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06:18 a.m. - 2001-03-24



Lemme address a few other D'landers right now.

Icebear rented "Welcome To The Dollhouse" on my suggestion and didn't like it.


(Uncle Bob stands upon his hilltop and looks down at all the "Dollhouse" fans scurrying to their keyboards to email Icebear and give him what's for.)

Actually ... don't flame the guy. I'll take care of this...

"Welcome To The Dollhouse" is DEFINITLY a love it or hate it movie. I'm going to try to explain why I love it.

Dawn Wiener is the ultimate nerd. We've all been nerds at one point in our lives, we've all been picked on, we've all felt lower than low.

Well...Dawn is worse off than ANY of us. There's not a soul in the movie that will show her any compassion with the exception of the self-absorbed rocker who eventually turns his back on her and the little geeky kid who wants to be her special friend. From her family to her schoolmates to I guess...they all pick on her.

Oh. Did I mention I was high as a kite when I first saw the film? I guess that should be taken into consideration as well.

Anyway...the torture this girl goes through is SO ABSURD, that it made me laugh just wondering how bad was it going to get for this poor kid.

But she keeps her chin up and never really seeks revenge on her tormenters, with the exception of her perfect little sister.

I dunno. I thought the movie was just so insane that I had to laugh.

Sorry, 'bear. The shit made me laugh and still makes me laugh. I'm a warped individual. And like I's not for everybody.

My girl Wendigo in her most recent entry talks about the fun times we used to have when we worked together at the newspaper.

Y'all ... those were the best of times, lemme tell ya. Wendi was my boss and she was just the coolest boss you could ask for. You need to read her entry to get an idea on how crazy it was when we worked together.

The newspaper that we worked for (and I still work for) had a reputation for being the stuffy upper-crust newspaper. Older people with money read all about their peers and politics in our paper.

When Wendi came on board, we started to just get goofy in the paper.

For a two-month period, I wrote all the horoscopes. Except I did them "Uncle Bob" style.

GEMINI: There's a very good chance that you will die today in a fiery auto accident.

CAPRICORN: You will smell something odd today. It's your breath.

TAURUS: Those people that you call your friends are really conspiring against you to steal all your belongings.

...That kinda stuff.

We weren't really being watched closely at the time. We were part of a larger conglomerate and were basically the low men on the totem pole ... the bigwigs didn't really pay much attention to the newspaper at the time. So yeah ... we got away with making up quotes and assigning them to fake people just to see if anyone ever called us on it.

One of the greatest "Wendigo" era stories is one we still talk about today at the paper. This may offend some of you, but hey ... you should almost expect that from me by now.

At the time, we had this old guy writing for us named Joe. Joe had been writing for the paper for about 30 years. He was getting pretty sick at the time and was near death (He's been dead now for about five years or so). So we would have to drive to his house to pick up his column each week because he didn't have email or a fax machine because he was near death and that would just be kinda counter-productive to spend $2,000 on something that you would only be enjoying for a few more months.

Well, one week, Joe turns in this column that reminisced about some of his friends back in the 50's who hung around a gas station in town.

One of the friends was named "Nigger".

When we read this, we were shocked. The general rule of thumb was that you did NOT question Joe on anything he wrote. Joe was one of the mainstays at the newspaper and thousands of people subscribed to our paper just to read Joe's column each week. He was a brilliant man (in his day) who played a large part in some of the biggest news stories to ever come out of Alabama. He was friends with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. as well as George Wallace. He was well respected in the community and in the state.

But...well...could we REALLY print this???

If memory serves me correct, Wendi called Joe on this. Joe assured Wendi that "Nigger" was this guy's nickname ... everyone called him that and it was okay to use it in the story.

Wendi, knowing that Joe was suffering from cancer and drawing his last breaths, decided to keep questioning Joe's column.

Wendi took the column to the higher-ups, along with the picture of all his friends that he was waxing poetically about, including the one black guy in the picture with the offending name.

The higher up told Wendi to NOT question Joe. If Joe wrote it, than it was true.

Wendi gulped and against her better judgement, we printed it...offending word and all.

Oh. The offending word was used throughout the story. If you missed it once, don't would be in the next paragraph.

As it turned out ... that was NOT this man's official nickname. Neigh ... that was the nickname that all his white "friends" called him behind his back. Keep in mind, this was in the 1950s in Alabama...the last state in the union to treat black people as peers and not slaves.

Joe's memory, racked with cancer, had let him down in a fairly big way.

We didn't get much heat from that whole ordeal, believe it or not. But I remember how Wendi sweat it out for a week before we put out that next issue, wondering if the next time that phone rang it would be some lawyer representing this man's family and ready to sue us.

Those were really good times. I doesn't sound like it there, of course. But they were.

I miss having Wendi for a boss.

But she's still a good friend.

Sorry if I offended anyone with the "N" word. It shan't happen again.

Got my hair cut yesterday.

I wait until I look like Keith Richards before I cut it. That is...if Keith was addicted to cupcakes and not heroin.

It looks pretty good, I guess. Considering it's on my big-assed head.

Apparently, Cat has nominated me for some award at Mah Awards for Best Diaryland Personality.

I'm not sure how it works, if you're supposed to send your vote in through brain waves or something, but what the hell ... vote for me.

Normally, I'd act all humble and shit and say "Oh noooo...give it to someone else ... my reward is the fact that I'm allowed to write such drivel and post it for all to see."


Vote for me.

Click on the above link, go to Mah Awards and tell them..."Uncle Bob is my hero, my savior, my imaginary stud muffin and my personal foot massager."

That's right. Vote for me and I'll come to your home and massage your feet.

Creams, oils, feathers, etc.

Foot massages for everyone.

Are these other diarists promising foot massages??


So vote for me. I want to STOMP my competition into the ground. I want to turn around and laugh and go "AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! YOU PEOPLE SUCK!!!" in their faces. I want to be known as the end-all, be-all Diaryland GOD...the one everyone must worship and kow-tow to, and bake brownies for, and make my diary THE required small talk around the water cooler each morning and name their children after.


Actually, I don't really give a shit if I win or not. know...remember me when I die or something. That'd be cool enough, I guess.

Peace out, kiddies. It's a beautiful Saturday morning and I'm going to go revel in it in some form or fashion.

Love you all!!


QUEEN: "My Melancholy Blues"

I haven't been able to get this song out of my head for a few days now. It's kinda a torch song...a lounge act song ... I used to play it as a club deejay at the end of the night when people would still want to slow dance with the lights up in the club. It's mellow. Track it down and


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