CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO CLEANING IN THE DICTIONARY

What up dog?

Heh ... just ANOTHER attempt at me "trying" to be cool again. Just adding more fuel to the fire, baybee.

Went and checked out a home daycare center yesterday which was about as fun as hammering toothpicks into your ear canal.

We pulled up and the yard had not been mown in weeks. This serves as a personal sign to me ... if they have foot-high weeds in our yard ... just wait til you see what they've got waiting inside...

Okay ... I may sound like one prissy little bitch here, but this is my first and probably only child we're talking about. I want the damned boy to have it good.

But ummm...I wouldn't wanna see him crawling on the floor in this place. Sure ... kids are going to get dirty. But there was no telling what all was in this carpet...it was nastier than Janet Jackson.

All the kids looked ...dirty. Once again ... kids are going to get dirty. I'm talking more..."not bathed in a while".

The lady was super nice, the kids were super nice and they all seemed fairly intelligent.

But cleanliness, baybee...it's right up there with Jesusness.

The poor woman looked like she was about to have a heart attack too, because we showed up unannounced, which is how you're supposed to do it.

The place was a wreck with small toys everywhere. I could see my kid, choking to death on an errant refrigerator magnet in the shape of a "W".

DAYCARE LADY: "Uncle Bob...your son choked to death on a plastic letter refrigerator magnet that I left laying on the floor."

ME: "Which letter?"

HER: "I think it was a "W".

ME: "Goddamned W's".

I'm not ruling this lady out by any means. But I wasn't sold on her and want to check out other homes before deciding.

That's my prerogative. I can do what I wanna do. It's my prerogative. .... I don't remember the rest of the words to the song right now.

FINALLY went back to the doctor for my arm. I realize that I just don't bitch about my arm enough here, so I thought I'd recap the latest in my arm saga.

My arm now looks like a wilted eggplant hanging off my shoulder. It hurts more than an STD from a $10 whore. I wish I could just hurry and die and save myself the embarrassment that is my arm.

Okay. Not really. But...it hurts and I still can't straighten it out at full length.

So today...

....Physical Therapy.

For one hour, I'm going to be exercising my painful elbow.

Here's all the things I plan to do while undergoing physical therapy this afternoon:

* Yell "FUCK!" a lot.

Ummmm....that's about it, really.

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Do I not have mad HTML skillz?

I mean....a shitload of little stars is what I use to divide my thoughts.

Consider me old skool.

I coulda been a gangsta rappa.

I still think about going into it. A pudgy middle-aged white guy rapper. There is no other like me. Suckah MC's can call me "Bob". KnowhutI'msayin'??

Except I'd wanna rap like a lounge singer.

I really think that's my one goal in life that I've never accomplished.

Being a lounge singer.

I wanna dress up in a clown costume...clown makeup ... clown wig ... get a kickass band together ... call us Uncle Buddy and the Hairy Clowns ... the music would be great, and I'd be crooning the lyrics and insulting the audience at the same time.

It's basically a riff on the old Bill Murray stuff from "SNL" but with an evil clown twist.

Do cover songs like

"Enter Sandman"

"Jeremy"

"Oops ... I Started Another Fake Celebrity Diary Again"

"The Beautiful People"

Anyway ... I'm still chasing that dream. I know with the right band, I could at LEAST make them a legendary circuit band.

Sadly ... I don't know anyone personally who's in the league to carry a band like Uncle Buddy and the Hairy Clowns to the challenge.

Even sadder ... I have no idea what I'm talking about here...

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Soooo ... Friday the 13th ... nervous yet??

I've never been into superstitions. I say .... if you live your day like it's Friday the 12th ... nothing will go wrong.

But if you lay in bed, scared to death of black cats sneaking into your apartment and stealing all your Chapstick...Christ almighty ... that's no way to live your life, Walter.

Walter??

Who the hell is Walter??

Where did that come from?

Anywhooo...got the new issue of CMJ magazine yesterday ... Marilyn Manson on the cover looking like a primate. He's one creepy bastard.

In my day, we had Alice Cooper. Man, oh man...did I love Alice Cooper. I had every single one of his albums. We were living in Germany at the time, and we lived in a German apartment building as the only American family in the entire complex. The German kids were fascinated with us, but I wasn't into playing with Germans. I remember one kid, a year older than me...probably 15 ...named Johnny ... inviting me to a discotheque. That's what he called it...a discotheque.

(Pronounced "Disco Tekk" for you Alabama folks)

I was like "I'm too young for the discotheques, Johnny." Which sounds kinda like a gay porn movie title, if you think about it.

(Not that I've ever seen gay porn. I mean...okay...one time. There was a gay guy in the dorm room next to me in college and he showed me a Christmas Card that he was sending some friend of his of some guy sucking Santa off ... but that's the extent of my gay porn adventures. I can't say I was impressed, aroused or slightly intrigued. I just said "Cool. That means more poon for me.")

Have I rambled long enough?

Okey.

I'm outta here.

For those of you who are weekday warriors, have a great weekend. For those of you who stop by daily .... ummm...couldn't you be cleaning something right now???

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QUESTION OF THE DAY

Do you have any good Friday the 13th stories?"