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5:19 a.m. - 2001-08-07


You know...last night I was sitting in my recliner, casually tugging at my balls when I came up with the absolute best topic to write about today.

"I've got to remember that one in the morning," I thought to myself.

Guess what??

I don't have a freakin' clue what I was thinking.

So get rambling crap until the baby wakes up.

...Which isn't much different from your average Uncle Bob update...

My evil boss Wendigo lent me some vintage Bill Cosby CDs to record.

You've gotta give props to the Cos. That guy, in his prime, was funnier than just about anybody in the planet and his material was so clean, you could play his records and everyone from little kids to grandparents could all laugh at them.

When I was doing stand-up comedy in the mid-80s, I modeled my act after Cosby's act.

Except I cussed like a sailor with Tourette's and did extremely disgusting things on stage.

One night, a manager of a club took me aside after my set.

"Do you want to make it big in this business," he asked me.

"Fuckin' A right, I fuckin' do," I answered back with a grin.

"Okay," he said. "I'm going to give you some advice that will help you...quit working blue."

I looked down at my blue t-shirt and thought..."Gee...I guess I could start wearing black..."

He then went on to say that I was a funny guy and could make it in this business...if I could just drop all the obscenities and focus on taking my act into a more mainstream area where the entire family could enjoy me.


At the time, there weren't a whole lot of stand-up comics getting their own TV shows like there are today. Today, every stand-up comic has his own TV show and every TV show has a former stand-up comic somewhere in its cast.

Regis Philbin...he's done stand-up.

The guy from "Fear Factor"...former stand-up.

Barney the purple dinosaur...funniest motherfucking dinosaur on the planet, dude.

But this manager...whose name escapes me at the moment...PROMISED me that if I took the "Fucks","Shits" and "Motherfucking shits" out of my act, I would become huge in this business.

So I did.

I got up onstage the next night and did an entire act without cursing once.

I bombed horribly.

I had lost my edge. Cursing was my lifeblood. If I didn't curse, then I had no act. I was just a dumb kid in his early 20s, standing on stage talking about poo-poo and former girlfriends who would make love to me and then break my motherfornicating heart.

It wasn't me.

So I went back to cursing the next night and the audience was back in the palm of my hand.


...I write serious coffee table books and have a diary.


Had I quit cursing, it wouldn't be "Everybody Loves Raymond". It woulda been "Everybody Loves Uncle Bob".

Naturally, the show would be 30 minutes of me sitting at a kitchen table, biting my tongue until it bled while real actors carried the show for me.

But's the thought that counts.

My computer is back to acting slow.

And's NOT the Code Red Worm doing it. I understand this. It's mere COINCIDENCE that my computer was fine last week and slow as Granny putting on her panties this morning.

Just a coincidence. Everybody that knows more about computers than me is quick to point this out.

"It's just a coincidence Uncle Bob, blah blah blah," they write. "There's no way the Code Red Worm can affect you because your machine's not important enough, blah blah blah. You're not a major server Uncle Bob, blah blah blah. You cuss too much and you'll never amount to shit in this business and you'll have to write coffee table books for a living blah blah blah."


I get it.

Then why the hell is my machine so slow?

And please...I don't need a hundred emails with suggestions. That's just a figure of speech. I'm asking myself that question, not the general public.

I appreciate everyone's efforts in trying to solve my problems, but I think it's time for a new computer. This one's 14 months old and outdated.

Of course...if I was a rich comedian/actor with my own Top 10 TV show, this wouldn't be a problem.

I bet "The King of Fucking Queens" gets a new computer every day.

...Big ungrateful bastard...

So "Hurricane Barry" dumped about an inch of rain at my house yesterday that was gone by 5:00.

Whew! Major storm!

I think I'd REALLY be embarrassed if my name was actually Barry.

Because when a hurricane is given your name, you kinda take an extra added interest in that hurricane.

You find yourself watching the Weather Channel more often, wondering how "your" hurricane is doing.

And deep down, even though the majority of us don't want "our" hurricanes to take a still want it to have enough impact to where people say "Oh ... remember Hurricane (Insert your name here)?? Now THAT was a hurricane to remember!"

And your chest swells with pride because in some warped fashion, you feel responsible for a little wrath and destruction. You're guilty by association.

Well...there's a shitload of Barrys walking around right now with their heads hung low.

You're only given one chance for your hurricane to be the one that matters.

And when it turns into a tropical storm, then depression, then cold front all in the space of a few's hurricane impotence.


Your hurricane has a limp peter.

So if there's any Barrys out there reading this today...take heed.

Your hurricane sucked.

And I bet you're a limper.

Thanks a heap for getting my hopes up for a new roof, you limp fucker.


That's it for now...I hear a whiny baby trying desperately to wake up and latch onto a nipple. And that's my cue to call it quits here.

Remember...people named Barry and the King of Queens have earned my scorn here today.

I hope they've done the same for you.

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