LET ME DO A COMMERCIAL FOR UNIVERSAL STUDIOS

While celebrating our 11th anniversary last summer, Mrs. Uncle Bob and I took an impromptu trip to Universal Studios in Orlando. Or as it's known by people that have been there: "Come Pay A Hundred Dollars To Stand In Line And Sweat Your Genitalia Off Land"

If you have never been to Universal Studios, it's a lot like feeding your dog peanut butter. The whole thing is pretty fun the first time. But if you do it twice you've gotta be fuckin' deranged.

Our "fun-filled stay" at Universal started in the parking garage. The parking garage is, by my estimation, 37 miles from the park itself. There are a few escalators and moving sidewalks, which are jammed with homeless families who can't afford the admission prices into the actual park so they ride these "free rides" back and forth until the little homeless kids tire out and then they hitchhike back to wherever their bridge is for the night. So you can forget about the moving sidewalks, soldier, your pansy ass is going HIKING.

We finally arrived at the ticket window after numerous bathroom breaks and a presidential election. At this point, we got in the Neverending Line at Universal. One thing that Universal doesn't cover in their fancy little brochures that clutter up every rest area in the South ... once you park your car at Universal, you then start waiting in line for EVERYTHING. Fifteen minutes later, I'm sweating like John Rocker on a New York subway as we finally get to the front of the ticket line. My wife hands the dumpy, plain young woman behind the window her credit card and then signs the credit card voucher.

The young lady behind the window, looked at the voucher then looked at the credit card and said "These signatures don't match. I need to see some I.D."

First off ... my wife is the furthest thing from a criminal. She looks like a school teacher, not an ex-con for Christ's sakes.

Second, the dumbass had left her purse in the car, which was 48 miles behind us. The only thing she had brought with her was her credit card which I was carrying.

"My I.D. is in my purse in the car," my wife started to explain to the ticket girl.

"I'm sorry," the bitchy-assed virgin wallflower behind the window interupted. "But I need to see some I.D. before I can accept your credit card."

At this point, I figured that I was going to be as good as anybody to vouch for my wife in Orlando, fucking Florida. So I stepped into the situation.

"This is my wife," I said, pointing at Susie and speaking as if I were trying to communicate with a near-deaf Russian while using broad hand gestures and pseudo sign language.

"Sir, I have to see her I.D., the card is in her name," she injected.

The entire line behind us groaned. It took everything I had to keep from throttling this little hairy coloned psycho bitch, but something tells me Universal Studios frowns on guests that roughhouse their little 16 year-old bitch ass employees.

Usually I'm not the type of person to curse in public. I usually respect those around me, especially children and try to refrain from any outbursts that would make my mother cringe.

But I had just walked 161 miles from a parking garage in sole-blistering heat and stood in the first 15 minute line of the day. Only to be told that I had to walk back those 283 miles and get my wife's drivers license so this four-eyed little cretin who had to squint as if she were staring at an eclipse to even SEE the signature, could feel confident enough to let us into her precious fucking park. Plus she had a snippy little attitude to boot.

I called her an "unholy fucknugget". I tried to get her to understand that the reason she was such a bitch ass was because she was never EVER going to get her hairy ass laid. I gave her a beauty tip...shoot herself.

I even said "I hope you fall and break your liver, you little four-eyed beast." And that was to some homeless kid on the escalator that I shoved out of the way as I bounded up the stairs past him on my way back to the car. His parents ran to his side to make sure his hitchiking thumb was still okay, and then they huddled together at the side of the road and began their long journey home to their warm overpass.

We retrieved Susie's I.D., went back in line, got into the park with no further problems when my wife brought up an interesting fact.

"Why didn't we just get in another line and try it again with another cashier?" she asked.

I stared at her, silently marveling in her genius yet wanting to bitch slap her for having an incredibly slow thinking process at times.

Once inside Universal Studios, it doesn't take long to see the general lack of enthusiasm on everyone's face while they wait in line. Then again ... you're standing in 90 degree heat in early August, surrounded by a couple of thousand people, each of whom has their own personal sweaty stench. And you have another HOUR left of this shit before you're quickly whisked into an air conditioned building, thrashed around like a pitbull's chew toy for two minutes and then tossed back into the heat like a puppy who just wet on the new carpet. It wasn't exactly what I had envisioned Universal to be, but I was afraid if I complained they'd send the bitch ass at the ticket window after me to compare my complaints and tell me they didn't fucking match.

Susie and I soon found out that we had visited Universal on "Tattoo Day." I'm not completely up to snuff on all the rules and regulations of the promotion, but it looked to me like for every tattoo you had on your body, you received a dollar off of the $42 admission price. And from my estimate, there were about 30,000 guests who got in free that day. Hundreds probably earned rebates. There was one woman in particular walking around in a bikini who looked as if she had gone AWOL from a freak show. I seriously thought she was part of the Universal Studios entertainment and tried to get my photo taken with her but she kicked me in the groin and walked away before the wife could snap the shot. That's when it dawned on me that she was probably not an employee. The pierced nipples shoulda been a dead giveaway.

I don't have a tattoo and neither does my wife. And you can bet your sweet ass we were giggled and pointed at all day because of our unblemished pink skin. Now I finally know how that big-headed kid in "Mask" must have felt. We were freaks.

Other than the lines, the freaks and the bitch ass up front, I enjoyed the park immensely. Granted ... I have a few suggestions. The ride known as "Back To The Future" would be less deceptive if they just called it "Back to the Chiropractor." Yeah ... there's a list outside the attraction warning people with back pains, neck aches, motion sickness, claustrophobia and more to not ride the ride. And yeah....out of eight different restrictions, I suffered from six. The only two that I didn't qualify for were being pregnant and Amish.

So if you're in the Orlando area, give Universal a try. Three simple rules: Drink plenty of water, wear light clothing, and whatever you do DON'T forget to dot your "i"s for that bitch ass whore up front.

How can I do something daring and crazy that would make Uncle Bob notice me???

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