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5:50 a.m. - 2004-05-26


It is with little regret that I inform you that the fucking shithole is closed.

Yep. The same fucking shithole that I crooned so elegantly about last week.



Boot scooted boogied off to that great fucking shithole in the sky.

While I know that you're trying to read these words through tear-filled eyes, shocked (and somewhat awed) by the demise of one of the true fucking shitholes left in America, all hope is not lost.

I was informed last night that the club is "only closed for remodeling" and will open back up in the next few weeks.

First off ... how do you remodel shit?

I guess you could take a turd and add more corn and peanuts to it and make it more appealing in that sense.

But the bottom line remains ... it's still a turd.

Second ... I was told that they want to reopen it as a country bar.

For the last few months, I've been playing a predominant mixture of country music and redneck rock.

I've got to tell you ... doing this did not exactly throw open the front doors and welcome in a veritable Who's Who Of Local Rednecks either.

Granted, I was doing this on Tuesday nights and Tuesday nights alone. Which isn't exactly the party night of the week for most people. Just the sad and miserable alcoholics who need a place that reeks of cheap cigarettes and Hai Karate where they can drink beer and listen to David Allen Coe over and over again.

My only regret in all this is that none of the management team bothered to pick up the fucking phone in the last week to say "Hey Bobby ... we're closing the club down so you don't need to trek into town to play on Tuesday night ... just stay home and enjoy your wife and son and we'll call you in a few weeks ... sorry."

Nope. I had to drive 15 miles into town, paying $2.01 a gallon in order to find out I didn't need to work.

It's probably my own fault. When a club gets the reputation as a fucking shithole that nobody wants to frequent, it's usually best to call the club each night before work to make sure they're still open.

And one more regret.

I wish I had called the customers "a bunch of miserable fucking drunks" last week when I had the chance.

Now they'll never know what I really thought of them.

And that's just sad.

I went to pick Andrew up from daycare yesterday afternoon since I was already in town.

The daycare lady motioned that she wanted to talk to me before we left.

I figured she wanted to compliment the boy on his amazing abilities to name the planets in order from the sun to Pluto.

Ummmmm ... nope.

"Andrew licked the potty," she said softly and quietly while Andrew was saying goodbye to his friends.

I'm not sure how many parents out there have had to deal with this situation before. It certainly wasn't anything I was prepared to hear and respond to.

I mean ... how can this

lick this?

It's mind boggling.

So there I am, standing there with a daycare lady who's waiting for a response from me on what I plan to do to correct my child and keep him from ever licking another toilet again.

"What can I say?" I said shrugging. "The kid loves his chocolate."

I went back to telemarketing yesterday for Gerri's Kids.

I think I mentioned here that they wouldn't leave me alone last week, calling me every day and asking me to come back to just help them drum up some recruits for their big jailbird party coming up next month.

I was told that I could work two days a week for the next two weeks and that's all they'd want out of me.

So I go back yesterday and there's only three other telemarketers left there ... my two buddies Brian and Damian and a girl who I hadn't met before but she swear she knew me.

I'm informed that the three of them have called everyone in the city and now our job is to go back and call everyone that turned us down and try to talk them into participating in this "fun filled event".

Soooo ... basically if people hung up on us before, now we're calling them back to REALLY piss 'em off?


That sounds like my perfect way to spend six hours.

After the first hour of calling people and getting cussed out and hung up on, I decided that I had come back to the job at a bad time.

The other three were in the same boat. They said it had been like this for the last week and they were hating the job right about now.

The girl who swore she knew me decided she REALLY didn't want to do this job anymore and got up and walked out of the place about 10:30.

Which kind of left us guys gasping and clutching our pearls because getting up and walking out on a job is a cardinal sin in the temp world. You first call your agency and vent and say "This job sucks weenie and I want out" and then they talk to your supervisor at the job and calmly explain that you're obviously mentally handicapped and that you won't be returning to the job.

You don't just WALK OUT.

Anyway ... I've decided I'm calling the temp agency today and telling them that this job sucks weenie and I want out.

I'm sure they'll say "It's only for three more days. Just hang in there for three more days."


I've got two articles that I need to have written and submitted by Friday.

I've got to assemble several discs from the early 1960s for my party Saturday night.

And I've got flowers to plant.

I'm too busy to go to work and get hung up on by a bunch of pissed-off business owners.

And if the agency doesn't like it, they can let me go too.

It won't be the first job I've lost this week.

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