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5:15 a.m. - 2001-01-14



So hey...wassap?

Y'know...I'm an old man. I'll be 39 years old very, very soon.

I'm old. I feel old. I act old. I look old. I taste old.


Because I'm old ... there's one simple rule you always adhere to when dealing with Uncle Bob ... you don't call my ass after 9 p.m.

You just DON'T.

If you're calling me after 9 p.m. ... somebody had better be dead or in the emergency room. If you're calling to fucking chit-chat after 9 p.m., I'm liable to go postal on your ass.


Okay ... our secretary at work has these three teenagers. Three of the dumbest goddamned kids you'll ever run across.

They call her at work CONSTANTLY. Just to ask insane shit.

"Mom ... where's the Cheerios?"

"Mom ... do I have to go to school today?"

"Mom ... what's the weather supposed to be like?"

We already know the two older boys are into drugs. Mom makes no bones about it. They're both potheads ... hell ... the oldest one's a dealer. Mom TELLS us this shit.

So who the hell calls me last night at 11 p.m. after my OLD ass had been asleep for 90 minutes???

...Pothead #2.

PHONE: "Ring! Ring! Ring!"

ME: (fumbling to find the alarm clock in the dark before I realize it was the phone) "What the fuck?"

ME: (Finding the phone) "Hello? Who's dead?"

PHONE: "Uncle's Greg."

ME: "Who?!?!"

PHONE: "Greg ... your secretary's kid."

ME: (Mentally balancing my checkbook to see if I have money for bail) "Yeah Greg?"

PHONE: "Do you still want to sell your wife's old car?"

........Okay ..... this has got to be the stupidest goddamned thing this kid has ever done.


For some ungodly reason, I'm actually nice to the kid. He's wanting to talk about the stereo in the car and if it has heat.

It's a 1976 Chevy Impala, kid. You're lucky if it still has tires.

He knows that my nephew wants the car too. But my nephew's 1200 miles away and it doesn't look like he's going to be dropping by to buy the car anytime soon.

Pothead #2 REALLY wants this car. I've flat out told him it's a piece of rusted shit, it's ugly, but it runs good.

He wants it. Sight unseen.

Hell ... it's only four hundred dollars. That's it. It's a steal. You could sell the stereo for three hundred.

Well ... not really. Unless you could find some mad retard who's willing to pay three hundred smackers for a seven year-old casette player.

We talked for about a minute until I dozed back off to sleep on his stoned ass.

Goofy assed kid.

Bottom line ... don't be calling my ass after 9 p.m.

Got it??


Lemme see ... didn't update yesterday ... no apologies there ... had very little to say ...

Spent a good four hours yesterday making a videotape for my niece in Nashville of Baby Andy.

By the way ... I added two new pics of Baby Andy on his site that I think are truly adorable. Then again ... I'm one biased sonofabitch. But YOU take a look at the first couple of pics on the site and tell ME that he's not the cutest damned baby in the world....GO FOR IT.

(Oh yeah ... and in the "Bookworm" photo, he's reading a book sent to him from Auntie Annie that he loves to look at. In the picture, he's thinking deeply about the book.)

Anyway ... spent a large chunk of yesterday putting the first two months of his life on tape for his cousin. I just sat and grinned the entire time I made it. Damn ... I love this kid.

It was pretty funny yesterday ... we usually give Andy a bath at night, right before bedtime and he passes right out soon afterwards.

Yesterday, since we had forgotten to bathe him on Friday, we gave him a bath at 9:30 in the morning.

Andy ... thinking ... "Bath...Bedtime" ... passed right out after his bath for five hours after a full night's sleep.

It was kinda amusing. We kept trying to wake him up to let him know it wasn't bedtime.

He wouldn't have any of it. Lemme sleep, dammit. That was his motto yesterday.

It was cute.

I'm sure you had to be there.

But you weren't. Therefore ... I share the story with you here.


Is it me or are commercials getting creepier??

I mean ... you've got the big black Jamaican psychic woman, Cleo.

Does ANYBODY find this woman appealing in the least bit??

She looks pissed off whenever she's on the screen. She chastises anybody that calls her, making them feel like idiots because their spouses are cheating on them and THEY DIDN'T KNOW. All that smoke in the commercials ... it looks like it was shot in a burning mortuary.

And she's on just about every other commercial.

She's sitting there, flipping her Tarot cards and just berating the people who call her.

I would never, ever, EVER call Cleo to bitch about my wife. Cleo would make me feel about an inch tall. And I do not compromise my self esteem.

Then yesterday ... I see this new commercial.

It's for Tampax.

Basically, it's a shot of a school classroom and a girl's purse or something on her desk.

The words on the screen are basically telling the story that this girl just went to the bathroom holding her tampons.

She didn't have to take her purse because she has some new tampon carrier thing. And since she didn't take her purse ... nobody knows that she's having her period.

Isn't that FASCINATING???

Guess what Tampax??

Hell...Guess what LADIES???

This world would run a whooooole lot smoother if y'all just TOLD US MEN you were having your period.

That's right. Quit trying to hide the shit.

Because if we KNOW you're having your period, we tend to take it easier on you gals.

If a guy sees a woman carrying her purse to the toilet with her ... we know at that point ... hey ... don't give her any shit ... she's having a bad enough day.

But when you try to HIDE your period ... damn ... we're going to keep harassing you. We're going to keep fucking with your head. We're going to keep slapping your ass. We're going to keep doing everything that we guys do to stay annoying and immature.

And Tampax is PROUD of this shit?!?

I know that when my wife says "I've got my monthly visitor and I'm not talking about the milkman" that I need to back off. To take "Uncle Bob" down a few notches. To be kind, generous and thoughtful for the next few days and give her anything she wants as long as it's made of chocolate.

My wife is pampered like a newborn when she has her period.

I think the world would be a much better place and we'd all get along a whole lot better if women just came right out and said "I'm bleeding like a cow that's been in a car wreck."

Shit, Tampax. If you want to REALLY come up with something revolutionary ... create t-shirts that say "I'm bloated, irritable and on my period" on the front with "Fuck off" on the back.

But then you'd have those women who wore the shirts constantly even when it wasn't their periods just so us men would cut 'em some slack.

So ladies ... next time you're having your period, TELL EVERYONE. Your family, friends, co-workers, people in school ... let EVERYONE know that you're ovulating and bitchy.

You'll be treated like a princess.

And you can silently thank God for Uncle Bob just one more time.

Trust me.

Uncle Bob ... solving all the world's problems, one at a time


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