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5:02 a.m. - 2001-07-25


Okay first off..."The Downer Channel"...

My God...has there ever been an unfunnier show on TV?

Amazingly, they had managed to show every single funny skit during their commercials that have been running for the last two months and saved ZIP for the actual show.

I kept promising the show would get better to Susie.

And it didn't.

It was the kinda show where you wanted to scrape your eyeballs out with a fork rather than have to watch another minute of it.

Maybe I'm jaded and my idea of humor is this hunk o' shit website ... but damn, Steve Martin. You should be ashamed for that shit.


Discussion over.

Andy's crawling now ...hide the ammonia.

Andy's goal in life is to be able to pet the dog without the dog snarling and growling at him.

He is pursuing this goal every time he hits the floor crawling.

Every night, for four hours, it's a job of keeping those two away from each other.

Maggie seems to enjoy this game. She purposefully lays down near Andy and wags her tail in his face, slapping him silly.

He reaches over to her and grabs a fistful of fur and pulls. She curls her lips and BARKS FEROCIOUSLY at him.

He just sits there dumbfounded.

She hasn't bitten him and I don't think she ever will. It's a game to her...she snaps and snarls...but she knows what she's doing.

On the other hand, Andy is about as clueless as a detective in an iron lung. He has no idea what's going on. He just wants to grab him some doggy fur.

It was amusing at first. Now it's a job. Separate the boy and the dog if you want any peace and quiet.

Speaking of peace and quiet, I gave Andy a big metal pot and some wooden spoons last night to play with, just to see what he'd do.

He banged that pot for an hour straight with the biggest grin on his face.

I went to bed and left him and Susie awake. He was all excited to be playing his little concert for Mommy.

Mommy was tickled shitless that I did this and then went to bed.

What are Daddies for?

Well, my computer is in much better shape than it was.

I've removed about 1,600 MP3s from the system with a little over a thousand more to go.

It's not even making that "snap, crackle, pop" sound anymore in the hard drive on a continuous basis. It's actually QUIET.

I'm shocked, overjoyed, sexually satisfied, and cold-blooded.

Go Puter! Go!!

Today is my evil boss'Wendi's birthday!

I didn't get her anything because anything I would have gotten her she would have thrown on the floor and demanded that I pick it up and then asked me how my job was going and if I dared say anything less than "SCRUMPDILLYUMPTIOUS!" she would flog me in front of my new co-workers.

You know...because she's evil.

Still, I love her like a sister and I'd really like it if y'all took a second to send her an email telling her what a lovely employee she has in me and there's no need to think about the possibility of firing me.

Oh yeah...and wish her a happy birthday too.

And be NICE. Remember...she may be evil, but it's a sweet kinda evil.

And she never gets emails and the ones she does get she answers almost immediately.

So ... if you'd like to receive an email from my boss...send her one. She's cool with it.

...heh heh heh heh heh ...

Man oh man...

You don't know HOW GOOD IT FEELS to not have to fret over my other diaries anymore.

And now that I've come out of the closet, rubbed my eyes and squinted while looking into the light, I guess I can come clean about some stuff in more detail.

First off...I started the "Brad P." diary one day after smoking copious amounts of pot.

My whole idea behind it was to see if I could start a diary that was completely fictional, but always had the people wondering "Is it really him?"

Then...when people started saying "Are you really him?" in emails, I started to get a bit freaked out.

So I made the thing more absurd, to let people know that it was a joke. I "killed" my friends in the diary and they came back from the dead.



People STILL thought I was Brad P.

Especially foreigners. God bless 'em...we need our foreigners in this world or else we'd all be neighbors.

But some of these non-English speaking dweebs would send "Brad" the most bizarre emails, wanting to have his babies and shit.

Non-English speaking DON'T want to have me father your child. I'm a wild man-beast...NOT a Hollywood hunk.

But I kept writing, ignoring these emails.

Then....THE LETTER came.

Andrew emailed me a 16 page letter from Brad's people, saying how I was ruining his reputation and keeping him from getting jobs. And if I didn't stop writing the diary IMMEDIATELY, there would be lawsuits a'plenty keeping me busy as a little beaver.

I was told to make a formal apology on the diary, which I did, and to take down any old entries, which I didn't...but I DID take down the link to GET to the older diaries. Enterprising young entrepreneurs were still able to access the "older.html" page for Brad's diary.

...This ain't rocket science, folks.

The outpouring of sadness and strangeness when the Brad diary came to an end was overwhelming. The message board took on a life of its own as people protested in anger that Brad was taken away from them.

I knew I had to do something to keep Brad alive.

While walking the dog the next morning, I thought..."Man...this stuff just blows dick."

Blows dick.

Blow Dick.

Dick Blow.

To always seemed like "Dick Blow, Private Eye" sounded better than "Dick Blow, Hollywood Superstar".

I really wanted to do a diary from a fictional Private Eye's perspective.

But I assigned the name to the "former" Brad P. At first, it was to protect the innocent and I had to change ALL the names out of paranoia ( my defense...the paranoia was genuine...I had quit smoking weed months before all this happened).

Then I said "Screw it." I started using names like "Jen", "Matt and Ben" and "Buscemi". If the crybaby lawyers wanted to come back and threaten to sue me over using those names, they were freakin' insane.

...But...I had lost all interest in writing the diary by this point. And it showed.

Brad's fan base had dwindled. The magic was gone. Even though there were still a few hundred people who dug Dick Blow, I killed him off. I just couldn't come up with anything new and original for him to do.

Somebody...and I seriously don't remember who...suggested that maybe Buscemi should have his own diary.

AWESOME!! New blood to work with!!

Sadly, my enthusiasm for Buscemi's diary waned quickly. I would only update it when I was threatened with physical violence.

So ... checking out Dick Blow's site meter one day, I noticed there were still quite a few people checking in every day to see if Dick had risen from the dead.


Go ahead and rise the boy from the dead.

So I did. With the most gawdawful flimsy scenario I could think of.

...He never really died.

I am issuing a public apology over that one. I should be whipped, flogged and have my ass tickled in public over that.

After two more Dick Blow entries, my heart still wasn't into it. I found myself not wanting to update any of them.

One of the funniest things...there were readers out there who HATED Uncle Bob, but LOVED Dick Blow and vice versa. I had so many people say how much they loved one of them, who had written me hate mail on the other was so amusing to me.

As nasty as some of those entries were, I'm proud of the Brad/Dick and Buscemi diaries. They cracked me up and still do when I go back to read them on occasion.

So if you've never read the Brad diaries, Dick diaries, or Buscemi diaries, or even

Dirty Drunk Party Slut Girl diaries, give 'em a shot if you've got some time to kill.

I like 'em anyway.

Then again...I'm biased.

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