Hey Bubba. You sure you in the right place?? (Uncle Bob pokes the stranger with a stick) I mean...normal, ordinary visitors to this diary know to just skip over this hard to read crap and move down to the big font. But you. You're reading it. You strange. You reeeeal strange. And if you're under 18, hit the road you little street urchin.

UNCLE BOB'S NEIGHBORHOOD

Right now, there's some guy on the Today Show talking to Matt about digestive problems and fecal matter. Something tells me if she's watching, Horsemanure is doing the five finger shuffle with reckless abandon right now with all this poop talk going on.

I told y'all on Monday about me being on a walk Monday morning and a guy asking me if I had seen a Rottweiler running loose. As I wrote that morning's entry, I hadn't seen him. When I left for work later on, that big scary assed bastard was waiting for me at my car door. It felt like a scene out of "The Omen." A fucking rottweiler staring at me...daring me to get into my car.

As it turned out, he was a playful dog, and didn't want to shred my jugular vein for its own amusement. I finally managed to corner him and put a leash on him and take him back to his house. I took the dog to the door, rang the doorbell and said "Is this your dog?"

The guy just said "Yeah, thanks". He took the leash off the dog, took the dog inside and said "thanks" one more time.

Alright...I wasn't looking for money or anything. But shit. I just spent 30 minutes corraling your dog that you can't keep penned up and hand delivered him to your ass. Maybe a little SMALL TALK would be nice. Some "I was really getting worried about him" or "Where was he?"

None of that.

Y'know, I'm considered a community leader in my city ... but I barely know any of my neighbors.

I've often thought about either organizing a street-long yard sale or a street-long barbecue, since everyone does both on my street. But NONE of the neighbors really talk.

I say "Hi" to everybody when I'm walking. If you're outside, my ass is saying "Hi" to your ass. If you're in your car, I'm gonna wave at you. People may think I'm mentally handicapped, waving like a drooling moron every day.

Ya know what? Fuck 'em.

I don't wave at EVERY car. Just the ones I see every morning driven by my neighbors. Some are nice and smile and wave back. One single woman about five houses down has NEVER returned a smile or wave. So, of course, this makes me keep it up even more. Sometimes I think maybe she hates men. I dunno.

I have two mailmen on my street. They're always both very pleasant and above talking about more than the weather.

There's two little girls down the street that used to be terrified of my dog a few years ago. I promised them both "one million dollars" if my dog ever bit them. My dog's too damned lazy to bite another living creature, I've learned that over the years. So now, the little girls always have to pet Maggie (my dog)because it's the only dog they're not scared of.

Next door to me is Jennifer. I'm always scared she'll find this diary or one of my websites on the web, since she's so into the net. So I have NOTHING but good things to say about this middle-aged divorced woman who tends to ask a lot of questions about my friends and OKAY....she gives me the creeps at times. I've just kinda caught her staring through my windows at times. There. I said it. If she reads this, I'm sure she'll move.

On the other side of me is Diana. She's in her mid-20s, recently divorced with two young kids. My wife and I tried to be nice when she moved in and took over a plate of some cookies and brownies and stuff. She was nice for about 30 seconds and then the phone rang and we "got out of her hair". That was four years ago. She's never spoken to us since. I always wave and say "hi" if we're both outside. She never returns either. Sometimes, I can hear one of her kids just SCREAMING and I think to myself..."Diana...had you just been nice to us from the start, you could send your screaming kid over to my house to play with one of the over 5,000 toys that I have in my collection."

But then again, this kid is screaming SO LOUD that I can hear him in MY house. I have a feeling there's something wrong with him. I doubt I'd want that whiny little shit in my house, playing with my vintage Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle collection.

The couple across the street are older. The guy reads my column and treats me like a superstar. He's probably the only one in the neighborhood who waves harder and more often than me.

The people behind us are rednecks who have a pool table on their back patio.

I think I just convinced myself.

It's time to move.

How can I do something daring and crazy that would make Uncle Bob notice me???

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Tell me everything's going to be alright.