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5:18 a.m. - 2002-06-13


You know who I feel sorry for??

Robert Blake.

Yeah, yeah...the guy killed his wife and I shouldn't be feeling sorry for him.

But when was the last time you heard his name mentioned on the news???

THAT'S why I feel sorry for him.

O.J. got attention 24-7.

Bob Blake??

"You're arrested for the murder of your wife. Have you got anything to say?"

"Yeah, I've got something to say...I didn't do...."

"Whoa...time's up, Bob...go get in your cell."

"Son of a bitch."

And by all accounts, his wife was one of the most evil women on the planet. A drug addicted whore that preyed on lonely men, took all their money and moved on to the next man with no sympathy for their feelings.

The list of crap this woman pulled on men is endless.

And Bob gets saddled with the 'ho.

And then when he kills her, he's put in a cell and forgotten about and his "trial of the century" becomes about as much of a landmark trial as your average parking violation.

The poor goofy bastard.

My heart goes out to him. heart goes out to a murderer. He killed her because he couldn't take her evilness any more.

If I was the judge, I'd pat his 70 year-old ass on the back and tell him to scamper out of that courtroom and keep his nose clean.

The poor, poor bastard.

I stopped and got five dollars worth of lottery tickets yesterday while in Georgia because they have a lottery and we don't have one in Alabama because we are backward and have way too many Christians in this state who are convinced that if our state gets a lottery, all the whores are going to move to Alabama and set up camp and SEX US TO DEATH!!!(!)

Because that's what lotteries do...they attract WHORES!

I swear to you, that's the thinking of some of the people in our state.

Well I say...give the whores a chance.

Whores aren't all bad people. Sure...some of them are like Robert Blake's dead wife. But the majority of whores are just nice women who have lost all respect for their genitalia and let anyone with five bucks poke around in there.

Is that so wrong?!?

I think not.

So I say...let's get a lottery, Alabama.

And if the whores move here, let's be nice to them. We don't have to have sex with them if we don't want to. Nobody's going to force you to sex up a whore at gunpoint. Sure, there may be a few flashy pimps who don't really have the concept of prostitution down pat and may try to have us hump their girls at gunpoint. But I would think those pimps would be few and far between.

We NEED a lottery, Alabama.

...Mainly because I lost five fucking dollars on yesterday's lottery tickets and have to recoup my cash somehow.

...rabble scrabble Georgia lottery.

So anyway...went to Georgia yesterday to attend this military conference for the second day in a row.

I'm supposed to be at this assembly at 8 a.m. That's all that my evil boss asked me to do. Go to this assembly, take some notes and some pictures and then come home for the day.

Cool. This I can do.

So I left yesterday morning at 6 a.m. and had a great drive over there. Simply great. I had my rocking tunes, I cranked them up, and drove into the sun, wearing my new hipster "no glare" sunglasses and enjoying every damned minute of it.

Got to the base at 7:30. Had a half hour to get inside to the assembly. Cool. That'll get me a good seat down front.

Except...there's ... no...parking.

The parking lot was more full than a whore's vagina after a visit to a military base.

(Have you figured out the theme to today's entry yet?)

I drove around forever and finally found a makeshift parking place on the grass.

I walked briskly inside like I was all important and shit.

I get to the auditorium at 7:50 and there's two guards standing outside the doors.

"I need to get in for the conference," I said, flashing my cool yellow badge that basically says "He can get into the conference."

"Sir, you'll have to go upstairs to the balcony," the young and serious military man said. "It's full down below."

"Already?" I said, checking my watch, noting I had ten minutes until it began.

"Yes sir," the guy said. "It started at 7 a.m."

This was the part where I almost screamed "NO WAY! YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME, AREN'T YOU?!?"

I scrambled up to the balcony and saw a full house inside with a little speck of a man on stage telling them that as members of the Army it was their job to protect their country.

(On Tuesday, they showed a video before the conference that was like MTV meets the Army. Lotsa loud rock music and explosions in the video. My evil boss Wendigo was taking notes and wrote "The Army -- We're all about blowing shit up." That cracked me up.)

I was flustered. Can't say I was pissed. But flustered. Yeah. Flustered like a whore in a state with no lottery.

I pulled out my camera and took pictures of the guy on stage using my zoom lens.

They turned out horrible. Granted, the lighting was horrible. It was darker than the inside of a whore's vagina in there.

So everytime I snapped a picture, my flash would illuminate the room like a bolt of lightning and several young cadets would scream "INCOMING!!!" and they'd all jump up, pull out their guns and point them at me and I'd giggle and say "No, you dolts, it's just me snapping bad photos of the guy on stage." Then they'd all blush and giggle and sit back down and put the safety locks back on their rifles.

I heard the tail end of the guy's speech and then he took questions from the men in attendance who asked him questions that I couldn't hear because I was about two miles away from them in this cavernous auditorium, and this Army guy would answer the questions in a very quiet voice which shocked me because Army guys are constantly yelling and then when they get older, apparently they get all gentle and quiet and reserved.

I wanted to yell "Speak up, my man!"

But I didn't.

So then the assembly was over. I pulled out my schedule and sure enough...the schedule I had printed off of the internet said it started at 8 and not 7, so I wasn't wrong. They had apparently changed the time after they had posted it on the internet. This wasn't a shock to me because I gathered that this entire conference was poorly organized, as several things had gone wrong over the last two days. Most notably, the complete absence of legitimate whores there.

So I walked out of the assembly with all the grunts in attendance and found a guy that works for our company.

I'd tell you the guy's name, but I'm not going to. His father is the governor of one of the states here in the south and this guy hobnobs with the rich and famous on a daily basis. He went to the big Tyson-Lewis fight last week and sat next to Tyra Banks. So ... if you wanna know who I'm talking Tyra Banks.

Anyway, I bitch to him that I drove all the way to Georgia for this conference and it started an hour earlier than they had said it would.

He's all like "Tough shit, U.B."

He told me that there was another conference in three hours that the guy in charge was going to cover, but maybe since I had driven all that way IIIIII could cover it instead. what you're telling me want me to wait around for three hours until this next conference starts and get shitty pictures in a dark auditorium with no spotlights and listen for an hour to a guy talk about how the Army is good, giving several hundred grunts a pep talk using a bunch of language that I'm not familiar with?

"We'll see, you son of the governor," I said.

Honestly, I thought about staying. I walked around the conference and snapped some casual photos. I talked to a group of Army guys briefly and asked to get their opinions on the conference. They said they didn't think it would be wise to give their opinions to a publication without proper authorization. Fine. Be that way, ya buncha jarheads.

So I went outside and took some photos of some tanks that are capable of blowing some serious shit up. Things like villages in Afghanistan and shit.

I checked my watch.

Two hours and fifty-five minutes left.

I stood there, thinking to myself what the hell I would do for the next three hours.

I did a quick scan of my surroundings. Nope. No whores around. So sex was out of the question.

I checked my watch.

Two hours and fifty-four minutes left.

I made the decision.

And hiked to the car.

Got in.

Cranked the ignition.

And got the hell out of this conference, never bothering to look back.

We didn't hear from the lady that God has told me HAS to own our house yesterday.

So we should hear from her today.

I hope.

I asked God if it would be today and he's keeping mum on the subject.


So we'll see.

Alright...I've got stuff to do so I've gotta go.

And if you think for a split second that I'm going out trolling for whores at this hour, you're out of your cotton-pickin' mind.

I already told you...we don't have a lottery here in my state.

No lottery = No whores.

Pay attention, ya whore mongerer.

Peace out.

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