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5:58 p.m. - 2002-12-03


So ... my wife has finally gone off the deep end and is currently drowning.

I had no fucking clue that we had this many Santa Claus figurines in this house. None whatsoever. There is absolutely no need for a family to have this many different Santa Claus figures in one home.

She dug up some old wooden Santa Claus figures that we had apparently painted back in 1986 when we first met. My parents were into painting that year (they change hobbies every few years. This year, they're back to being alcoholics and gambling my inheritance away on video poker machines in skanky dives. Thanks Mom. Thanks Dad). They had set out some paint and some wooden blocks and showed us how to paint Santa.

Susie beamed when she saw them and got all sentimental over these wooden pieces of shit.

I reminded her that I was more stoned than Robert Downey Jr. when I painted mine and that if memory served me correctly, I was not only high, but we were both dabbling in the nose candy on that certain trip as well.

That earned me a swift jab in the ribs.

Anyway...the house that I spent six hours cleaning a week ago until it was spotless still looks like a scene from the first 30 minutes of "Saving Private Ryan" right now with shit scattered everywhere.

I gave her until tonight to get everything organized so I could clean up.

If she meets that deadline, I'll fall over dead.

Because it ain't happenin'. I'm going to be knee-deep in those ugly assed Annalee dolls by 10 pm.

I can just feel it.

Oh ... more little tidbit of news from last week ...

I've been assigned my new show to recap for Television Without Pity.

And it's one that I personally requested because it sounds like it will be the best show on television ever.

It's called "The Surreal Life" and it will be on the WB starting January 6th or sometime around there.

It's a reality show that will be very similar to MTV's "The Real World" where seven people will live in a house and will try to get along doing regular household chores and shit.

...Except these seven people are all former celebrities.

Well ... I guess technically you're NEVER a "former" celebrity. There's always a 7-11 opening somewhere that needs someone that used to be recognizable to show up and sign autographs for 20-30 people in exchange for a handful of beef jerky.

The seven people are MC Hammer, Emmanuel "Webster" Lewis, Gabrielle "Beverly Hills 90210" Carteris, Corey "Fucking Loser" Feldman, Vince "Motley Crue Lead Singer" Neil, Brande "Softcore Porn Star" Roderick and Jerri "Survivor 2" Manthey.

I mean...c'mon....the possibilities for entertainment with a cast like that are endless...right?

Jerri...the biggest bitch to ever walk on Survivor ... trying to get along with Rev. MC Hammer??

Vince Neil and Webster??

I smell Comedy Gold in the recaps for this show.

Naturally, I'll keep you all informed of what's going on in the weeks ahead. I want everyone that CAN watch it to watch it. It'll be on Thursday nights at 9:30 EST...right before "ER" and right after "Will and Grace".

So its main competition will be that "Yo Miami" show on NBC.

It'll SLAUGHTER that shit.

I'm a bit pissed because Mindy Cohn, the fat girl from "The Facts of Life" was supposed to be in it but it looks like they replaced her with Gabrielle Cartoonis. I'll admit ... I always rubbed my chubby whenever I saw Gabrielle onscreen because she's one hot little minx behind those Coke-bottle glasses.

But for the sake of entertainment ... I think Natalie and Vince Neil would have made for better television.

That slovenly whore thought Blair was tough to live with?? Try sharing a room with fucking Webster!


For those of you checking in for news on Pervy...there is none.

It's gotten to the point where I'm just resenting the hell outta him and not hardly speaking to him because I'm tired of him being here every Monday night.

We had two conversations last night that I can recap verbatim.

PERVY: "Hey Uncle Bob. Wassap?"

ME: "I'm cooking dinner"


PERVY: "Hey Uncle Bob ... can I play Minesweep on your computer?"

ME: "No. You can't"

That's it.

I hate the fact that I've got to be rude to this kid but I'm extremely uncomfortable around him. I feel like he's mentally undressing my fat ass every time he looks at me. I feel so ... used. And ... neglected.

Alright...I don't really feel neglected. It just sounded like a good word to use with "used".

I'm hoping that eventually...someday...maybe 10-15 years from now...the kid will be tolerable.

But by that age, he will still be scarred by the way I treated him back in 2002 and we won't have a decent relationship then where he would be able to show me the coolest porn sites and stuff.

So I'm basically shooting myself in the foot by being rude to him.

Because...I plan on staying with my wife forever.

But...let's face it...that 21 year-old body of hers that I fell in love with back in the mid-80s will be a fat glob of cellulite in 15 years.

I'm going to need the latest in downloaded porn to keep Lil' Bob happy by then.

And I'm quickly blowing off my future porn connection like a five dollar whore on her knees in a dark alley.


It's a Catch-22, my friends.

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