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1:36 p.m. - 2001-10-03


Maybe it's just me...but I have absolutely no interest in getting a TiVo device.

You know...the thing that records TV shows that you have no interest in watching. I guess you tell it you like "The Simpsons" and it tapes every single cartoon ever released or something. I don't know how it works exactly because, as I said...I have no interest in obtaining one.

This is not spoken out of jealousy or bitterness. I could easily afford these affordable little technological gems. I just choose not to.

How's that for a ringing endorsement for something I have no interest in ever owning?

Why am I even mentioning this?

What is wrong with me?

Edweird, Wendigo and I ate lunch in the company courtyard again today.

Everything was going smoothly until we were divebombed by several bees who wanted our diet soft drinks. We cursed the bees, hoping that they would get the picture. Sadly, they did not.

"Go away, you ass bees!" Wendi shouted.

"Damn you bees...get the hell out of here," I yelled.

"You crazy motherfucking beefucks, get the fuck away from my fucking shitass pizza before I fucking pop a fucking cap in fuck your fucking bee fucking ass you fuckity fuck fuckers," Edweird threatened.

Wendi and I just stared at Edweird, who was oblivious to our concerned looks.

The bees kept swarming. Edweird managed to kill one in our new bee trap which consists of a banana peel in a baggie. The bees get in there and then meet their bee maker after being pinched by Edweird's vicious and sharp claws which are outlawed in 13 states and Mississippi.

Still, we had several dozen other bees wanting to just have a taste of our food. We tried to reason with them and tell them there was no honey in any of our food, but c' you REALLY expect a bee to listen to that? No.

Edweird suggested going and getting a box cutter and slitting the little bee's throats.

Yes, he's slowly losing it.

So we ate our lunches and then left the remains on the table and moved to another table and talked for the remainder of our lunch hour.

It was a good talk. Mostly business stuff.

Nothing you'd be interested in.

Hell, I wasn't interested and I was the one doing most of the talking.

I received an email this morning from Angela Sigle who wished to comment on my theory that it's pretty damned strange that Osama bin Laden is a millionaire yet lives in a cave.

Angela writes:

"But not ALL millionares who live in caves are evil. No matter what Osama does, you will never turn me against Batman. Of course, if Osama also has a

utility belt under his turban, we're screwed again.

Truer words have never been spoken.

At least ... not on this site anyway.

Wendigo informed me that I'll be adding a new dimension to my job description here soon.

I'll be helping edit a book in the wake of one of our editors leaving the company. The project is almost finished and I'll just have to help edit a few business profiles.

I think it'll be fun. A new learning experience. Challenging.

Oh...who am I kidding?? It's more work, dude. That's it.

But hey...I'm glad to have my job. So more work at something you love is okay.

Gawsh...what else?

I had an interview with some people in Philadelphia today. I was supposed to call them at 9 a.m., which I did. I was supposed to ask to speak to the President, which I did. He was out so I was asked to leave a voice mail for the president to call me, which I did...for Pete's sakes...I just told you that...LISTEN UP, SOLDIER!!

So like .. 15 minutes later the President's secretary calls me and wants to know why haven't I called them.

I told her that I DID call them, right at 9 a.m. and left a voice mail for the President.

Well, apparently I was SUPPOSED to tell the operator who I was and that I was calling for a conference call, so a bunch of employees could sit around a speaker phone and silently make faces at each other every time I spoke, trying to crack each other up without my knowledge of these shenanigans.

I didn't know that. The secretary did her best to make me feel like dog shit about it too.

So I finally get patched in to their little conference area where they've all been practicing their funny faces for the last 15 minutes. I was just about to start the interview with the first question "Don't you bastards ever check your voice mails?" when the President interupts me.

"Uncle Bob...where are you from?"

I told him I'm currently in Alabama, but have lived almost all over the world.

I don't think he was impressed. The yawn kinda gave it away. I could hear him scribbling on some paper. I imagined he was doodling some dork with a banjo on his knee and a balloon saying "Uncle Bob's a Moron" on it for the amusement of the other snickering Philadelphians gathered around his desk.

For the next 30 minutes, this guy and his co-horts bored me with more commercial real estate knowledge than I ever cared to know. These guys made Ben Stein seem hyper.

Now I have to write his story.

Do they still make No-Doz in capsule form?

Oh yeah.

At lunch, we saw a marijuana roach under one of the tables outside.

Which means somebody was smoking pot at work.

We were trying to determine who we think it is and we've got it nailed down to one person here.

And I think that person reads this website.

So know you're smokin' the mary jane...the ganja...the wacky weed ... the devil's cigarette...the Jamaican herb... come to my office right now and admit it was you and I won't turn you in.

If you don't come to my office by 5 p.m. today, I'm going to the CEO and telling him you smoke weed out back on your break.


We didn't really deduct who smoked the herb outside. I just wanted to see if any of my co-workers came barging into my office with tears streaming down their face, begging the new boy to spare them their job.

It's how I get my kicks, don't ya know?

I've got yet another meeting at church tonight to go over this brochure for the church that was supposed to be done months ago.

I end up just sitting there and nodding my head, saying "Looks good to me" over and over for an hour.

I hate these meetings.

I think I'll get there and wave a box cutter around and stare menacingly at the other three people.

I might get home early if I take that route.

That's it.

That's all.

I'm outta here, I've got work to do, dammit.

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