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08:56:03 - 2000-09-18


I figured out something last night.

When you're at a church potluck dinner and having a discussion with people you don't know that well, and they're joking about how you might be having a baby girl instead of a baby boy in a few weeks, THE IMPROPER THING TO SAY is "Look's a boy. We could be selling his ultrasound as a gay porno movie right now. Get my drift??"

Susie called that "crossing the line at church".

She must have called it that 25 times in an extremely high pitched scream as we drove home.


So anyway ...

We're having our pastor, his wife and their newborn baby over for dinner on Friday night.

She's a vegetarian and he's lactose-intolerant.

Needless to say ... planning a meal for these two is tougher than brain surgery.

We've decided on fish, grilled veggies, sauteed veggies, baked veggies and for dessert...raw carrot sticks.

Sound good??

I was thinking about saying a prayer before dinner, but I've decided against it. First ... it's like having Tiger Woods be your caddy. No matter how good I do, the guy's gonna KNOW that he's the pro here and coulda done a much better job.

Other than that, the only thing I'm worried about with my pastor spending time in my house is the fact that I hope I get all my Playboy videos put up in a closet or something and don't leave one straggling behind. I could just imagine his wife looking through my video collection and saying out loud "Playboy Mansion's Wet and Wild Sex Orgy??"

You know...or something...

(Bob scratches his ass and stares at the screen for a minute before breaking out of this ass-scratching trance)


I'm sooooo HTML-deficient.

I mean... I use asterisks to break this garbage into segments.

THAT'S the extent of my HTML knowledge.

Well ... not really.

But ya know...I've been seriously thinking about enrolling into a Web Design class.

Of course ... right now I have too much shit on my plate to take on one more project.

Shit on my plate.

Why...there's fish. And grilled veggies. And sauteed veggies. And baked veggies ...


(Sorry. It's dark.)


(Bob gets into his best Apology Nazi stance)


Apparently, I'm getting some email from folks who are applauding the new "cranky and irritable" Uncle Bob.

Y'know what....FUCK THEM.

Well gee...I'd LIKE to...Mrs. Bob is at that stage where she doesn't want sex.

And you know ... I could use some ...

And Regular Bob ... I'm hoping like hell that I only have a few readers 14-15 years of age. I'm trying to skew for a 18+ demographic here, but occasionally...some of those lil' scamps make it in under the radar and amuse themselves with antidotes coming from a guy older than their parents.

Shit happens.

And young children witness my perverted ramblings.


Seriously ... *cough* ....I can't control who sees my diary. That's THE PARENTS JOB ... to censor me. Andrew has tried.

...Oh ... how that bastard has tried to censor me....

I turned in one entry ... all about when I was a mortician's assistant for a year straight out of college and I started finding that the crude circumsicions of corpses was my only joy in life... well, Andrew pulled that entry and deemed it too morbid for Diaryland.

Well ...that didn't REALLY happen. I was just trying to throw some heat on Andrew.

Well ... not really. I was just talking shit out the side of my mouth.

Well...that's hardly true either. Actually ... I'm just tired and couldn't think of anything else to write.

But ya know what? NO APOLOGIES TO ANDREW OR BOB!!!

You want "Hardass Bob"?? Oh ... it won't be too long for me to track down HIS ass...


You know what I hate most about the Olympics?

Their sheer and utter boredom.


These people have worked ALL THEIR LIVES to represent our various countries in competitions.

Well ... guess what, you Greg Louganis-wannabe???


For Christ's people have everything handed to you on a silver platter ... those of you with decent enough acting skills get careers starring in B-movies for a few years after your glorious 15 minutes of REAL fame, while those Olympic athletes with no speaking skills whatsoever become sportscasters.

And all this crying and shit when somebody wins...what's up with that shit??

"Oh lookit me...I've worked my whoooooooole life just to jerk around on a couple of bars and have everybody tell me that I'm the greatest gymnast in the world and now I get a gold coin that I can pawn for $40 worth of crack in three years.

Aren't I ... SPECIAL???"

Fuck you. You're NOT special. You're an athlete that has been wasting his or her whole life training for one chance...ONE FUCKING CHANCE to excel at what you do.

And your chances ain't good ones, you dumbass. You're like ... one out of EVERYBODY.

I mean ...if you get a gold coin ... and a warm feeling in your heart for about two weeks.

Is THAT going to pay the rent, Slapnuts??

The final answer Regis is...Hell no.

So when the cold, hard reality comes in, taps you on the shoulder and says "Hey that you're the best, maybe you can quit sponging off your parents and maybe get a career going. Maybe a career in hamburger flipping??"

Fuck you, Olympic athletes.

"But Uncle Bob," you gasp .... "isn't that kind of harsh??"


But hey...




For My Sake Of Mind Here ... Are You Over The Age of 18?

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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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