MOM'S BOX OF SHIT AND OTHER BORING STORIES

Hilo.

Guess what, El Dorko??

IT'S FRIIIIIIDAYYYYY!!!

When I worked for a bank years ago, my drive time to work was always such that Paul Harvey would be doing his little news program while I drove to work.

My God. That has to be the crappiest sentence I may have ever typed.

Anyway...Paul Harvey would always start his little news program with "It's FRIIIIIDAYYYYYY" on Fridays and it would make me smile because I would then think "Hey! The weekend's here!"

Then, that evening, I would go out to clubs and get rip-roaring drunk and snort cocaine off strange women's breasts until dawn.

And I'd whip stray puppies with a belt.

Yep.

That's what Fridays USED to mean to me.

Paul Harvey also always used to say "....G'day!" at the end of his little news programs.

I got pretty good at imitating his "g'day".

I'd say it every time I left a room.

People thought it was cute at first.

After a few months of it, I was about as funny as Pauly Shore reeling from a fistful of downers.

Yep.

Friday.

I had a dream last night that I had something incredibly important to write about here that I had forgotten to write about.

How sad is it that you actually DREAM about what to write in your diary?

Sad, my friend.

Reeeeeal sad.

Sooooo...yesterday's booty haul for the big silent auction thing...

I got two rounds of golf donated from this fancy shmancy local golf course. No big whoop to me, but some golfer will probably cream his plaid polyester pants over that one.

I finally got my hands on the other autographed football that I'll be auctioning off. It's pretty cool, been signed by all the coaches at the school. In a perfect world, I'd get at LEAST $200 for it. I'll be lucky to get $100.

I struck out BADLY with local restaurants, trying to get dinners for two and their cooperation with my gangsta hit night.

I went to Macaroni Grill, an Italian eatery. I explained what I was doing and what I needed from them.

The guy goes back to his office and comes back with a buncha little cards.

Okay. In MY mind, I'm thinkin'... "WOW!! This guy's givin' me a SHITLOAD of free dinners!"

Wrong.

A shitload of coupons for a free appetizer or dessert. That's it.

"Maybe you can auction these off," he says as he hands them to me.

I look at them and almost say "Oh yeah! We can start the bidding at 15 motherfucking cents on these pieces of shit, you dumbass....IT'S FOR CANCER, YOU BITCH!!"

But I didn't. I shook the guy's hand and acted like he'd just given me a fistful of gold.

And as I drove out of the parking lot, I threw the little coupons out the window and watched them blow away in the wind.

Free appetizers.

Good God.

I don't think the guy understood what I was doing.

Then, I go to Olive Garden.

For those of you who don't take notes while reading this diary...I went to Olive Garden last week or the week before (it's all a blur to me now) and the little troll told me that "Olive Garden doesn't do things like that".

Yesterday, I went back for my FOURTH TIME to meet with a manager.

Well guess what? The manager was too busy to come out and talk to someone about contributing a dinner for two to help benefit CANCER.

TOO BUSY to take one f'n minute to come out there, listen to my now-patented spiel about needing a dinner for fucking two that will not bankrupt his sorry ass.

The girl who is my liason there felt really bad about it. She's dealt with me all four times and knows I was pretty pissed about being blown off each time.

The little hunchbacked troll was all curled up in her corner, drooling all over her sleeve and grinning a fucked-up grin.

Because she won. She was right all along. Olive Garden are a bunch of uncaring bastards who will smile their asses off at you if you're paying for a meal, but won't give you the time of day if you're trying to make an unfortunate soul's day a little bit brighter.

Nasty assed fuckers.

Kiss my ass, O.G.

I DID get a nice little gift basket full of expensive make-up and facial scrubs and shit.

Not actual shit. Shit as in "other things that I don't remember the names of".

It'd be pretty funny though if the gift basket had actual shit in there.

I wonder how much that'd go for?

I'd pay a good price for it...just for the joke part of it.

As long as the shit didn't stink.

When I was a kid, I remember Dad gave Mom a box of chocolates for some reason.

When you opened the box, it was little horse droppings in little paper cups like chocolates come in.

The box said "Authentic Road Apples".

I used to love that box. I remember just looking at the horse shit and laughing my ass off.

I was probably six, maybe seven years old.

Horse shit in a box is pretty funny when you're a kid.

I'm still trying to line up a limo for my hit night.

I've got a few leads, but nothing concrete.

If worse comes to worse, I'll have to have us chauferred around in mini-vans.

Gangsters and pimps in mini-vans.

Doesn't sound as cool, does it?

I had to judge an art contest yesterday in the few minutes that I had free.

The contest was for the local Rape center. Which, when I was asked to do it, seemed kinda odd.

I got there, and it was an art contest for 7-12 graders who were supposed to design a poster that encouraged the stopping of sexual abuse.

That made more sense to me.

Some of the artwork was really good. The kids had spent a great deal of time on it.

Some of it looked like my dog had taken a stab at finger painting.

I picked my top three, scooted my big ass outta the building and continued trying to scrounge up shit for the silent auction.

Sadly...the rest of the day was spent being told "no" by asshole managers and owners of businesses.

Came home last night and made some Jambalaya for dinner.

My gut still hurts. Wayyyy too rich, my friend.

"Survivor" time...can you BELIEVE Rodger is gone???

That was the saddest damned episode. First, they're all crying because they're talking to their families via the damned internet.

THEN when Rodger valiantly told the others to vote him off because his little buddy Elisabeth needed the money more than him...damn, bud...way to make me get a lump in my throat.

THEEEEEN when those bastards actually took his advice and BOOTED HIS ASS out of the outback instead of Keith...well, damn Sam...I was shocked.

But I think Rodger was ready. The poor bastard hadn't won a single challenge and had been surviving on rice and a few fish for the last month, except for that cheeseburger a few episodes ago. He was probably ready for a bath and a burger anyway.

...And...if memory serves me correct ... he was tired of wiping his ass with leaves anyway. Something tells me ol' Jolly Rodger spent a couple of hours on his hotel toilet as soon as they whisked him away. Probably moaning seductively from behind the bathroom door.

That's it from the U.B. Corral. I found an interesting link from Fade In (who misspelled my name...it's "Uncle Bob"...not "Uncle Boring"). This site is a parody of Perceptions called Observations.

The site cracked my ass up anyway.

Once again, I don't believe in taking stabs at other diarists in this diary unless they strike first. But Perceptions isn't your normal diary where someone's putting their life out there and Observations is ....well....just check it out if you have the time.

That's it. Really. I mean it this time. I have nothing left to say.

Except Olive Garden sucks shit.

And that's REALLY it.