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5:46 a.m. - 2001-06-08



Is this week EVER going to be over with???

I was sitting around the office yesterday with my thumb buried snugly up my ass when the phone rang.

I stared at it, hoping that would make it quit ringing. It didn't work.

I picked the phone up and said the name of our business rather than "Hello", because then people know that they've reached the right number.

The person asked for my boss.

I said my boss wasn't in and added that my boss was probably face down in a puddle of his own puke in a gutter on the bad side of town after scoring some exceptionally good weed and smoking it after downing a bottle of J&B scotch.

Actually, I just said he wasn't in.

The voice asked who they were speaking to.

I told them the infamous Uncle Bob, goddammit, who the hell is this??

It was the lady in charge of our big-time fancy music fest that I didn't attend this year.

The one that had a pretty shitty line-up.

The one that I stone cold busted in my newspaper column last week, talking about how shitty the lineup was.

I gulped.

"Oh. Heh heh. Hi Marianne," I said very nervously.

"I read your column last week," she said, like a high school principal who was very disappointed in me.

"Oh that?" I laughed nervously. "That was the pinkeye talking."

"Well, it said you had lots of ideas for musical acts for next year and I'd like to hear them."


Thank God I came up with 100 names before I wrote that column.

So anyway ... we meet next Wednesday at 10 a.m., at which time I present her with a list of names that I THINK people will bust down the gates to see and hear.

Here's where YOU (the dear Uncle Bob reader)come in.


Here's the criteria ...

A) The acts have to be FAMILY-ORIENTED acts to an extent. We've had acts like Joan Jett (who sang an AWFUL lot of songs about her vagina), Violent Femmes (who apparently did the song "Dance Motherfucker Dance") and George Clinton (who uses the word "funk" instead of "fuck" but most grandmas couldn't tell the difference).

This means no Slayer. No Danzig. No Rotted Corpse, Bloodsuckers 101, Mom's Puffy Vagina, The Dead Fuckwads, Razor Burn, Anal Retentive Butt Pirates or Pimply Ass Nuggets. None of that heavy metal thrash punk shit.

Got it, Gay Wayne?

B) Nostalgia acts are where it's at with this music festival. Since I live in one of the absolute most ignorant, backwards assed states in the union, they're CONVINCED that Journey is still the kick-ass band that it always was.

Yes...Journey's already on my list.

C) No Backstreet Boys, Dixie Chicks, N Sync or Britney Spears. These people charge an assload of cash just to even CONSIDER coming here and the budget can't afford it.

D) Up-and-coming bands like Jimmie's Chicken Shack, Incubus and Coldplay are acceptable and that's what we're looking for.

Up-and-coming country artists are also good since I don't know shit about country music anymore. recap ... legends in music, one hit wonders, up and comers ... anyone who's not exceptionally HUGE at this point.

Got it??

Give me your suggestions today.


Help a brother man out.

I've got a zit on my cheek.

I can't tell if it's a zit or an ingrown whisker.

But it's there.

And it hurts.

I'm 39 years old.

This ain't right.

Our drunk-assed boss gathered us together for a meeting yesterday to tell us that our insurance rates have gone up.

He pays for all our insurance which is a perk in the job, but as it turns out that's pretty much the case wherever you go these days.

So anyway, his out-of-pocket expense would climb $5,000 next year for insurance.

So as of July 1, we don't have insurance since he's dropping it.

He's desperately trying to find some other type of insurance to give us, which would be the sixth time in four years we've changed insurance policies because he's always trying to get a new policy.

Notice I didn't say "better policy".

I just sat there in the meeting, mentally undressing our new sales girl, because I have a pretty good feeling I won't be working for this company next month.

If anything, the fact that my boss can't afford to pay our insurance is another good reason for me to skedaddle out of this joint.

I'm positive the bitch will spend $10,000 on liquor next year.

But he can't afford to take care of his employees.

Tsk, tsk.

Goddamned drunk.

Andy's getting SOOOO MUCH BETTER at eating his food lately.

He actually opens his mouth and anticipates the spoon now.

Except, he's found out that if he laughs while he's eating, food sprays everywhere.

This humors him to no end.

So when the little butthole is grinning big as I put that spoon to his lips, I KNOW he's about to spray me.

I don't even have to do anything to make him laugh. He does it on his own, just to watch the orange shit fly.

He's goofy.

After dinner last night, he was a fussy little bitch and wouldn't calm down.

Since I had to go to the grocery store to get Maggie some dog food, I decided to take Andy with me because he always behaves in public.

Plus, Mama REALLY needed some quiet time to herself.

So we get in the van and drive to the store.

We get to the store and I decide that Andy's big enough to ride in the cart like a big boy.

I strapped him into the cart and he was looking around like "What the fuck is this?"

He was soooo cool riding in the cart. He wouldn't smile no matter how hard I tried to make him grin. He was dead serious.

He was ... Big Boy.

And you don't fuck with Big Boy. What if he were to see someone he knew? One of the other kids from day care...or maybe a nurse from the doctor's office??

He couldn't be acting all foolish by laughing at his dad's stupid faces.

Uh uh.

Big boys don't laugh in public. They look all serious as they ride around in a shopping cart.

So he's gripping that little bar for dear life and checking out as much as his big eyes could take in as we just walked up and down the aisles for fun.

Once again, women were all over him, cooing and smiling at him.


Almost makes me wish my wife were dead. If she were dead, I could be picking up chicks left and right with this baby by my side.

"What a darling baby! Does he look like you or his mother??"

"Me. His mother looks like a corpse."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just back dat ass up and I'll try to forget you just mentioned his dead mama."


That would be the life, my friend.

That's it from here. I've gotta go wake mama and baby up so that Mama can get ready for work and Baby can watch "The Book of Pooh".


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