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8:14 a.m. - 2002-07-30


I have decreed in my infinite wisdom that there is no possible way to eat buffalo wings and still hang on to a shred of dignity while doing so.

I am a slave to the new Zaxby’s restaurant located a block from my office. At first, I was doing the right thing and ordering Zaxby’s salads for lunch.

…Lately … I’ve been ordering the wings, hustling back to my office, slamming my door and wolfing these things down with the voracity of a starving pitbull.

So yesterday, there I am at my desk, sucking the marrow out of these chicken bones when my door flies open and one of my co-workers stood there to ask me a question.

She didn’t say it. She didn’t HAVE to say it. But her face screamed “EWWWWWW!!” as if she was one of the gals on Sorority Life being forced to watch a porno.

I tried to excuse my carnivorous behavior as I wiped at my orange stained lips with the back of my forearm but it was too late. I was Captain Disgusting in her eyes … able to make women puke in a single meal.

Damned buffalo wings.

They’re out to get me, ya know.

I think I have Circuit City right where I want them.

As has been detailed in this diary on several occasions, Circuit City and I have not had the best relationship in the past. It has always been the hard-nosed jock with the heart of ice and I’ve always been its little whiny bitch baby, crying that it never treats me the way I deserve to be treated.

So I’m looking to purchase a new surround sound system for the new house and have been inside Circuit City roughly four times now to check out their systems. My trump card in this matter is that I am in no hurry to purchase this system. In the past, I’ve wanted my purchases RIGHT THEN and that’s where Circuit City and I have butted heads, because they’re a bunch of incompetent fart-snorters and they never have anything in stock like they say they do.

Yesterday, I went by there at lunch to tease the sales guys again. C’mon…I’m 40 with no life to speak of. I get my kicks wherever I can.

Here’s the conversation Mr. Sales Guy and I had yesterday.

SALES GUY: “Can I help you push your credit cards to the max today?”

ME: “Perhaps, Mr. Sales Guy. I’m looking to purchase a new Surround Sound system and money is no object. I want something nice and loud so that when I’m watching a porno movie, it sounds like I’m in the middle of an orgy.”

SALES GUY: “Well … we have this Bose system…”

ME: “Bose sucks.”

SALES GUY: “No sir…you’re mistaken. Bose is the best system we sell.”

ME: “Do you own a Bose system, Sales Boy?”

SALES GUY: “Why…no…I own a Sony system.”

ME: “Because Sony is infinitely better than Bose…correct?”

SALES GUY: “No sir…Bose is better. I just bought Sony because it was the best system available for the money that I was able to spend on it.”

ME: “So you’re saying that Sony’s better?”

SALES GUY: “No sir … Bose is better.”

ME: “Do you have ANY idea what you’re talking about, Junior?”

SALES GUY: (flustered) “Yes sir. Studies prove that Bose is the best system that we have to offer.”

ME: “What about Sears? I bet they have a system that can blow Bose away…right?”

SALES GUY: “I doubt it, sir. Sears doesn’t carry Bose.”

ME: “I didn’t ask you that, Sales Guy … follow me here. I asked if they have a system that can blow Bose away.”

SALES GUY: “I’m not sure, sir, since I don’t work there, but I’m guessing that they probably don’t.”

ME: “Does Kenmore make surround sound systems?”

SALES GUY: “I don’t think so, sir. They make dishwashers and vacuum cleaners.”

ME: “You don’t have to tell me that, Sales Guy. I’ve had a Kenmore vacuum cleaner for over 30 years. That thing SUCKS!!! Ahahaha!! Do you get it?? The vacuum cleaner SUCKS!”

SALES GUY: (laughing weakly) “Aha. Yes sir, I got it.”

ME: “So do you sell Kenmore surround sound systems, Sales Guy?”

SALES GUY: “No sir. That’s strictly a Sears brand.”

ME: “I know that, Sales Guy! What do you take me for, some sort of babbling buffoon? I was merely testing you.”

SALES GUY: “Sir … are you buying a surround sound system today or not?”

ME: “Uhhhhh… no. I was just bored and wanted to get out during lunch.”

SALES GUY: “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go wait on a different customer.”

ME: “Hey, I don’t see an anchor tied around your waist. Get moving, Slim. I’m sure your boss has really got to be pleased that you stood around and acted as the foil for my stupid gags for the last five minutes rather than make the company some money by hustling your two-bit Bose crap.”

SALES GUY: “Have a good day sir.”

ME: “Yeah. Whatever.”

Today, Celebrity “Watch Andrew” Week continues.

Since Andrew's daycare provider is on her second week of vacation, Andrew is having a slew of different people watch him.

Yesterday was Michelle, the cute little college girl that watches him at church. He was exceptionally good for Michelle, because he has a mad crush on her. He's never came out and said it ... you can just tell. Michelle is one of the few people that can make him smile just by looking at him. He gets all blushy and starts running around in little circles trying to cool off his face when she's around.


And not just Grandma...but Andrew's two cousins....Pervy and Sissy.

I'm going to have to do the Hair Test to make sure Pervy stays away from the few Playboys that I have left in my possession.

Y'see...when we moved out of the house, I gave every Playboy I had to my no-good, willie-grabbin', Diet Dr. Pepper-slurpin' brother-in-law as a gift for helping us move, since I didn't want him saying "Okay...that was worth $700, so now I only owe you $400."

Wrong, jackass.

But when we were carrying stuff over to the apartment, a few Playboys with Madonna in them were spotted in the bottom drawer of my nightstand next to my bed.

Fourteen year-old Pervy spotted them.

At one point, while Andrew was asleep and every able-bodied person was busy carting boxes in and out of the house, Pervy was put in charge of staying with Andrew while Susie went to get food for everyone.

Pervy was told "Leave the front door of the apartment UNLOCKED so that when the men get here, they can get in."

Susie left to get food.

Pervy locked the door to the apartment.

Pervy ran back to my nightstand.

And a pristine copy of a Playboy from 1985 with Madonna on the cover was defiled.


Treated like a dimwitted Polynesian whore.

Me and my buddies showed up at the apartment first.

I went to open the door.


I banged on the door.

Pervy (to the best of what we can figure out) ran back to the bedroom and shoved the Playboy between two boxes, then ran back to the front door and opened it.

We found the Playboy days later, still between those boxes. Which was proof that Pervy did all this. Because, as talented as some Playboys can be, there is no scientific proof that they are able to jump from a nightstand drawer and hop across a room to wedge themselves between two boxes.

Pervy strikes again.

Anyway ... the Hair Test.

Take a strand of hair.

Take two pieces of tape.

Tape one end of the hair to the nightstand base and the other end to the actual drawer.

If you come home and the strand is broken, you know somebody opened that drawer.

You can also do this with doors, by taping one end to the door frame and the other to the door. Open the door, the hair is broken...somebody's been in there.

My parents used this trick all the time on me as a kid, because once I found out the whole "Santa is a Scam" theory, I was the biggest gift snooper there was. From late October until Christmas morning, I wouldn't go ANYWHERE with my parents, always opting to stay at home by myself so I can scope out all the toys in their closet.

Once they discovered the Hair Test and I was busted ... that put an end to my snooping.

So today, we'll see if Pervy takes advantage of Grandma's nap time and tries to arrange a date with Madonna one more time.

And if he does....he's BUSTED.

Because the hair never lies.

Tomorrow, Andrew's being watched by Rev. Brian's wife, Carrie.

Thursday, Mama's actually staying home with him.

And cap off the week ... he gets one more nine-hour session with his college girl lover, Michelle.

Then it's back to daycare for the little monster.

Which he'll be thankful for...the kid LOVES daycare.

Speaking of which...he's awake now.

Uncle Bob’s gotta go switch to Daddy mode.

Peace out.

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