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10:20:45 - 2000-07-01


Y'know...after a few years of having life go great, when I end up having a few bad things happen to me in one day, it seems like my whole life is crumbling down around me.

That's not the case here. But yesterday SEEMED like a shitty day. SOON as I got done writing yesterday's entry, the dog is HOWLING to go for her morning walk.


"Fine," I said. "Get your leash and let's go."

We get about three blocks from home when I realize something.

No shit.

I'm walking in my damned underwear.

That's right. The dream we've ALL had where we're out in public in our underwear has come true for me.

Granted, they're plaid, flannel boxers that I sleep in. They have a button fly so Lil' Bobby ain't dangling out, greeting the cars as they go by.

But I'm STILL in my underwear.

I THOUGHT as I left the house that I was wearing my gray cotton gym shorts. I KNEW I wasn't wearing underwear under the shorts. That's cool. I usually go commando during my morning walks anyway.

BUT...walking in my boxers??? That was damned near mortifying.

I pulled my t-shirt down over the boxers, so I looked like a 250-lb. man walking the streets in a t-shirt and nothing else and HAULED ASS QUICKLY for the rest of the walk.

I got home without any altercations with police or small children screaming "THAT MAN DOESN'T HAVE ANY PANTS ON, MOMMY!!!"

I go back to my computer, safe in the confines of my own home and have an email from a member of Uncle Bob's Army who wants OUT of the Army.

That was a first. So I read on.

It seems I offended this soldier with my tale of being scared of Asians that I wrote the other day.

The email was very nice but said "please take me off the army list... i know that it sounds petty, but

to me, it would make me feel better to not support that entry."

Wow. Way to make me feel like Hitler.

So anyway, that soldier has gone AWOL. She's the first and probably not the last.

Therefore...a new policy. If you want out of the Army, it's as easy as getting in. Just lemme know and you're out of Uncle Bob's Army.

Granted, you risk hurting an innocent old man's feelings. But you CAN be removed.

THEN...I get to work...feeling kinda melancholy...and the boss approaches me.

"Why haven't we run 'Chicken Soup For The Soul' in months," he asks me, referring to the popular syndicated column.

"You called and cancelled it about six months ago," I informed him. "You told me to keep using it until they quit sending it to us, because you didn't think that'd it'd be an IMMEDIATE cancellation. I used it for about two months after that until they finally quit sending it."

"I never said that," he said. "I would have NEVER cancelled 'Chicken Soup'."

Okay...there are certain rules to be followed when your boss is a raging alcoholic who goes into DT's if it's after noon and he hasn't had a drink.

The first rule is "Don't tell the boss he's wrong."

"You're wrong," I told the boss. "I remember distinctly that I was sitting at THAT DESK (I pointed to another desk in the office) when you came back here and told me that you were cancelling the column."

"I NEVER said that," he said, standing by his lie.

What the fuck ever. It wasn't worth fighting over. Either he was drunk then or he was drunk now, but he DID say it. I didn't dream all this shit up.

So he gets on the Internet to download the most recent 'Chicken Soup' columns.

Gee willikers...he can't get to them. Hell...he can't even FIND THEM.

Gosh boss...maybe it's because you called the company and told them YOU DIDN'T WANT TO PAY FOR CHICKEN SOUP anymore and they quit uploading it to our site.

So he asks me to come over and help him find the 'Chicken Soup' columns.

I checked the site out and access was denied to the 'Chicken Soup' portion of the website.

"See?," I told him. "You called and cancelled it."

"I KNOW I didn't do that," he grumbled.

...I DESPISE dealing with drunks. If I found any joy in it whatsoever, I'd STILL be in the bar business. That's why I left the bar business ... I hate having to reason with someone's alcohol-addled mind.

THEN...about 15 minutes after the 'Chicken Soup' fiasco...he turns to me and says "Make sure we have a good July 4th picture for the front cover of the paper next week."

Gee...that's all well and good...but we go to press on Monday...the 3RD OF JULY.

"Bob," I said. "What do you suggest? We go to press BEFORE the 4th of July. I won't be able to get ANY fireworks shots or ANY July 4th shots at all."

"Use that creative mind of yours," he sniffed. "That's what I pay you for."

Oh yeah...right. You pay me to perform fucking miracles. I gotcha. Sorry boss...sometimes I forget that I'm Jesus Christ in the flesh.

So now...sometime this weekend, I've gotta come up with some photo that says "FOURTH OF JULY".

...I REALLY wanna find a crying baby and stick a lit sparkler in its hand with the headline "BABIES SHOULDN'T PLAY WITH SPARKLERS".'s where you find out what a nice guy I can be at times.

On Thursday, our secretary was really down in the dumps. She had to take her car to the shop and it was going to cost her $200 to fix.

She doesn't have $200 laying around the house. She has three kids, a drug-addicted loser for a husband, no credit cards and very little money in the bank.

She was telling a few of us her story and I felt bad for her. She really needed her car fixed but had no idea where she was going to come up with the money.

As we all know...recently I've had a yard sale ($1,115), I got my final check for my book ($900), I got my taxes back (An undisclosed amount of money), I deejayed one night ($150) and I sold my old nemesis Vic 25 CDs ($50).

All I had in my pocket was the $50 from Vic.

I pulled it out of my pocket and gave it to her.

She started to cry. She hugged me and told me how wonderful I was.

I explained that I wasn't GIVING her the money, I was LOANING it to her. She could pay me back at her own pace...just as long as I had it back by November when the baby was born.

She called me an angel, blah, blah, blah.

So YESTERDAY, I asked Susie if I could give our secretary another $150 to totally pay off her car problems.

That was the way I was brought up. If you have money and a friend needs it, you give the friend your money.

(DON'T YOU PEOPLE ASK ME FOR MY MONEY. I love each and every one of you, but I don't KNOW YOU. You may be able to write sweet diary entries and email...but you could be Johnny Thief for all I know. So you can close that email window with "Uncle Bob" on the top RIGHT NOW)

Susie agreed that I could pay for the rest of our secretary's car woes. I got some cash out of our secret hiding place and went to work with a good feeling in my heart.

BEFORE I could give her the money, I overheard the secretary telling one of the other employees that she was "so depressed" after writing that check for $217 that she took her husband out drinking last night at their little redneck watering hole.

Now THAT pissed me off. I wanted to say "I hope the bill didn't come to FIFTY G-DAMNED BUCKS!!!"

I mean...she sat there and whined that they didn't have the money to pay for her car, so I thought I'd be nice and help her out and she takes the cash and goes and blows it on booze.

I felt like I had been hoodwinked by a major con artist.

THEN...I hang around the office all day because it's pay day ... well...I say all day...I'm usually gone by 3 p.m. each day.

And the boss...THE ONE THAT PAYS ME TO BE SO CREATIVE ... won't show up at the office to pay his employees.

He does this EVERY payday. He purposefully stays out of the office until about 4:45 p.m. and THEN comes and hands out paychecks to whoever's left in the building which is hardly ever anybody, because we all get tired of waiting for the ol' drunk bastard to sober up enough to come hand out checks.

It wasn't a big deal...just the principle of the thing. For once I'd like to get paid on PAYDAY.

Came home and began cleaning house so that when the knee-humping in-laws get here, we can show them what it's like to live in a house that shouldn't be condemned.

Remind me someday to tell you guys about what slobs my in-laws are.

How they once kept a Christmas tree up for 18 months. two Christmases out of that tree that was once alive.

Yes...a live tree. Not an artificial tree.

And how they FINALLY had to get rid of it because the spider nest inside the tree finally burst open and there were spiders everywhere.

Yeah...remind me to tell you guys about that sometime.

Today had better be a BETTER FUCKING DAY, that's all I have to say.

That is all.

Carry on soldiers.

...And even ex-soldiers.

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