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6:05 a.m. - 2001-08-03

EVEN DIVAS NEED TO GO NUTS NOW AND THEN

I'm going to kick off this entry with some sad, sad news.

I know...you guys are sick and tired of me writing about sad stuff ... but this is sad and it touches me deeply.

... Mariah Carey has gone fucking insane.

I was reserving judgement on the temperamental little diva until more information came our way via her highly-paid publicist.

Then when the news came that she was a fucking nutjob ... I figured it was time I spoke out.

Because...you see...I cannot stand Mariah Carey.

I'll take Celine Dion over Mariah Carey. I will. I'd run up and hug Celine Dion and cup her bony Canadian ass in my big manly hands before I ever...EVER bought a Mariah Carey album.

Why do I hate Mariah and am glad that she's finally been exposed at the psychotic psychopath that she really is?

Oh...several reasons really...

First, that goddamned voice of hers drives me nuts. There's absolutely NO REASON for her to do those seal screeches that she does. The ones where she's saying in her head (or at least...SOME VOICE inside her head is telling her...) "Let me show off this eight-octave voice from God that I have by burping out some high pitched squeals to make the song even MORE annoying."

She usually does them at the end of her songs. They sound painful. I'm willing to bet that every single time she did those squeaks that she was bursting brain vessels and that's why she's a fucking fruitcake now.

Second...she's a diva.

A diva to me is a spoiled little bitch ass who throws temper tantrums when she doesn't get her way.

She just LOOKS like the type of gal that would force me to break my number one rule of "Don't ever hit a woman" and cause me to paste her a good one right in the chops.

She's got that holier-than-thou look about her.

"Look at me! I'm a prancing mulatto with a voice that shreds eardrums! I fucked the middle-aged married president of a record company so he would give me a recording contract because I can't hold down a fucking job at Burger King!"

And thirdly...this new goddamned movie of hers...."Glitter".

I promise you...I PROMISE YOU...this movie will prove to be the reason she went psycho.

It's a "fictional" movie about a prancing mulatto with a voice that shreds eardrums who goes from rags to riches after she fucks the middle-aged married president of a record company.

Oh God. How can there POSSIBLY ever be a worse movie made??

I'm willing to bet that at some point near the end of the movie that the "character" that Mariah plays goes nuts and suffers an emotional breakdown and that Mariah's faking this whole thing, just so the movie can stay true to her story.

Not really. Actually, I think she's a fucking crackhead and she's in rehab somewhere.

The tabloids said she tried to kill herself. Her publicist said that she broke some plates and glasses and maybe "cut herself on the foot".

Okay...Diva Alert...Diva Alert...

She broke "some" plates and glasses.

Which would mean, unless she had some freak accident where she reached up into her cupboard for a plate or glass and a shitload came crashing down on her diva ass ... she was THROWING some plates and glasses around the room.

She showed up on MTV in a t-shirt, peddling ice cream. And at a public appearance, they had to turn her microphone off because she was rambling incoherantly.

That's fine when you have a diary and call yourself "Uncle Bob".

It ain't cool at all when you're Mariah Carey.

Her boyfriend, Latin music sensation Luis Miguel has not visited her at the nuthouse yet. Like that's any big shock. If he can't pork her in there...why visit the skank?

So Mariah's in a straitjacket, eyes rolled back in her head and drool pouring out of her mouth as she makes those high pitched squeaks while dogs for twenty miles around are rolling around on the ground holding their ears.

It's so, so sad.

I hope you get better soon, Mariah. Soon enough to hear the peals of laughter coming from theaters nationwide when your serious attempt at presenting your life story on the silver screen unfolds.

You simple-minded tramp, you.


Guess what?

Uncle Bob has pissed off the PETA people.

Yep, yep, thank you very much...

Yesterday, the newspaper that I used to work for up until a month ago ran a letter to the editor from one of the bigwigs with PETA from D.C. taking ME to task for the things I wrote about them back in May.

To summarize...PETA came to our city to hang out at a local junior high after school came out and handed out some sickening cards about why "Milk sucks" which is their whole new campaign. They say that milk isn't good for you...it makes you fat, causes zits, gives you gas and kills you.

I said they had crossed the line this time.

Anyway...they wrote a letter that explained their point of view and they apparently weren't too happy with my public lambasting of them.

Hey...if I have to go down in history as one of the few morons to stand up to this bunch of psychotic fucks in a public forum...so be it.

Just as long as I get to keep my steaks and hamburgers.


Hey...I just found something out!!

No Doubt is still around and making records!!

Who woulda thunk it??


Andy shit the strangest turd last night.

It was big and round and flat like a pancake.

I must have stared at it for like a minute, trying to figure out how he did it.

Susie said that it must have came out and hardened in his diaper.

I say...no way.

We could have played frisbee with it. I had just changed his diaper maybe an hour before hand and there was no way it could have been shat, formed into a solid and left no trace of poo-poo on his booty.

It was really bizarre.

I thought about sending it off to Ripley's Believe It or Not or Guinness Book of World Records, but I doubt they would have appreciated it as much as I did.

So I wrapped the diaper up and threw it away.

My boy.

He's one amazing little shitter, he is.

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