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10:15:43 - 2001-02-15


My poor, poor dog.

I took Maggie to the vet yesterday to have her butt checked out.

I think I told y'all ... on Sunday I went to clean the poo off her butt ... and her butt was a big gaping hole that you could easily fit a remote control in.

I didn't think anything of it. The doc said it'd take about three weeks for her muscles to heal back there.

I take her in.

The doc asks how she's doing and I grin. "I'm not sure," I said. "I'm not a vet."

He looks at her and says "She's not doing good at all."

Apparently ... the reason her rectum was wide open is because she chewed all the stitches out of her ass as soon as I brought her home from the Vet last week.

So for a week, instead of the damned thing healing, it was left wide open like a broken screen door.

He wanted to keep her for the day, put METAL stitches and staples in her to staple her ass back together.

AND ... she was going to HAVE to wear one of those stupid lampshade things around her head to keep her from tearing her own ass up anymore.

I said fine, and left her with him.

When I went to pick her up last night, they bring her to me and ... okay ... I could NOT stop laughing.

This big plastic lampshade thing on her head REALLY restricts her vision. So she's bumping into every wall in the building and trying DESPERATELY to remove the thing from around her neck by pawing at it incessantly.

The doctor said if she has problems eating or drinking water to go ahead and remove it then. But it was PURE HELL trying to get it on her in the first place. She squirms more than a greased pig.

...Which is NOT a slam on fat people. Just to clarify...


So anyway ... now she looks like a space alien dog, albeit a very CLUMSY space alien dog. She can eat and drink okay with it on but she can't get through her doggie door and since I'm not really familiar with her bathroom habits since she's always just helped herself into the back yard, I'm constantly jumping up and opening the patio door to let her out when she doesn't NEED to go out.

Last night she slept on my side of the bed and made more noise than your average construction crew. She slammed that plastic lampshade into my nightstand more times than I care to imagine.

So she has to wear this horrendous contraption for a week. Something tells me it will be even longer.

I feel sorry for her. I really do.

But I can't quit giggling when I watch her.

I hope everyone had a happy Valentine's Day although it's getting to the point that everyone would rather just forget all about the stupid day.

Susie called me about 10:30 a.m. from her office, all giddy.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" she giggled into the phone.

"Ummmm...Happy V.D. to you too," I said.

"Somebody got me some flowers..." she said all dreamily.


I did NOT send her flowers. I have in the past, but I didn't yesterday.

"Ummmm...I didn't send you any flowers," I said.

She giggled. "Well, they say 'From Your Secret Admirer' so I figured they were from you."

"," I said. "I thought about sending you flowers, but I haven't."

"Well then, I wonder who these are from," she said with concern in her voice. "It's a dozen red roses, they're very pretty."

"I dunno," I said. "Maybe you should start asking around the building to see who might have sent them."

She burst out laughing.

"PSYCHE!!" she said, laughing her ass off. "I had you fooled didn't I??"

"Huh?" I said, confused.

"Nobody sent me flowers, I was just messing with ya," she laughed.

...I think I'm finally beginning to rub off on her...

I did end up getting her a card and a box of candy. We had said we weren't going to get anything for each other ... and we didn't. The card was signed from Andy and the candy was from Andy.

That crazy kid. For a three-month-old, he sure knows how to make his mama happy.

Oh ... we had talked about a romantic evening out for our Valentine's gift.

But since Maggie was bouncing into walls and falling on her freshly stapled ass, and Andy was fussy, our romantic dinner consisted of two medium pizzas from Hungry Howie's.

No candlelight either.

We're just a couple of romantic clods.

I did something pretty mean yesterday.

Which should give all the Uncle Bob Haters something to REALLY hate me for.

I called up my old buddy Will who I hadn't spoken to in about six months or so.

Will got married on Valentines Day 1999 to Stacey.

Will got divorced two days before last Christmas. The marriage didn't even last two years. She was apparently screwing around on him. I hadn't talked to him, but had heard through the grapevine that he was okay about it.

So, somebody dared me to do something evil.

I called Will at work. He answered the phone.

"Will," I said ... "HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!!"

His exact words??

"I hope you rot in fucking hell, you motherfucker. My little boy is going to fuck your little girl and get her pregnant and dump her ugly ass."

I laughed my ass off.

"Will...I had a little boy, not a little girl."

He didn't even flinch.

"Well...I'm going to adopt a little boy someday and program him to beat the living shit out of your little boy."

I was still laughing.

"Yeah, whatever Willie Boy."

It was good to talk to the guy. A bunch of us are going out next Friday night to listen to Mattie Gee's band The Spicolis, and he's coming along now that his wife doesn't control his every move.

It should be fun.

And for the record ... he wasn't REALLY pissed with the Happy Anniversary line. You just have to know Will. He's a tough cookie about stuff like that.

I had to go to the Chamber of Commerce yesterday to take some pictures down to their P.R. lady.

The Chamber has moved into the city's old Train Station, which is a building that's been around since the 1800s.

I was more lost than a fourth grader taking a college entrance exam.

I must have asked six people to point me in the direction of this lady's office. I finally found it, visited with her for a few minutes and then tried to leave.

Which was even harder than getting to her office. It was like a labyrinth trying to find my way out of the joint.

I'm not like most men ... I WILL ask for directions the first moment that I am lost. I won't spend valuable time trying to find something that I can't.

When I was 14, I flew by myself from Germany to Peoria, Illinois, with stops in Zurich, London, New York, Chicago and finally Peoria.

My mother was worried sick about it. The rest of the family were flying to Athens to find a house, and since I was 14, I was desperate to get back to the states and see my friends, so I went to live with my Aunt and her family for the summer in Peoria.

There were supposed to be people at every airport along the way to guide me to my next destination.

I bypassed them all and found each gate myself.

Anyway ... Mom told me "You're never lost while you still have a tongue in your mouth."

Which meant ... "Ask if you get lost."

I didn't then.

But I have ever since then.

Finally ... you know who I really hate?

I mean just FUCKING DESPISE?!?!

These people ...wait...scratch that ... these MONSTERS who chew with their mouths open.

Hey pal ... if I wanted to see what you were eating, I woulda stuck an X-ray machine against your cheek.

Y'see ... my parents taught me to chew with my mouth closed. Their reasoning was "You make others fucking sick as shit when you chew with your mouth open."

I'm sure other parents took one look at their kid, chewing like a cow and said the same thing.

Did these kids listen??


They kept on grossing everyone out with their visual style of food digestion.


I KNOW what some of you are thinking.

"Uncle Bob...that is SOOOOOO cruel. There are some for example...that can't chew with our mouths closed because we never had any couth instilled in us at a young age and we're too goddamned stupid to be able to close our mouths now."


"Uncle Bob ... you're an ass. Some people have severe cleft palate dysfunctions which makes them chew like a cow and lick their noses with their long, thick tongues while eating. You are one insensitive bastard and this time you've gone too far."


"Uncle DARRRRE you say that I'm a sick nasty fucker because I choose to share my chewed-up burrito with everyone else in the restaurant? Who are YOU to tell ME how to eat?"

I'm Uncle Bob.

Chief of the Food Chewer-Upper Police.

That's who, Mister.

(Once again ... the above diatribe is to be taken tongue-in-cheek. Which coincidentally, is a good practice to use when chewing one's food. Keep your tongue in your cheek rather than slapping your chin while you eat and I probably wouldn't have had to chastise you in front of hundreds of impressionable young lads and lassies.)


ROGER CLYNE'S "Tell Your Mama"

Roger Clyne is one of the best songwriters to emerge from the 1990s, as well as one of the most obscure songwriters outside of Texas and Arizona. He was the leader of the now-defunct greatest band ever The Refreshments and this song has been playing on my car stereo for several days now. It's a song about a Daddy talking to his child and trying to get the child to tell the Mama to give him just one more chance at making their relationship work.

"Don't you tell your mama Goddamn your Daddy's bored" indeed.

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