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5:42 a.m. - 2003-04-23


After much deliberation and soul searching, I’ve decided to make a major change in my life which will go into effect immediately.

From here on out, I’m going to start using the phrase “True dat!” as often as possible in place of the more white bread expression “I agree with you on that, my friend!”

I am hoping that my immediate circle of friends accepts this new evolution in this journey I like to call “Uncle Bob’s Life” that everyone else refers to as “Does he seriously think the world revolves around him?”

So I’m outside last night, talking to my boy Troy from next door, and he’s telling me about the people that live directly behind them who happen to have one of those in-ground pools that was all the rage about 7,000 years ago.

Troy says that the lady that owns the home with the pool started draining her pool on Sunday and was draining it straight into his back yard.

He just laid $700 worth of sod down in his back yard, and she was allowing her pool to drain all the chlorine and adolescent urine all over his backyard.

So he went to talk to her about it, asking her to redirect this gushing geyser of water and she immediately began to cuss him out. Badly. I’m talking R-rated words in front of her kids. The kinds of words that would make Martin Lawrence blush. Words that start with M.F. and G.D. and C.

Meanwhile, I’m laughing my ass off at his misfortune because it’s his misfortune and not mine. I’m always one to amuse myself with others’ woes. It’s a blessing ... I know.

So he finishes telling me the story and I’m all “We’ve gotta do something about this, Troy.”

He wants to know what I have planned. Keep in mind, we’ve been neighbors for about two months and have really just started getting to know each other in the last few weeks.

I looked him dead in the eye with a straight face and said “Let’s kill their dog.”

He looked uneasy and said “I don’t think they have a dog.”

“Then,” I said, all matter-of-factly, “Let’s shoot one of their kids.”

He looked horrified.

“Not kill the kid,” I said, explaining myself. “Just … you know…wound the kid. Maybe shoot it in the kneecap. Let them know that we mean business on our cul-de-sac and you don’t fuck with our people over here.”

“I can’t shoot anyone,” he said quietly.

“Oh hell, that’s no problem. I’ll shoot ‘em,” I said. “It won’t be the first and sure as hell won’t be the last. I mean, it’s a little tougher shooting a kid, because sometimes you feel guilty about it.”

“I-I-I don’t think so,” he stuttered.

I told him if he changed his mind to let me know. I’ve got a rifle with a silencer in the garage and I’m ready to go.

I wonder if I’ll be seeing Troy around much anymore.

Work’s getting even cooler.

I mean, it’s not the coolest stuff in the world. I’m sure there’s much cooler jobs out there. Like being the night manager at a Pizza Hut in a good neighborhood. Because think about it ... every night, right before closing time, you can step out into the kitchen area and tell the minimum wage slave making the pizzas, "Hey! How about you fix me a big assed Meat Lovers Pizza on thin crust!" And they have to do it, because you're the boss. I'm sure they'll bitch about it because you're the man and you make the big bucks and get to eat free pizza while they have to sweep and mop the floor for an hour. And since you're in a good neighborhood, you don't have to worry about stepping out the back door with the bank bag and having some thug jump out of the bushes and blackjack your head until you pass out from loss of blood and then he steals your money AND the pizza.

But it’s cool stuff that I like to do.

Next month, I’m going to a local elementary school to speak to the kids on Career Day. Basically, I’m just going to talk about the new baseball stadium that we’re building. Anyway, I have to speak to five classes in a two hour period. That’ll be fun. At the very least, I’m out of the office all morning. I mean ... I might get urinated on too, which I'm not exactly fond of. But you know those elementary school kids and their weak bladders. You never know when they're gonna go with the flow. Literally.

Then later on in May, a travel writer from England is coming to our city and I’m his personal escort/tour guide. I’ve got to take him somewhere nice for lunch that is a fair representation of the city.

Then I’m showing him the town, taking him to some museums, etc.

Every day is something different.

Gotta love it!

...Well...even though the free pizza restrictions suck.

You know my former evil boss Wendigo, now fellow employee at my new job?

Well, she was in a horrific car accident this past weekend.

It was really a freak accident, but nobody really knows what happened because the impact was so bad, that memories of the moments leading up to the crash are lost. Or at least conveniently forgotten by her evil husband.

What we do know is that she and her husband, the handsome yet sinister Dr. Wendigo, were in a friend’s sports car. Dr. Wendigo was supposed to be driving the car (a Cobra) back to the house. They were in a parking garage. Dr. Wendigo’s foot slipped off the clutch or something, the sports car hit a curb, went airborne and crashed into a concrete post.

Total damage report for the Wendigo as of this writing … several stitches around her eye, a bruised, swollen and puffy face, emergency knee surgery immediately following the accident with more probably following and strangely enough ... the inability to commit the recipe for veal piccata to memory.

She’s going to be out of work for the rest of the week. She's been wanting a vacation anyway, just not one spent in her bed with a leg brace on and a face that’s too painful to touch.

Because the car was "vintage", there were no air bags in the vehicle. And they hadn't even put their seat belts on because this happened as soon as he put his key in the ignition.

Dr. Wendigo walked away from the accident with a hurt foot and a few stitches in his manly bearded jaw.

It had to be a pretty scary moment for him, because Wendigo was knocked unconscious and was bleeding heavily from the head. It wasn't until she was in the emergency room that she regained consciousness.

And even though Dr. Wendigo is a doctor ... he's a veterinarian. So as she's sitting next to him all slumped over and bleeding, the only doctor skills he could possibly muster up at that moment would be to check her for worms.

Anyway ... hopefully she'll be just fine because I miss her at work already.

That's it from me ... I've got to get Andrew to daycare EARLY today as I have to be at a coffee meeting at 8 a.m. on the opposite side of town from his daycare.

True dat!

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