GOODBYE

Dear Diarylanders,

I need to bend your ear for just a second on something that concerns the both of us.

It is with great sadness that I report that I'm out of cereal.

And because I'm out of cereal ... I will have to quit writing this diary.

It's been fun ... why it seems like only January when I first started this diary.

But I just can't keep this diary going when there's clearly no cereal in this house.

So...I hate to finally have to say this ... but this will have to be UNCLE BOB'S LAST DIARY ENTRY EVER.

Surely you understand.

And yes ... I WILL call you Shirley all I want.

I'm going to miss the good times. Me ... sitting here in my boxers saying ... "Oh man. That's not funny". And the times when I'd be sitting here in my boxers and t-shirt saying "Oh shit. That sucks."

It's the memories that are going to make it special.

I remember the time I sat here in my boxers and remembered the time I first whacked off. I could smell the cold concrete walls in my sinuses like they were the petals of a rose. I could picture the tiles of the ceiling of that hotel room through squinted eyes.

And yes, I even smiled when I recalled the ejaculatory path that my semen took as it covered the hotel room in man glue that very first time.

So, in turn, it's also the memories that are going to make it hard.

No pun intended.

It's not going to be easy to leave you Diarylanders. You have become a part of my life. People like Malkavia who would get so excited whenever I mentioned her in this diary, that she would actually CALL people, babbling like a downhill brook. People like Banky who mentioned me at least once a week in his diary and helped made me the superstar that I am no longer going to be.

And what about The Kitty?? What in God's name will happen to HER now that I'm gone?? Please...someone...feed the Kitty her daily dose of sarcasm and mean-spirited shenanigans.

And last but not least...what about that poor, poor Amber ? Who's going to warp that poor young mind now that Uncle Bob is gone??

Who, I ask??

YOU??

Oh ...CUT ME SOME SLACK YOU MORON. Don't make me laugh, my lips are chapped...

Jeez Louise...your little diatribes about how "Fred" won't call you or "Frieda" won't email you .... PTOOEY!!! They make me RETCH!!!!

Well ... that's not entirely true. I don't retch. But I have been known to dry heave while reading a few diaries every now and then. And that's no pretty sight, my friend. Because once I'm positive that these dry heaves won't be picking up any liquid hitchikers on their way up ... I refuse to leave the computer screen. I just keep reading the diary. And the more I read, the more I dry heave.

And I'm a loud dry heaver.

I've had police show up at my doorstep, thinking somebody was being murdered in here while trying to read a certain lovesick diary .

No...it's going to have to be somebody I can RELY on to continue entertaining these young impressionable children. Someone who will be there every day to try and make their world a little bit brighter. Someone who will not use their Diary space to chronicle their personal lives, but instead use it to completely fabricate stories of standing in line at McDonald's with a building full of handicapped children.

Give me a minute here, Skippy ... lemme have some breathing room ...

Personally, I would recommend my friend Mattie Gee. But he doesn't have a diary and that's a dead link.

Sigh.

I really don't know what to tell you kids.

Except ... you're all alone now.

Like a complete unknown.

No....scratch that ...like a rolling stone.

Yeah...a rolling stone...

I'm going to miss each and ......WHAT??

Why are you looking at me like that??

Oh shit...this is nothing to cry about...

Stop it. Stop it right now. This is JUST a diary...life WILL go on.

I'll email you. I promise.

Stop it. Please stop crying. It's going to be alright.

I'm going to miss you too. Really.

Goddammit....SOMEBODY GET ME A TISSUE OVER HERE, PLEASE....

Now you've got me crying ... Are you HAPPY NOW?!?

(Bob thanks his production assistant for the Kleenex, dabs his eyes and tries to regain his composure).

Jesus...I'm over here crying like Tammy Faye Bakker.

Alright fine ... you win ... I WON'T quit writing my diary.

(The applause swells, reaching a high decibel level. Uncle Bob rises to his feet, tears streaming down his face. He bows to the audience, who then rises to THEIR feet, giving him a standing ovation, throwing roses and small boxes of French chocolates at his feet.)

Thank you....thank you all so much...thank YOU (Bob points at one of his most faithful readers...YOU...who the camera pans to quickly. You are shown in the audience in the most radiant evening gown ever. And damn Banky...you look HOT!)

(Heh...that was a joke for my amusement only ...)

THE DIARY LIVES!!!

VIVA LE DIARY!!!

THE DIARY ROCKS!!!

Alright...time to can the bullshit ... I'm going to the store.

I've GOT to have some fucking cereal...

Semi-sincerely,

Your Dearest Uncle Robert

******************

The preceding was a spoof on the "Goodbye" entry that all diaries eventually come around to. Now then... Fawn , Dirtygirl and every one of you that has ever written your goodbye entry to us readers over the last few weeks ... except Banky ... who has simply gotten too huge for Diaryland and has just moved his site, but STILL managed to wrench a tearful goodbye entry out of it ....

You kids go take as much time as you need to tend to your personal lives. But you're TALENTED WRITERS and you need outlets. You're young and are talented enough to pursue futures in the field of writing. If this fuckin' idiot can make a respectable paycheck doing it, then so can you.

And Fawn...even though I enjoy them, you can do much more than sex entries. You're talented enough to where you can pick one little thing in your day that struck you as interesting or intriguing, sit down at your computer and captivate an audience.

Don't laugh at me, goddammit... I know what I'm talkin' about here...

What you've all got is WRITER'S BLOCK... every one of you in Diaryland are WRITERS.

We all get Writer's Block. Sometimes it can last all your life.

When I was a teen, I wrote over 1,000 lyrics to songs.

Today, I can't write a song to save my life, but I can do this shit til the cows come home.

So kids...take your time off and enjoy life. The weather's getting nicer and we all understand.

...But enough with the goodbyes... Uncle Bob ain't havin' it.

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Here's where you impress me with your typing skills. Leave me A MESSAGE .

If you want to read my diary from 1980 when UNCLE BOB was 18 and pitiful , PLUS check out my senior yearbook photo (I'm not gay...but I woulda done me...) CLICK HERE .

Be one of the cool ... the hip ... the elite... REVIEW this hunk o' dung.