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5:57 p.m. - 2002-12-17


You know what really burns my ass?



I just made that up.

But seriously folks…how do you know that you have hemorrhoids the first time?

I understand it’s a burning sensation in your ass area. Got it. There’s no need to paint me a picture there.

What I want to know is … let’s say you have this burning sensation. But what if it’s just a boil or ingrown ass hair and not a hemorrhoid?

How do you know the difference?

I guess that first, you’d want to consult with a friend who’s had them before who can give you a bit more insight into the phenomenon. But it has to be someone you trust who’s not going to show up at your workplace the next day saying “Hey Bob…here’s some cream for that hemorrhoid you were bitching about over the phone last night.”

You could always go to the doctor. But once again … what if you go and this isn’t a hemorrhoid? Let’s say it’s a paper cut on your rectum. I’m willing to bet that would be pretty painful. Or maybe you accidentally sat on a cucumber and it jammed its way far up into your anal regions and did some rectal tissue tearing. And the doctor just laughs as his face is buried in your ass and says “It’s not a hemorrhoid, you moron … it’s an inflamed ingrown ass hair that has a paper cut right down the middle.”

I mean…that’s gotta be pretty degrading when you hear something like that in a doctor’s office … right??

I’m not asking this because I have a painful, itchy burning sensation in my ass … this is just a thought that’s been bugging me the last few days like a painful itchy burning sensation in my ass.

I don’t really need any feedback on the issue either.

Consider all this a hypothetical rant.


The LAST thing I want to hear about is you people’s hemorrhoids.

I mean…ewwww…

I’m getting older.

How do I know this?

I have recently added my very first wrinkle.

I’m 40 years old. Same age as Tom Cruise, I think. Maybe a bit older. I can never remember for sure. It’s not like Tom’s keeping up with my age either, so I don’t feel too awful bad about this fact.

Anyway… I was shaving the other day and happened to glance at my forehead.

There was a line going a few inches across my forehead.

I raised my eyebrows to make it disappear.

It didn’t.

I lowered my eyebrows, thinking that would do the trick.

Nope. Still there.

I grabbed a washcloth, ran it under the faucet and dabbed at my head, thinking maybe it was just a line drawn by a pencil even though I haven’t used a pencil since high school.

Still there.

I ran my finger across it and felt nothing.

But I can see it.

It’s there.

My first wrinkle.

I haven’t been this depressed since I first caught a glimpse of my bald spot in a three-way mirror while lip-syncing “It’s Raining Men” into a woman’s shoe while waiting for my wife to come out of the dressing room in the middle of Macy’s.

I pride myself on my youthful, boyishly handsome good looks that melt most women’s hearts who happen to possess particularly poor eyesight.

But this wrinkle…well … no pun intended but it just throws a wrinkle into my plans.

Alright…fine….YOU CAUGHT ME!!

I fully intended to use that pun!!


That was RICH, my friend….RICH!!!

Y’know … I may try to paint myself as some sort of big badass on this site, but the truth is … I love me some scented candles.

I’ve gone into my feelings for Yankee Candles here in the past and about how I have to avoid going in their stores in the malls because I’m in there all day, huffing each candle until visibly upset employees have to call mall security to make me leave.

I bought nine candles yesterday. They weren't Yankee Candles, which are the finest money can buy.

Nay ... these were cheap knock off candles. I think they're called Aromasense or something like that.

Three cinnamon candles … two Maple Vanilla Pecan … one Orange Peel … one Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough … one Chocolate Mint and one Vanilla Berry.

My co-workers hate when I get new candles. Yesterday, I’d burn one for an hour, put it out and then light up a different scent, filling the air with an orangey cinnamon chocolate berry scent. It ended up smelling like Martha Stewart took a dump in there and used rose petals to wipe her fruity ass.

Edweird came in, scrunched his nose up and said it smelled like bug spray in my office.

Edweird apparently has a pretty limited sense of smell.

Of course, he's actually a man who does not appreciate the finer things in life such as cheap scented candles.

His wife is a lucky, lucky woman.

(That was sarcasm)

I'd better mention this now because if I don't mention it now, I'll think that I mentioned it now and then I'll never mention it again so that when it happens, you can all say "Uncle come you didn't mention this before?" And I can say "Well, I thought I did, but I guess I didn't because sometimes I choose to go on with my real life rather than tell you guys every single detail of my life." And then you can all feel bad because you'll be reminded that C'MON PEOPLE...this is only a diary, for Pete's sakes and you'll look down at your pasty skin and think "Gee ... when was the last time I actually went outside rather than hang on every single one of Uncle Bob's last words?"

And really ... who wants THAT to happen?

Anyway...a reader of this diary by the name of Carolyn is also a college professor at the University of Alabama.

Carolyn teaches a journalism class to the best of my recollection.

And on February 13th, she's going to have a special guest come speak to her class about humor writing.

Care to guess who that might be?

C'mon...take a guess.

No...seriously...guess again.

You're getting warmer.



Does anybody else get the feeling that Carolyn's about to get canned for making such a rash decision as to have UNCLE F'N BOB come speak to a class of horrified college seniors?

Here's the sweet part ... this diary is going to be required reading for her students for a while.

Uncle Bob.

REQUIRED reading.

Yes, you read that correctly.

A college class that will focus on this diary for a short amount of time.

"Fucks" and all.

My mom would be so proud.

...If I could only tell her about this site...

So I get to speak for 90 minutes about how I do this, what all I've done with my life and writing, and my strange obsession with genitalia, asses and cursing like a second grader.

I'm actually excited about this. I've spoken to students from second grade all the way up to college in the past, but that was always about serious journalism. This time, we talk about writing humor.

I guess I've gotta come up with some witty ancedotes about the process of writing crap each morning.

You know...the early stuff (pre June 2000) was all written while I was stoned out of my gourd.

I wonder how that'll fly in the class when I say "You guys know how to roll a blunt? Then you can write humor!!"


Makes me wish I was one of the college students now.

Anyway...that happens in February.

Wish me luck.

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