UNCLE BOB TAKES A BOLD STAND AGAINST THE RECORDING INDUSTRY

One quick word ...

If you're sending me an email, make sure that you send it from the email contact on this page and leave the subject line "You Tell Your Uncle Bob How Much You Love Him" intact.

...And no...I didn't come up with that subject line. But I've been using it for so many years that I'm used to it.

The reason for this is simple. If you're like me, you get dozens of spam emails each day on your Diaryland account. It's seriously gotten out of control lately.

And several of these have attachments with cute little viruses included for my computer-destroying pleasure.

The ONLY messages that I save when I check my email are the ones with the above-mentioned subject line. Everything else is automatically trashed and removed from the computer.

Recently, people have gotten a bit irritated with me because I didn't respond to their emails.

I'm convinced that they came up with their own subject line, which automatically got their emails deleted.

DO NOT DO THIS!!

...Oh. And also...I'm really really shitty about returning emails. Always have been, always will be.

It's nothing personal. It's just that I have all emails sent to my house now rather than my office and I spend about an hour on my home computer each day and that's to get this bitch caught up and seriously do not have time to answer each and every email.

I try.

God knows I try.

But the cookie doesn't always crumble that way, y'know?

That said...Chedderfish is raising money for a walk for diabetes.

As many of you know, I'm about as diabetic as ... as...hmmmm. My mind escapes me right now as to any famous diabetics.

Wilford Brimley??

That's the old coot who does the "Ah check my blood sugar often" crap commercial who just looks like he'd be the world's worst grandfather.

He's all gruff and shit.

Never smiles.

That big bushy mustache that is probably harboring a slew of spider webs or something.

You know the guy.

Anyway...I'm about as diabetic as him.

So .... uhhhh... yeah.

Anyway, go check out her cause and contribute what you can.

Just think ... every dollar you give may get us one step closer to science finally finding a way to reverse the diabetic process and for me to finally be able to eat some decent ice cream once again.

Or not.

Probably not.

I'll probably be stuck eating this shitty sugar-free ice cream ("It tastes just like regular ice cream ... minus the delicious flavor!!") for the rest of my life.

Goddamned diabetes.

I CURSE YOU DIABETES, AS I SHAKE MY FIST AT YOUR INVISIBLE YET DEBILITATING SELF!!!

Can I just give a piece of advice to you ladies out there this morning??

No matter how desperate you are to have a man in your life, do not...I repeat...DO NOT marry a gay guy and think everything will be all wine and roses and mutual Friday night hair-brushing marathons.

It just doesn't work that way.

And today...poor Liza is finding that out the hard way.

That poor insufferable sack of frazzled-out, drug-addicted, homo-lovin' shit.

Susie finally came home last night after being gone for four days.

Which means ... I had to kick all the whores out of the house before she got home.

It wasn't easy.

Nay, I had roughly seven dozen whores that had been at the house since she left, servicing me for free.

Free, you ask??

Yep.

It pays to answer those emails about adding seven inches to one's penis, my friend.

That's ONE email that made it through the cracks.

Anyway, she comes home and she is JAZZED UP about her part time job selling S0uthern L!ving merchandise.

Because...well...that's where she's been for the last four days. In Nashville, being wildly encouraged to get jazzed up and get jazzed up in a hurry!!

So she's all motivated now to kick some ass and take some names while selling some wonderful decorative items for the home.

She says that the key is for me to be motivated too. The women who are making six (and seven) figures selling this stuff have the full support of their husbands.

So I'm just as excited as her to SELL! SELL! SELL!!!

....No, I'm not. Not really.

But I have to tell her that in order for her to stay motivated.

Sorry.

But I just can't get motivated to sell a Farmhouse Wine Caddy or a hand-painted oval platter.

I don't drink wine and I'm a paper-plate kinda guy.

As if you haven't figured that out by now.

Finally (FINALLY!!!), I leave you with a rarity.

A recent photo of myself.

As much as I'd like to remove the face in the picture in order to protect my identity, I know dick about Photoshop or any of those other programs which can do such a thing.

Anyway, I ordered a shirt from Gawain's precious little t-shirt shop and it finally came in on Friday.

Needless to say, I didn't need to order one so big. Maybe I'm not as fat as I think I am.

Oh hell.

I'm fatter.

Gah.

Anyway...I think the shirt shares my general distaste with all things corporate in a kind and gentle manner.

Oh.

And my hair's not REALLY that gray...it's just the lighting in the room.

That's it.

Just the lighting.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Goddamned lighting.