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9:37 a.m. - 2002-02-23


Alrighty then...the Army list is now officially cleaned up.

Once again, it couldn't have been done without the dozens of you guys scouring the list, checking dates and passwords. So thank you all once again. I'm going to try to get around to thanking each of you personally, but I'm really pretty sloppy about answering emails, so you may have to be completely satisfied with a public thank-you.

Now...inevitably...somebody's going to step forward and say that they were removed in error.

That very well may be.

Here's how we handle the situation.

You email me if you were wrongfully removed. You let me know you were wrongfully removed and I put you back up on the list.




Here's how we DON'T handle the situation...

You DON'T email me, calling me an "evil bastard from the bowels of hell", then spend the next week signing people's guestbooks and telling them what a hateful, horrible person I am.


I cannot get that whole "Glutton Bowl" show that was on FOX Thursday night out of my head.

Mainly because I actually watched it and anyone who saw it is now scarred for life. Except for Andrew, who watched it and didn't gain a life-altering experience from it like I did.

Luckily for me, Andrew was paying a bit more attention to the show and found the link to the International Federation of Competitive Eating.

I checked the site out and there's a ranking of the 68 active competitors currently on the circuit.

Now damned embarrassing would it be to be number 68?

The guy's name is Bill Visci. And currently, he is the absolute worst competitive eater alive today.

So what does that actually mean? That he's NOT a pig??

You've got to think ... the other competitive eaters must make a lot of fun about him behind the guy's back. I bet they call him names like "Skinny" "Captain Metabolism" and "Mr. Manners". I bet they taunt him, saying things like "You can't even eat four hamburgers at one sitting, you puss!"

They probably even have jokes about him.

How many Bill Viscis does it take to screw in a light bulb?

None...they're too busy EXERCISING!!


My heart goes out to big Bill. I'm sure he's probably a super nice guy who really really WANTS to be able to eat more than one cow brain at a sitting...but maybe it's time he dropped out of the competitive world of competitive eating and get into something a little more suited for him like regular eating or something.

The poor guy.

Well...I'm home all alone this morning.

Because Susie took Andrew to an emergency trip to the doctor.


My son has....










...the croup.

We were awaken this morning by the sound of a seal being tortured in our son's room.

"Did you forget to put the seal out last night?" my wife asked groggily.

"I think that's Andrew," I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "I'm no doctor, but that sounds like ass cancer."

We got up and Andrew sounded like Lucille Ball in the latter stages of her life. He was hacking deeply and had snot pouring out of every orifice on his head.

But he was in a GREAT mood. I think he likes the croup. He coughs and then grins. Maybe he thinks he's growing up. Or has hit puberty already. My kid's 15 months old and entering puberty. Goooo Drew!!

So he's playing with his toys today, coughing up a lung and grinning from ear to ear. He's babbling nonstop about his cough. I think he's babbling about his cough. He may still be upset about that whole Daniel Pearl thing. I can't tell when all his consonants revolve around the letters "B" "D" and "M".

Susie called the doctor's office and they said they could see him this morning. I hadn't showered and I was assured that Susie could handle this with no problem. The doctor would put his hand to Andrew's forehead and then give him a bottle of cough syrup.

It's not a big deal.

Still ... it's pretty cool to have a son that barks like a seal.

I'm seriously contemplating calling Barnum and Bailey and seeing if I can get him a job as Seal Boy.

Gotta pay for that college somehow...

While removing diaries from the Army list today, I came across a large number of diaries from diarists that knew they were typing their last entry and bidding farewell to everyone.

After a while, reading these final entries ... well...hell, I'll be honest...a lot of them were kinda funny.

I know that ending a diary can be traumatic for some people. It becomes a part of you that defines you as a person. It's where you've recorded all of your feelings and thoughts and it's personal to you.

But damn ... lighten up, folks.

I don't want to single out any former diarists and embarrass them here ... but these formal goodbyes that were intended to be dramatic and act as a form of closure in their lives were hilarious.

One person just wrote "Fuck you all" and that was it.

I probably took that a little too personally.

I'm sure when I finally hang up the Uncle Bob thing, I'll probably write some big tearful farewell too. I'd like to think I wouldn't, but it's inevitable. Everyone wants to go out with a bang. You want to walk away leaving an impression on the people that have gotten to know you through your journal. So you write some schmaltzy crap, thanking everyone for their support and rambling about how you've discovered so much about yourself from writing your journal.

Not me. The only thing I've discovered about myself is I've been a raging idiot for the last two years, getting up before dawn every morning to update this stupid bitch.

I started thinking that since there's so many diary sites now that aren't actual diaries but websites that focus on other diaries that SOMEBODY needs to start and compile all these goofy final goodbyes on one page.

It could be like the Uncle Bob Army. Just a list of now-defunct diaries that link to their final entry.

Actually, that may be a pretty crappy idea.

But it sure seemed pretty nifty while my son stood by my computer chair a few hours ago, staring and barking like a rabid seal.

I see that tomorrow night on CBS, the world premiere of "The Rosa Parks Story" will be on.

The movie was shot a year or so ago here in my city.

It's the movie that I auditioned for to be an extra in and didn't get the part because my arm was in a sling at the time and most honky racists in the 1950s weren't wearing arm slings.

I'm sure it couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact that I can't act to save my life.

Oh heavens no.

I'm a great actor.

Right now, I'm acting like a guy who's talking about crap that people could actually give a shit about.


I'm a helluva actor.

Don't forget it, Buster.

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