THE ARMY SUFFERS CUTBACKS

Heya.

I've spent the last three hours visiting EVERY SINGLE MEMBER of this Army you see to the left and right of you to weed out anybody that has either

A) Stopped writing in their diary for longer than three months.

B) Posted an entry that said they were leaving Diaryland

C) Passworded their diary, since it doesn't do you any good to have a link when people don't know your password.

Why have I done this?

Well, geez, people ... the Army was getting too damned big.

As we know by now, I'm one anal sonofabitch. My deal was...I felt I have to write an entry each day that was as long as the list of members of the Army.

Granted, that didn't ALWAYS happen. Sometimes I tossed in a short entry and the list of Army members far extended the actual Diary entry. But those were days that I just didn't give a shit.

Does that make sense?

This also means that I had to eliminate some good friends out of the Army. People I still read like Frank (because I have her password) and Amber (because I keep thinking there's a slim chance she might eventually update again).

Anyway ... hope there's no hard feelings. If I cut you out of the Army and you want back in someday, lemme know. I think you've all figured out by now, I'm an equal opportunity bastard.

So now, any link on this page should be able to take you to a recently (in the last two months anyway) updated diary.

I'm sure you're all sitting there, thanking me profusely for this great undertaking.

Yeah right.

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My fever was over 100 all day yesterday, but I managed to crank out my Mighty Big TV recap of "Ed".

It still hasn't been posted yet ... but I DID send it in.

I swear.

It was perhaps the most unfunny crap I've ever written. Every time I tried to be amusing, it just came off lame and desperate.

Watch. I'll probably be fired this week for being a lame and desperate unfunny dumbass.

Yeah.

You just watch.

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I'm not going to church today.

I've got a wicked cough from hell, and to the best of my knowledge, coughs from hell aren't allowed in the House of God.

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We went to Vittorio's last night, my fave Italian place for pizza.

I couldn't even taste the pizza. All my taste buds have been zapped by this wretched sinus infection.

...Rabble scrabble Sinus Infection...

I was a little pissed because we hadn't been there since Andy was born, but we used to go at LEAST once a month before he was born.

While Susie was pregnant, the waitresses would talk to us and make a fuss over her pregnancy.

So last night, we take Andy in for the first time.

Not a single employee made a comment on how beautiful he was or that he even existed.

I can't say I was "pissed". But I WAS disappointed.

...rabble scrabble employees...

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For those of you who have no idea what "Rabble Scrabble" means ... it's how Fred Flintstone used to cuss.

He'd walk away from a situation, muttering "rabble scrabble Mr. Slate" or whatever the hell his cartoon ass would be bitching about.

Maybe it was "rubble scrubble".

I don't remember. It's been a while since I watched his show.

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We went grocery shopping last night after dinner.

You know what I hate??

These fucking imbeciles that get a grocery cart and then just zone the fuck out while they're shopping.

We got behind a lady last night who stopped in the soup aisle, looking for a certain kind of Campbell's soup.

Okay ... Campbell's has about 6,000 varieties of soup. Everything from Asparagus to Zebra Mucus.

What many fucking imbeciles can't grasp is that the soups are stocked in alphabetical order.

You don't look for French Onion soup in the "M"'s.

But this lady did.

AND she didn't pull her cart to the side of the aisle so that people could pass her. She just left it in the middle of the aisle.

So ... I'm trying to squeeze past her with my cart and not doing a good job of it.

I hit her cart.

She acted like I hit her car.

"You could have said 'Excuse Me'," she had the fucking audacity to say.

Yeah.

I COULD have said "Excuse Me".

Then again, you could have used a bit of brain power and realized that when you're going to spend 30 minutes staring at the labels of soup cans, it's common courtesy to move your motherfucking cart out of the way so those of us who successfully passed the third grade could get on with our shopping excursion, you nasty assed, Nestles Crunch-inhaling whore from Hell.

I didn't say that.

What did I say???

"I'm sorry."

Yes.

I apologized to the fat-assed skank for hitting her cart.

Like it was her own personal cart or something.

I'm tellin' ya ... I have balls the size of sunflower seeds.