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7:13 a.m. - 2004-12-16


You assholes and your damned cell phones.

Yes, I have a cell phone. One of those "flip" phones that were real cool when they first came out but now are pretty standard for assholes and their damned cell phones.

I carry it with me everywhere and it's used IN CASE OF EMERGENCIES.

Whether that emergency be my car blowing up on the interstate or my calling ahead to pick up some Chinese food ... it's my decision as to what constitutes an emergency.

But you assholes who are on your cell phones 24-7 ... you all need several good swift kicks to the temple.

Because now you've forced the airline industry to recognize your insatiable desire to call and blab to everyone you know every single minute of every single day and they're being forced to allow you to continue your incessant babbling at 20,000 feet in the air.

Can you fucking IMAGINE being on a crowded airplane with a bunch of assholes who want to call their friends with the latest updates on their love lives? Or the asshole businessmen who can't let it fucking rest for two hours and have to keep calling their secretary for messages every five minutes?


I'm just glad I don't fly much anymore.

I will predict this ... if people are going to be allowed to use their cell phones on a plane now, you're going to see a whole lot more "air rage".

Those who AREN'T on the phone are going to get pissed with little Carly Caitlyn flying back to college from Christmas break and calling all her sorority sisters to tell them about the "cute boy" she saw at the Starbucks inside the Atlanta Airport.

That's on one side.

On the other side is Biff Businessman who's trying to secure a multi-hundred dollar deal over the phone in his loud, booming voice.


I just wanna run out and snap me some sorority neck right now.

And when I'm arrested, I can blame it on the airlines.

Sure, it won't make any sense to the cops ... "I broke her neck because I could tell she was going to be a real inconvenience to fliers everywhere someday."

But at least I'll be happy.

Okay ... no snapping sorority girl neck today.

But tomorrow?

Who knows?

I have justabouthadit with Andrew lately.

This morning it's 23 degrees outside.

Last night, Andrew DEMANDED that he get a new coat.


Because he didn't like his current coat.


Because it was BLUE.

And Andrew only wears GREEN coats.


So Susie took him to Kohl's and got him a nice little green coat to wear with cool patches and pockets with zippers and all that crazy shit four year-olds dig.

This morning?

He wants a YELLOW jacket.

And to demonstrate his newfound hatred for green coats, he flung himself to the floor when I tried to put it on him and curled up into a screaming ball of shit.

He locked his arms together so there was no way I could get his coat on him without manually dislocating a shoulder or two.

Finally I gave up and told him he could freeze to death for all I care, picked him up off the floor and carried him to the van and strapped him into his seat.

"I just want you to know," I grunted as I locked him in the seat. "That there were surprizes in your new coat pockets."

"Surprizes?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," I retorted. "And if you had worn your coat you would have found them."

"Daddy," he asked quietly. "Can I have my coat pwease?"

I sighed, unlocked him out of the seat, put his coat on him, showed him where his pockets were and he pulled out a Starburst from each pocket.

He loves his new coat now.

I'm not so sure how he'll feel about it tomorrow though.

Now that everyone who has ever started a blog has a book to plug, I've decided that maybe it's time I start to seriously work on a book of my own.

I have no idea how to get a book published.

But you've gotta start somewhere, huh?

Naturally, I won't be able to write about snapping sorority chick neck or anything like that.

But I've already got a working title in my head: "Uncle Bob's Guide To A Miserable Fucking Life".

I won't compromise on that.

And if the book can only be sold in adult book stores, so be it.

I'll just have to add some pictures, that's all.

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