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5:30 a.m. - 2002-09-26


Can I bitch for a second?

Just a second??

I promise...bitch time will equal exactly one second and then I'll move on. I promise.



Fucking companies that take your fucking money before they fucking perform the fucking service that you're fucking paying them to fucking perform will always ... ALWAYS ...fuck your fucking ass over.


I feel better already.


So yesterday, I called this fucking company who installed my Home Theater last week except for ... oops!...the subwoofer.

For those of you who have no idea what a subwoofer is, it makes the loud bass sounds that basically make a Home Theater a Home Theater. Until you add the subwoofer, all you have are a bunch of tinny-sounding speakers chirping like retarded birds.

The guy installing the thing gave me hope though. He said "Your subwoofer could come in on the truck today. If it does, they'll bring it to your house immediately."

"Awesome!" I thought to myself. "These guys are really on the ball!"

It didn't come that day.

Nor the next.

Or the next.

Or the next.

Or the next.

The next came!!

...But they didn't bring it to my house immediately.

Noooo...the next day (Tuesday) I got the call from Mr. Never Returns Calls who left a voice mail for me at my office saying it had come in and to call him back to set up a time to install it.

It's a speaker. Why in God's name I have to have THEM install it is beyond me.

So I called the guy back not once, not twice, but THREE FUCKING TIMES on Tuesday...trying to get hooked up with my subwoofer so I could FINALLY enjoy my Home Theater.

...Needless to say, the shitdick never called me back.

So yesterday, as I'm driving through the pouring rain which we've dubbed "Isidore" I call the guy again.

He answers.

"Dude,you're hard to get ahold of," I say.

"Yeah, I stay busy," he says proudly like the fact that he's busy is a good enough reason to suck as a businessman.

"I need you to come install my subwoofer today after 5:30," I said.

"Can't do it," he answers.



"Can't do it?" I repeated, but adding a slight inflection at the end to insinuate that I couldn't believe he was telling me "No".

"I'm booked today," he said.

"How about tomorrow?" I asked.

"I'm out of town tomorrow," he replied.

"Look," I said, driving through puddles as big as ponds and trying to avoid running off the road and killing myself. "I ordered this subwoofer two months ago. You got it in two days ago. I called you three times yesterday to set up an appointment to install it and you WOULD NOT RETURN MY CALLS. Now that I've finally been able to pin you down, you're telling me that you won't deliver the item that I have already paid for??"

"Can I call you right back?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I've been through that with you. We're working something out RIGHT NOW."

"Hang on," he said, putting me on hold.

I waited and drove while dodging lightning bolts and falling power lines.

He finally came back on.

"I can have someone at your house tomorrow night at 5:30," he said.

"Tomorrow at 5:30?" I confirmed.

"Tomorrow at 5:30," he confirmed back.

"Fine," I said. "I'll be waiting for them at my home."

And I hung up.

I drove a mile...MAYBE a mile...when my cell phone rings.

If this was the same cockmonkey that I just talked to breaking our date, I was fully prepared to go to his office and swing him around by his testicles until he screamed for mercy.

It wasn't him.

It was the furniture store. The one that owes me four leather chairs.

"Uncle Bob," the girl says. "Your four leather chairs are in and you can pick them up on Saturday."

"Saturday?" I asked. "Why not today?"

"Well...they're not in our store, they're in our regional warehouse," she sheepishly replied.

"Well where's your regional warehouse?" I asked.

"Atlanta," she says.

A mere three hour drive from here.

"I was under the impression that they would be delivered to my house," I said. "We ordered them and they were to be delivered with everything else that we ordered. After we ordered them, we got the call that they weren't in stock and would have to be ordered and wouldn't come with our original delivery, but that as soon as they were in, they'd be delivered to my home."

"Well..." she says. "The first delivery date I have open is October 16th."

Basically three weeks away. Three more weeks of eating dinner standing up at the table. No thank you.

"So you're telling me that when I get to your store at 10 a.m. on Saturday, my four leather chairs will be waiting for me?"

"Yes sir," she confirmed.

"Fine," I said. "We'll see if I can get four leather chairs in a mini van."

(I doubt that it's possible. Especially since I'll have Andrew with me, so I HAVE to leave the back seat in the van for his car seat)

I hung up the phone and waited for it to ring again, this time from God, telling me it'd be a while before he could get me in to Heaven, but that he had a lovely place called Purgatory where my soul could take a breather for several lifetimes until something could come open.

I got a call from my wife at work yesterday.

"I've got good news and I've got bad news," she said.

"What's the good news?" I ask.

"The phone guy's out at the house hooking up our phone," she said.

"Bad news?" I asked,closing my eyes and bracing myself.

"When he got to the house, the front door was wide open," she said.

Oh shit!

Did anybody steal my collection of empty Diet Dr. Pepper cans?!?

Apparently, somebody didn't lock the front door yesterday morning and somehow the winds (from our friend Isidore) blew the door open.

...That somebody being "moi".

Boy, was my face red.

Everything's fine inside the house. Luckily, it was raining and all of the construction workers didn't work on our cul-de-sac so there was NOBODY around our house all day except the phone guy. And he seemed to be pretty honest for even calling Susie to tell her the door was open. He coulda just waltzed in and helped himself to my Diet Dr. Pepper can collection or something.

Sooooo...remind me to lock the front door today before I leave for work.


If you haven't signed up for my Notify List, you're a fuckin' punkwad.

Man oh man...we be havin' some mighty big fun on the notify list. I send out cutesy little messages with my updates and everyone gets a chuckle that you guys who aren't signed up for it don't get.

It's like the sugar on the cereal. The frosting on the cake. The semen on the belly.

I strongly suggest you go to the bottom of this page, type your email address in the little box and begin basking in the entire Uncle Bob Experience.

Or not.

Hell if I care.

Mr. Subwoofer Guy had better be gone from here before "Survivor" starts tonight.

That's all I'm saying.

I watched the season premiere of "Ed" last night.

This was the first time I've watched the show without taking notes for my TWoP recap.

It felt weird.

Not as weird as being caught jacking off the family dog ... more like the weird feeling you get when you're camping and there's no toilet paper and you wipe your butt with a bunch of leaves and you start to wonder if there was any poison ivy in those leaves and then your butt starts to itch and you think "Ohmigod...I've got poison ivy on my ass" and you make everyone pack up their tents and stuff and you drive all the way back to civilization and go to the emergency room and the doctor tells you after several tests that you don't have poison ivy, you have a hemmerhoid.

That kind of weird.'s 6 a.m.

I've gotta go wake everyone up that's not up.

Peace be with you.

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