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8:17 a.m. - 2002-07-16


So yesterday, I’m beckoned to come meet the wiring guy at the new house. This is the guy who’s going to run all the wiring for my cable, computer, fax, phone, surround sound, etc.

I’m supposed to meet him at 9 a.m. No problem. I can do that.

Except for the fact that the Mrs. has some kinda Botswana Bulgarian Flu or something. She’s coughing out her eyes or some shit. I say it’s bronchitis, but there’s really no telling.

So it’s up to me to get the kid up, feed him and get him dressed and to daycare on the other side of town … then get myself to work and get some work done before everyone shows up and wants to stop by my office to tell me about their weekends and how they got drunk or laid or whatever while I spent the weekend with a human hacking machine and a toddler who’s developing a serious attitude and he’s not even two yet.

I get all that done. The kid went to daycare in a pair of cloth overalls. No shirt. No shoes. Had it been McDonald’s the little bitch would be getting no service. But it’s daycare, where he’s just going to strip down to a diaper anyway in five minutes, so it’s no biggie. I was actually doing everyone a favor by not getting him all decked out.

I get to work, get about five paragraphs written for a hotel and then have to go meet Mr. Wire Guy.

Senor Wire Guy is all that and a bag of chips.

Y’see…I HATE suggestive selling. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

Like when you take your car to the shop to get a new tire put on it. Then the mechanic calls you at work and says you need new brake pads and new bearings and brushings and your ass waxed or whatever else he can think of off the top of his head.

Dude. I brought it in to get a new tire. You’re NOT selling me the bearings and brake pads and brushings. Wait. On second thought, I WILL buy those brake pads. I’ll buy two of them if you let me watch you shove them all the way in your ass sideways until they disappear. That way, instead of ME, it will be YOU getting it in the ass! Wheee!

But Mr. Wire Guy…well….he talked my kinda language when it came to suggestive selling.

I told him we wanted some outdoor speakers for our back patio. To sit and listen to tunes on a warm summer’s eve, sipping pina coladas and watching Mattie Gee’s wife Cate take a bath since their bathroom window faces our back patio and this is something Mattie Gee didn’t take into consideration until I saw it for myself and now I’m threatening to check his naked wife out and he’s panicking and it’s making me giggle like a mofo that he’s all upset about the shit.

Mr. Wire Guy says that’s no problem. It’ll cost $45 extra to wire the outside for speakers.

Wait a second…$45?!?!?

That’s IT?!?

Yep. That’s all.

Then, he says the ten magic words … the ten magic words that made me pop an Uncle Chubby and make me want to rub myself all over him:

“Are there any other rooms you’d like wired for sound?”

Before I could stop it, the words “Bitch, don’t be teasing my ass!” fell out of my mouth.

We walked back to the master bathroom. Now…I know that at one time in my life I have either read something or saw something or heard something that said if you want to fix up a room in your home that would eventually help you sell the home, you needed to fix up either the kitchen or the bathroom.

Our bathroom is already going to have a marble shower built for a Roman orgy.

It’s also going to have a Jacuzzi tub, shooting hot jets of bubbly H2O all over your skin until you sigh and succumb to its wonderful tubfulness.

Sooooo…why not equip it for stereo sound??

So now, we’ve got some hidden speakers that will be inside the ceiling, so that luxurious bath will be even more luxurious as the mellow strains of “Cheap Trick Live At Budokan” will seduce you into a warm and fuzzy feeling.

…Or you can crank up Celine Dion to help you get past a mild bout of constipation. Either way.

There will be volume controls both indoor and outdoor for the individual sets of speakers. So hypothetically, Andrew can watch his stupid little “Wiggles” show in the morning while we can jam out to some Ted Nugent in the bathroom.

I am SOOOO looking forward to my new tub. As many of you know…I’m a big man. I stand 5’14” and weigh in at a whopping two hundred plus pounds. Normal-sized bathtubs shriek when they see my naked form coming their way. Jack Nicholson stands over the bathtubs as I waddle their way, screaming “YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE BOB!!”

And he’s right because they cannot.

But this new tub…ahhhhhh…It’s so big that I can stretch my legs out underwater and I can sit down in it without having to call my wife to bring the Shedd’s Spread to grease up my sides to get me outta the damned thing. And now, thanks to the miracle of Mr. Wire Guy, I’ll be able to lay in that tub, have jets of water swirling around me like liquid fairies while I jam out to tunes coming from the ceiling.

Calgon…take my big ass away.

In a nutshell…my dream bathroom just got even dreamier.

Mr. Wire Guy asked if I’d like some speakers in my office.

Ladies and gent … I bit my tongue so hard that it developed callouses. But I was able to show some restraint and told Mr. Guy that I would have to stop there. I felt like a contestant on “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” stopping at the $500,000 question and not going for the whole million.

When I said “no”, he hissed and recoiled, as it was obvious he thought he had reeled in a sucker and that I was going to keep going until he had the closets wired for sound. I complimented him on his lovely suggestive sales techniques and he panted like a good dog, joyous for the remark.

He then told me to come out to his business where he had all sorts of audio/video stuff for sale including a 106” television screen.

That was all it took. I then started humping his hip until he threatened to punch me. Sorry…sometimes I just can’t hide my joy.

My favorite Chinese place got a pretty bad food inspection last week from the County Health Department.

They received an 82 for storing some meat on the floor and for letting raw meat drip into the cabbage.

I must ask … where the hell else are you supposed to store shredded cat??

I want to overlook this rating because I go to this place once a week and eat until my bowels are screaming … but I have a real problem with my Mongolian Poodle having been on the floor before it got to my mouth.

I will keep you updated on the situation.

I received my hotel reservation for my trip to the Gulf Coast next week.

I will be staying at the Isle of Capri Casinos, which means that I need to remember to slick my hair back, rent a tux and look like a high rollin’ playa during my stay.

I’m taking $100 to gamble with.

I have no idea how to gamble.

But I’ll be gambling by myself which tells people one thing … this guy has gambled his wife and children away and now he’s a pathetic loser who’s living on the skids.

I think I’ll stick with the slot machines. I believe I can master how to drop coins in a slot and pull a handle.

Here’s how I’ve gambled the last two times I’ve been in a casino (20 years ago).

I put all the money that I brought with me in my left pocket.

I put all the money that I win in my right pocket.

When my left pocket is empty, I leave with what I have in the right pocket.

If it’s five bucks, so be it.

If it’s a thousand, so be it.

More than likely, it’ll be empty. So be it.

Lady Luck has never been on my side.

She was behind me once in a convenience store. But never by my side.

That’s it….Captain Cryalot is awake and wants someone to come rescue him from his crib. And since Mama’s still hacking up her esophagus, I’m basically a single parent again this morning.

So take care.

Talk to ya tomorrow.

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