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21:44:00 - 2000-03-05

HEY KIDS ... Wanna listen to Uncle Bob on the radio? Turn your Internet dial to RIGHT HERE Monday morning and click on the "Star 98" button. I'm calling in to the station about 7:15 a.m. central time and will play a guy who's getting married soon and his in-laws want to buy him a new house ... They will play my call about 7:30 a.m. CENTRAL TIME or so (approximately) so if you wanna hear me on the radio...this is a good way to do it.

THE WORST DATE OF MY LIFE

Okay ... against my better judgement ... you get this story. The worst date of my life.

In many ways, it was one of the worst days of my life. BUT ... there was a day that was MUCH worse than this that I will tell you about someday.

I had won a pair of concert tickets off a radio contest to a show that was going to have four bands performing. (The bands being Mahogany Rush, Angel, Humble Pie and Mother's Finest...ask your parents, they might remember them ...) I had asked a girl named Sharon from school to go with me to the show. Sharon agreed, it was a date. I informed her I'd pick her up around 6 for the concert.

That day, my high school chorus had a show at MTSU, a college in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. We ate lunch at a place, B&L Pizza, which I will never forget because ... well ...you'll see. Decent pizza ... but...well...you'll see...

I had driven my own car to Murfreesboro because I knew I'd have precious time before I had to be at Sharon's.

About 4 p.m., just as our chorus was about to take the stage, I figured out what the B&L stood for in the pizza.

Butt Load of Bowel Losing pizza.

My abdomen began cramping so bad I thought I'd pass out. I knew two things... one...if I didn't get to a bathroom and QUICK, I was going to do irreparable harm to my insides.

And two ... I will NOT use a public restroom.

Count me among the many who just say no to public potties. Now I will pee in public 'til the cows come home. In fact ... it's often hard to get me to pee in a restroom when the great outdoors is so wide open. I love slingin' the shlong in the night air and relieving myself on the side of a bar every now and then.

But if you think I'm going to do the most personal thing a man can do in front of an audience of judges who are outside the stall door making faces and trying to crack each other up ... you're DEAD WRONG, Kathleen Turner...That's where I DRAW THE LINE.

We finish our portion of the chorus thing and I told the chorus director I was out of there, I had an appointment back in Nashville.

I drove until what I thought looked to be the cleanest, most secluded bathroom in a gas station and pulled over.

Believe it or not, I took control of the situation and got over that fear of public pooping in about the time it took me to lock the stall door. It's funny what a twisted lower intestine can reduce a man to in a desperate moment.

I hopped back in the car, my stomach completely at ease. And continued my journey to Sharon's house.

Picked Sharon up.

"Would you like to grab a bite to eat before the concert?"

"Sure, that sounds great? Can we go to Sir Pizza?"

My stomach began rumbling at the word "pizza". A mild rumble. Probably just nerves.

"Sure. I had pizza for lunch that almost ripped my colon to shreds about 45 minutes ago ....but yeah...pizza sounds great..."

We went to Sir Pizza and ordered.

And the tummy got increasingly rumbly.

LOUD rumbly.

So loud, Sharon complained about the bass in the restaurant's jukebox to the management and asked them to turn it down.

Meanwhile, I've broken a sweat as I desperately try to fight the searing pain going on in my bowels.

"Are you okay," Sharon asked.

"A little hot," I lied. "I need to go get a wet paper towel out of the bathroom...be right back."

I walked to the bathroom, cheeks clenched tightly, thighs together.

The bathroom was directly behind Sharon's right shoulder. A small, one toilet, one sink bathroom. No exhaust fan. Loud acoustics.

This wasn't going to WORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKKKK.....oh goddammit ... I've gotta do something, okay...just a little....

I sat down and managed to release a little of the tension and buildup. Not enough to make a scene.

And ...as I found out five minutes later...not enough to rectify the situation at hand.

I managed to eat about three bites of a slice of pizza when I realized if I took one more bite I was going to soil myself right there. I had no control over my bowels, they had gained total control over me.

Pop quiz hot shot ... you're at the very beginning of a very long first date with a chick that you're trying to impress ... your bowels are on FIRE ... and you're in a tiny, four table restaurant with one bathroom used by everyone.

What do you do, hot shot? What DO you DO???

I held it. I fought violent waves of nausea and cramps that would bring an elephant to its knees for over six hours.

The concert was nearly unbearable. There was no way I was using the Auditorium's facilities. There were women in there, puke everywhere, and the toilets hadn't been flushed since November.

I just wanted to sit there, shit my pants, try to pass it off as a horrifying accident to Sharon, and then leave the concert, naked from the waist down and trying to convince everyone that I was trippin' on acid by my bizarre body language.

Alas ...Mama raised me better. So I sat there fighting back tears from the pain.

We didn't stay around for the last two bands. I wanted to "beat the traffic". What 18-year-old leaves a concert to "beat the traffic"??

One with about 12 lbs of crap churning in his tummy, that's who.

I dropped Sharon off, walked her to the door and practically SHOVED her inside saying how I was just exhausted, blah, blah, blah....maybe another time, blah, blah, blah and then

RACEDHOMEFASTERTHANSPEEDRACERONHISBESTFUCKINGDAYCOULDDO ....

....And quickly became one with the world via the National Sewer Systems of America.

To this day, I HATE Mahogany Rush, Angel, Humble Pie and Mother's Finest.

I hate pizza that I've never tried in the privacy of my own home first.

I HATE chorus meets.

I've had other equally bad dates, but those concerned me, a drunken Dunkin' Donuts employee who had just divorced her midget husband and the act of getting a wooden chili spoon jammed up my ass on accident.

And believe me, sweetheart...that's a whole 'nother story for a whole 'nother day...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Hey! Come answer my QUESTION OF THE DAY .

If you want to read my OTHER diary when UNCLE BOB was 18 and pitiful , PLUS check out my senior yearbook photo (I'm not gay...but I woulda done me...) CLICK HERE .

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