water. Here...spray some water up your nose, that'll do the trick, Hoss.

Uhhhhhh...no.

You see Doc...maybe you weren't listening to me just now. Maybe you were mentally undressing me and mentally tonguing my ass or something ... but I can't fucking breathe. If I shoot water up my nose, I can tell you what's going to happen...It's going to shoot right back out my nose, drooling down my face and I'm going to look mega-retarded as my shirt gets stained by some faux snot fluids. I still won't be able to breathe, I'll be grumpier than Hannibal Lechter at a salad bar and my sinuses will have won the fucking war of my face.

Sooooo ... no. No Nasanex. Now cut off my nose or give me a scalpel and I'll do it my goddamned self. Either way, I'm happy.

Gawd.

I HATE being addicted to Dristan.

It's been two weeks now that I've been snorting it like Robert Downey Jr. on all fours snorting a motel room's carpet after he runs out of coke.

That's eleven days after I should have stopped using it.

I'm a slave to the snot juice.

What can I say?


I called my local NBC affiliate to voice my displeasure with the preemption of "Ed" and "The West Wing" last evening for another rousing game of college basketball that nobody in this state watches because we are a football state not a basketball state. We like our sports hard-hitting and interesting, not dribbling and pushing each other.

Plus...this is like the fourth week that I haven't been able to recap "Ed" for Television Without Pity which means a certain cash flow isn't coming in, which means we have to pay the baby's daycare with our main cash flow which means I have to eat ground turkey sandwiches for yet another fucking week while my kid gets to go to daycare and eat ravioli or whatever the hell it is she feeds the little brats at daycare.

Soooo...basketball is ruining my life financially.

I didn't really mention that in the little voice mail message that I left with the station's program director. But I think I got my point across.

Here was my message verbatim:

"College basketball sucks shit. Everybody watches Ed and The West Wing. When are you stupid fuckers going to wake up and realize that and understand that there's not a goddamned fucker watching this stupid fucking shitty basketball game?"

I thought about leaving my name and address in case they send everyone a t-shirt or something for leaving a message.

But I didn't.

Fuckers.


I wanna ice cream sandwich.


I'm tired.

Hence the abusive language today.

The combination of not being able to breathe while I sleep and the rude awakening of my leg being twisted in several directions by some errant muscle spasms has left me a tad bit on the grouchy side this morning.

Therefore, I'm going to limp out to the front yard, retrieve the morning paper, read all the upbeat and exciting news about the mongrels in my city who like to rob, beat, rape and steal from each other, shower, make my ground turkey sandwich, kiss the baby and go to work.

I dunno what you're going to do after reading this.

And right now, I just don't give two shits.

Nyah.

0 comments so far
The last one/The next one


NEW!!!Come and write some BAD EROTICA with the cool kids!

My Diaryland Trading Card
Now go write a Suck Ass Poem™
Write me a note here.
Read my notes here.
Hey! Take the Uncle Bob Quiz!
What the hell! May as well take the wildly popular Uncle Bob Second Quiz too!
Thanks Diaryland
Designed by Lisa


CURRENT - ARCHIVES - MESSAGES - EMAIL


Have you read these?

The End Of Uncle Bob - 12:28 p.m. , 2009-02-19

Losing Focus While Trying To Write A Blog Entry Is Cool. - 1:47 p.m. , 2008-12-04

Buck Up Junior, You Could Be Digging Ditches - 11:36 p.m. , 2008-10-31

That Sinking Feeling - 6:09 a.m. , 2008-10-28

Return Of The Karate Kid And His Slow Kitty-Lovin' Accomplice - 5:44 a.m. , 2008-10-22

Sign up for my Notify List and get email when I update!

email:
powered by
NotifyList.com

HEY YOU!
Click on the button below to order the book "Never Threaten To Eat Your Co-Workers: Best of Blogs" featuring Uncle Bob.
You WON'T be sorry.

DISCLAIMER


Read a random entry of mine.