ONE OF THESE DAYS, I'M BEATING GOMER'S ASS

My puter is freaking out on my lily white ass.

It's like there's a dimmer switch on the damned thing and right now it's about 75% dimmer than it was two weeks ago.

Luckily for everyone involved, I found the dimmer switch on the front of the monitor. I've got it cranked to "REALLY FUCKING BRIGHT" right now but it's still about as bright as Monica Lewinsky.

Soo....I'm looking at buying a new monitor. Because the only hope I have in getting it fixed is calling my brother-in-law.

(Bob shudders)

Okay...I have got the absolute WORST brother-in-law on the planet.

I'm sure there's worse. Brothers-in-law in prison for murder and shit.

Okay...mine's the worst brother-in-law who's not locked up in solitary confinement on the planet...better?

Let's see...I've got to give him a fake name here...let's go with Gomer.

Gomer is 37 years old and still lives at home with Mom.

He hasn't had a date since 1987. When he was 24. And she was the most disgusting woman I've ever shared a restaurant booth with.

He's got a huge gut on him and chooses to shave his head yet grow a full, untrimmed beard like Grizzly Adams.

He STILL wears t-shirts that he first bought in high school. He's proud of these shirts. Whenever he comes over to our house to get something out of our storage shed, he's wearing this Styx "Mr Roboto" concert t-shirt.

That took place in 1982 for you history buffs.

So...he's still wearing a t-shirt that's 18 years old. But now, of course, it's tattered, faded and smelly and doesn't cover his 275-lb. belly.

AND ... he ALWAYS has to tell you the story of the t-shirt.

Readers Digest Condensed Version: He found it in a parking lot after the concert.

Whoopdee shit.

Still, he relishes in telling the story because people don't normally pay any attention to him and they're halfway expecting a decent story behind an 18-year-old t-shirt.

Uh-uh. There's about as much story behind his t-shirt as there is behind those socks you're wearing.

I know that NONE OF YOU have the patience to read every single stupid thing he's ever done, so I'll try to name a few.

* The only "Star Trek" movie I've ever seen, I went with him in 1987 or so...it was "Star Trek 4"...I remember that much about it.

A very crowded theater, very mature audience, trying to enjoy the movie.

And then...there's Gomer, cheering and booing throughout the entire thing like he was at a football game and not a movie.

Nobody really complained about his overexhuberance in the theater. I think they thought he was retarded and felt sorry for him and me.

And it was the last movie I've ever gone to see with him.

*He once cut off the electric power to my entire neighborhood for hours.

We have a small cottage in our back yard that we call our storage shed. But it's literally big enough for someone to live out there.

Instead...it houses all of Gomer's junk that he can't bear to throw away, but doesn't have room for in Mama's house, so he keeps it in our shed.

Toolboxes. Sheets of marble that he "might need" someday. Old Readers Digests. Broken, rusted lawnmowers.

Anyway, one Sunday night, he and a friend were over there unloading more stuff into the shed out of a big U-Haul truck.

They go to leave the yard at about 9 p.m. and the truck severs an electrical wire up over my driveway.

Sparks go flying all over the truck as the live wire lands on the windshield.

And then I noticed the lights going off in every house on our street.

In the heat of summer.

Lemme tell ya, a hot summer night in Alabama is unbearable without air conditioning.

Everyone started wandering outside and were instantly guided to the only light on the street.

...The sparks flying all over the hood of this truck.

Gomer is soaking up this attention. He's one of those kids who will take any attention thrown their way, good or bad, because nobody ever really pays any attention to him.

Except he's 37.

So Gomer holds an impromptu press conference with the neighbors in the middle of the street, describing his harrowing tale of pulling out of my driveway too recklessly, thus ruining the final hours of everyone's weekend.

My neighbors wanted to kill him.

I seriously wanted to move far, far away from him.

* Can I tell one more quickie??

Tee hee!

Good...this one strikes me as being ironically funny.

For our wedding, Gomer bought us a Marmalade clock.

Marmalade is our "china pattern". It's not really china...it's just our plates really. But the clock matched our plates, glasses, silverware, etc.

We had the clock for about two years.

Until Gomer came over.

Gomer was waddling his fat ass past the Marmalade clock when his shoulder brushed against it, knocking it to the floor and shattering the clock.

Since it was his wedding present to us, he saw no reason to replace it even though he broke it. He had paid for it once, he wasn't paying for it again.

A few years go by and Susie finally replaces the clock herself.

A few more years go by and Gomer comes BACK over.

Gomer walks past the clock.

CRASH!!

I was outside grilling. I peeked my head in the door and saw the clock shattered on the floor.

I JOKINGLY SAID..."Lemme guess....Gomer???"

I thought there would be no way the goofy bastard would break the same clock twice.

Wrong.

And he didn't even give a shit. He laughed it off and kept piling food on his plate.

For the record, some of the other things of ours that he's broken include my recliner, a VCR, my lawn mower, my weed eater, a lamp, a boom box, and my computer (several times...he always gets it fixed, but he's had it in shambles before and me almost in tears).

When he asks to borrow something small like a CD or book, what he really means is "Can I have this?" because he has NEVER given me anything back of mine that he has borrowed.

That includes three Pink Floyd CDs, both Howard Stern books and my Heavy Metal video.

Alright...that's enough...this was yet another of the "You're Losing It, Bobbo" entries.

Bottom line...my wife's brother is a freak.

And he's looking for a date.

Ladies???