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5:22 a.m. - 2004-01-13


So one of my resolutions this year was to "Cook Cajun food good like Emeril".

I'm not much for grammar when I'm doing my New Year's resolutions.

Sunday I decided to take that initial step towards fulfilling my destiny of being the world's greatest non-Cajun self-taught Cajun chef.

I started with making Jambalaya from scratch.

Painfully long story short ... it ended up having the taste and texture of monkey shit.

"Oh c'mon Uncle Bob!" you're saying. "You've never tasted monkey shit!"

No my friend.

YOU'VE never stood too close to the monkey cages at the zoo.

I spent close to $40 buying everything I needed for the jambalaya.

In the end, I could have taken the Mrs. out for a semi-decent dinner for $40 rather than be stuck with two Tupperware containers of spicy monkey shit in my refrigerator.

And believe me ... that point was brought up several times Sunday night as the Mrs. choked down her piping hot bowl of shit.

So I've decided to postpone that resolution for now.

Next resolution ... send daily letters of support to Montel Williams.

I call it "support". He calls it "stalking".

To each his own.

So a couple of you caught "The Surreal Life" the other night on the WB.

Man ... that show's going to be a trip. I didn't think they could top last year's edition, but from the clips they showed of the upcoming season ... I'm going to have to break out the Depends to watch it because it's piss your pants funny.

I'm working on my recap for Television Without Pity and hope to have it up in a few days.

But like the bosses say there ... it's really tough to recap comedy because it's already funny and any snarky attempts to make it funnier usually turn out lame.

Don't I know it?

Sorry ... for some strange reason, Andrew just walked in here all sleepy. I said "YOU'RE up early" and he didn't respond. I said "Do you want to go back to bed?" and he walked back to his bedroom, climbed into bed and passed out.

I think he may have been walking in his sleep. But he's about seven hours into his sleep right now and I'm pretty sure that kinda stuff usually happens earlier in the night.

I dunno.

Here I am trying to be a psychologist and a snarky recapper in the same breath.

So I've told you guys all about getting emails and calls from my college buddies last week, right?

And how we used to make prank phone calls every night and tape them ... right?

Well after talking to them, I went on a mission ... to find the last known tape of those long nights harassing our fellow classmates.

After several hours of searching through box upon box, I found it.

A cassette tape. A 23 year-old third generation tape.

The Holy Grail.

I gingerly put it in my tape player to make sure it still worked.

While limited parts of it are muffled,the majority of it sounds as good as gold.

But man. Oh man. Was I ever a cruel bastard back then.

This took place in an era before it was politically correct to be politically correct.

Therefore several of the "pranks" make me squirm uncomfortably now.

My boy Mattie Gee suggested that I burn CDs of the tape and sell them on this site via Paypal.

Something tells me that you guys wouldn't be interested in a CD of me calling people at 2 a.m. and waking them up and saying "I'm sorry. Did I call at a bad time? Were you masturbating?"

I was 18 at the time.

That's my only excuse.

So anyway, I burned a few copies on disc for my college buds (who STILL haven't sent me their mailing addresses ... DON'T TELL ME I WENT TO ALL THIS TROUBLE FOR NOTHING GUYS!)

And a few copies for local friends who have sick senses of humor.

And those tapes will remain a mystery to the rest of you.

I sliced the corner of my mouth open yesterday while shaving.

I hate shaving around my mouth and nostrils yet I demand a clean shave every morning from myself.

So I had to go to work with a giant bloody scab in the corner of my mouth that made me look like a clown with herpes.

Since I work with all women, none of them could relate to the fact that I had stuck a razor into my skin and tugged until my mouth was deformed.

And trust me ... "Gosh Uncle Bob, what happened to your face?" is the last thing you want to hear when you feel disfigured.

I guess it's karmic retribution for calling up midgets late at night and trying to make small talk by saying "It must be a bitch being a midget".

God have mercy on what's left of my soul.

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Have you read these?

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That Sinking Feeling - 6:09 a.m. , 2008-10-28

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