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5:59 a.m. - 2003-01-09


The snack machine at work is broken.

This really shouldn’t concern me because as of January 1st, my ass is supposed to be recoiling in fear from anything edible that you can buy from a machine with a handful of spare change.

But there’s these pork rinds sitting there in the C2 position. Barbecued pork rinds. Fifty cents. I could put fifty cents into the machine, push “C2” and voila! Instant pork rinds.

I dunno if you’ve done the research on pork rinds, but you can eat a snack-sized bag of them and it has the same nutrition as toilet paper. They’re neither good nor bad for you, so in my eyes, that’s the snack I’ve GOT to have.

But somehow, someone has taken the door that you retrieve the snacks from and jammed it inside the machine. So when the snacks fall, they fall on the back of that door which is wedged tightly in there.

And Snack Man hasn’t been by to fix it.

I’m beginning to worry about Snack Man. The guy is like clockwork…10:30 a.m. every morning, he wheels his big old cart of snacks in the building and restocks the machine. At 10:35 every morning, I’m shifting nervously from foot to foot like a little child waiting to sit on Santa’s lap, craning my neck to look over his shoulder to see what delicious bags o’ snacks Snack Man is going to be leaving us with today.

One time he left these TGI Friday Jalapeno Chips!! Oh goodness!! They were ever so tasty!!!!

He hasn’t been here in two days.

Meanwhile, the snack machine sits there silently, full of snacks with its door jammed up in it and a big handwritten sign that was scrawled on the back of a fax cover sheet declaring the machine “Out of Oder”.

It is situations like these that find me desperate to search for the right words in order to convey my emotions without using the words “Lazy motherfucking Snack Guy” over and over again.

It is situations like these where I feel that the best way to describe my feelings would be through song.

Or poem.

No wait…a sonnet!! Yeeeeeah…a sonnet.

So here we go.



O, where the fuck are you Snack Man?

Have you perished in a wreck?

Have you slipped in the shower and live alone with no one to discover your mangled naked body for several days?

Have you died from AIDS?

Did you eat too many snacks and explode?

For I know that would be my tragic fate

If I were to be left alone in your magical truck with no driver’s side door.

For longer than 10 minutes.

O where the fuck are you Snack Man?

Hast the wind swept you away like a bird on a pony?

Do you only pretend to know me

When I greet you in the bathroom with my “Takin’ a piss there, Snack Man?” greeting?

Please come back Snack Man.

And quit leaving so many fucking Nacho Cheese Doritos too.

I'm going to HAVE to stay home with Andrew today.

Last night, driving home from daycare, I could feel the onslaught of a cold coming on. My throat was dry and sore, my sinuses were stuffed and I felt run down.

Andrew was in the back seat, sneezing his nose off.

"You feelin' sick too, little buddy?" I asked him.

"Apple," he said mournfully.

"Apple indeed," I concurred.

As the night went on, his nose was running like a leaky faucet. I gave him Pedia Care and Tylenol Cold for infants, interchanging the two every two hours.

At 1:06 a.m., he was SCREAMING.

Keep in kid's precious ... he sleeps through the night, unlike some other amazingly adorable but otherwise sleep-deprived children that shall remain nameless.

Now, since 1:06 a.m. is not really the best time for me to display random acts of common sense, I leap from my bed and run into Andrew's room to see what's the matter.

He's standing there in his crib, tears running down his face and his head is hotter than a 12 page Pamela Anderson Playboy spread.

I muster up enough common sense to remember "Do NOT take him out of the crib. Give him a hug, console him, let him know you love him. But do NOT take him out of the crib."

I go to hug him and he wraps his arms around my neck and begins to pull himself out of the crib.

The kid is burning up with fever and is in obvious pain.

So I take him out of the crib.

We walk to the kitchen where I get him a glass of water and dope him up with some Tylenol for the fever.

We then stumble back to my bedroom where we both lay on the bed.

He fidgets for about an hour. Then he gets out of bed, goes in search throughout the darkened house for his precious flash cards and ends up standing in the dark in the den, crying because he's lost and scared.

I get up, go turn on the den light, find his flash cards and we go back to bed.

So now he wants to play his flash card game.

At 2:30 a.m.

I refuse to play. I let him get on the floor of the bedroom and with the light from the bathroom, let him lay out all his cards perfectly so he can admire them, then scoop them back up and start all over again.

Finally, the Tylenol hits him.

He's sitting on the floor in a daze. Staring at his cards, immobile.

"Are you ready to go to bed?" I ask.

"Apple," he says.

He climbs into bed with his flash cards. He lays down next to me with his feet firmly planted in my chest and his flash cards clutched tightly to his chest.

I watched him as he just laid there, eyes dulled, staring at the ceiling.

Finally...he went to sleep.

3 a.m.

I think I fell asleep. It wasn't a good sleep. One of those ones where you're not exactly sure if you were sleeping or laying there trying to get to sleep.

Anyway, I just checked his head and he still has a fever which means they won't accept him at daycare.

Susie's on her way back from Florida today and will be home tonight.

So I've got to stay home with him today and whether she likes it or not, she'll have to stay home with him tomorrow.

Not that it sucks, but when you become a parent, you have to take more sick days than you normally would being a non-parent because daycare providers frown on you bringing a sick kid in there to expose them to the other kids.

This means that I have to go to work feeling like death warmed over now and save my sick days for when I need to stay home with the boy.

But at least it's convenient that when he has to stay home sick, I usually catch what he's got too so that we're both sick.


Like YOU care.

There must be a God of cable television and internet service, because I have both this morning.

I keep expecting both to go out any second now. I bet by tonight they'll both be distant memories.

Heyyyy…speaking of tonight (you like that segue way?)….every single one of you bastards (and you loverly bitches) MUST watch “The Surreal Life” on the WB beginning at 9 eastern, 8 central, 9 mountain and … uhhhhh….probably 9 western. I don’t remember, it’s been a year since I was on the West coast. Whatever time CSI and Will and Grace come on…flip it over to the WB.

This is the show that I will be recapping for Television Without Pity after an eight-month absence from the site. The forums for the show are already taking off, but I need you guys to A) watch the show and then B) post some smartass comments about it on the forums. Believe it or not…the people in Hollywood keep a close eye on those forums and the more people that sign them and talk smack about the show, the better off the show will do in the long run.

Alright fine. I have no idea if that’s true or not. I just made it up. But I DO know that Hollywood types DO read the forums.

Plus…c’mon…the premise of the show alone is enough to want to watch it. Who in their right mind DOESN’T want to see MC Hammer and Webster share a bunk bed??

Plus, I think the show’s only on for six weeks, so it’s not like you’re making a big commitment here or anything. And even though it’s on for an hour tonight, that’s just tonight. Next week it will be in its normal 30 minute format and be on at 9:30 est, 8:30 central and the rest of you guys can do your own math on this one.

Plus…dammit…YOU’RE MY FREAKIN’ ARMY!! I don’t ask much out of you guys!! It’s not like I’m packing you off to Iraq with a hamburger and a road map, saying “Thanks for everything, suckers!”

The ABSOLUTE BARE MINIMUM you can do for me is to support me on this one. Watch the show, post to the forums and read my recaps. That’s it. That’s all I’m asking.

Oh. And grade my recaps too. You’ll find that in the actual recap…don’t worry.

The recaps I write are often much more entertaining than the swill I slop here. I at least put thought and effort into my recaps. Uncle Bob is nothing more than me getting up before the crack of dawn and writing stupid shit until the sun comes up and then staggering back to bed.

So shine up those boots, polish your guns and come watch “The Surreal Life” with me tonight.

I can’t possibly imagine you being disappointed.

Well...unless you're not a fan of cheesy reality shows starring has-been celebrities making asses of themselves on national television.

At that point, I could imagine you being slightly pissed with me.

Bottom it and post comments about it and I will forever be in your debt.


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