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10:41:06 - 2000-05-20


I had the weirdest damned dream all night.

I haven't seen "Being John Malkovich", but it had elements of the plot in there.

As much as I would like to share the dream with y'all...I hate journals that share their dreams with us because they're just not that damned interesting to anybody but your own damned self.

Not to say I hate the "people" who keep these journals. Just that I don't wanna read about your dreams. You're awake now. Get over the shit. was a weird dream that involved me frolicking around in a pool with several gorgeous and nude women because I had found a secret door in a closet that led to a whole other world where everything was sexual and exciting.

That's one damned closet I NEVER wanted to come out of.

Whoooo boy!

(Bob stops for a second to remember the part of the dream where two naked women were engaging in horseplay in the pool while his wife watched on and nodded her head in approval)

Damn...whatta dream.

The sad part is...and here I go reliving the dream, meaning about half of you are about to move onto another diary ... it ended up in church where I was severely underdressed in a t-shirt and jeans, and when it came to take communion, I opted to eat a handful of chocolate bridge mix instead of the body of Christ.

That's more dream talk...

So...I added a few more privates to the Uncle Bob army last night.

I've gotten a few emails from people asking to be part of the army and offering to send nude photos in exchange for that all-important link from Uncle Bob.

So they're there. Now...let the nude photos start rolling in.

The reason it took so long is that I had the original template to do update the army on my old computer and nothing on my new one. So I had to pilfer through my memory fragments and see if I could recall some of the tougher HTML that it took to do such a thing.

Okay...that's all bullshit. The truth is, I was too lazy to do it before.



Went to my fave Italian place last night...Vittorio's. Suze and I split a pizza ... yum. I don't like cheese, but I like Vittorio's pizza because they're kinda sparse on the cheese and pay more attention to the other toppings.

They rawk.

We then went to Big Lots, which is a store that sells merchandise that for one reason or another, is marked down considerably.

I bought a box of cereal that looked like it had been run over by a garbage truck for 99 cents and one of those long body pillows with what looked to be a jizz stain on it for five bucks.

It's that kinda stuff. Susie loves the store. I felt dirty in there.

We then went to Service Merchandise to look at cribs, cradles, high chairs, playpens, etc.

I just can't get into all that. That stuff is soooo expensive, and I keep thinking, we have six months til' the baby is born ... maybe we'll win the lottery by then.

Then we went to the grocery store to pick up a few things.

We were walking down an aisle, I was pushing the cart and Suze was walking beside me, with her fingers looped in one of my belt loops on the back of my pants.

This was odd. She doesn't normally do that.

After doing it for about two aisles, I asked her to take her fingers out of my belt loop.

She did and started giggling.

I said "What did you do?" when I turned around and saw I had been dragging one of those helium mylar balloons around by my ass for two long aisles.

She burst into laughter as I said "You asshole" and quickly untied the balloon and let it drift off into the store.

Being pregnant, apparently laughing that hard made her come within seconds of peeing all over the floor, which would have been sweet revenge for me as a clean-up woulda been needed on Aisle 8 for the piss lady.

Luckily for her, she made it to the bathroom on time.

Came home, went to bed and had my strange John Malkovich dream.

Got up this a.m. and went out to our cottage out back and opened all the windows. We're working out there today to go through all our storage crap and see what we want to sell in the yard sale.

It's going to be in the 90s today in this cottage with no central A/C.

I'm going to be one cranky bastard by noon.

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