I am alive and, for the most part, whole. The wisdom teeth extraction went well however; the process leading up to the surgery was a little problematic.

The procedure was schedule to take place at 10:30am. I showed up at approximately 10:15am. After forking over $1898.00 I noticed that there only one chair open in the entire waiting room. I let dad take the seat since he was my designated post-op driver. After a half hour dad remarked that one oral surgeon would not be enough to take care of this many patients. Twenty minutes later he left to get some coffee and check his email since it appeared I wasn't getting in anytime soon. After thirty more minutes I was the only one left in the room and was becoming quite agitated. Apparently the receptionist noticed my reaction and deemed fit to tell me that I would have to wait two more hours due to "complications" with the earlier patients.

I begin to wonder what sort of complications could justify making Bob wait nearly four hours. Then it hit me, the stupid bitch had a brain complication and decided to schedule four people at the same goddamn time. At least my growing ire masked the equally growing fear of being unconscious.

At approximately 2:00pm I was lead back to the room where the procedure would take place. The surgical aide took my blood pressure and hooked me into a various pieces of monitoring equipment. She then attempted to put in an IV. Sadly, I lack veins, or at least ones that a seasoned professional can find, and was poked no less then four times unsuccessfully. She left in order to find someone who could find a viable vein.

While she was gone I overheard three young ladies, who based upon their appearance and age, were new at this job. They were discussing several cases where a patient went in for a routine dental procedure, such as a root canal or wisdom teeth extraction and ended up suffering a heart attack, stroke and in one case notable case died. Honestly that wasn't something I needed to hear at the time, and so my pulse increased fairly rapidly and caused the monitor make a loud BEEPPPPPPPPPP noise. Several attendants ran in and asked if there was problem, I shook my head no and mouthed a silent prayer to God.

Soon after another aide arrived in the room, attempted to alleviate my fears with some benign humor and actually managed to successfully insert the IV. It only took her two tries. After this point everything is hazy, I do remember speaking to the surgeon. Subsequently he barked out several medical sounding terms and then I drifted off to la la land. While dreaming I was certain that this entire event was in fact a game of Warcraft III (a very successful computer strategy game) and that it was my duty to build several legions of orcish warriors to repeal the undead hordes.

When I came through everything seemed normal. I didn't see a lake of fire or a celestial stairway so death seemed out of the question. An elderly nurse took my hand, asked if I was ok, took my blood pressure and lead Bob out into the hallway. She was trying to prop me up but as we all know from physics a frail old woman is not going to support the massiveness that is Bob. I was aware enough to guide myself along the wall until I reached dad. He proceeded to help me outside, where upon I claimed to be fine and managed to reach the van unassisted. Years of waddling, or as RD once said "walking like I had a stick up my ass" came in handy as it turned out to be a fairly good facsimile to walking while under the effects of anesthesia.

I looked into the mirror and discovered that my normally luscious lips now appeared Bubba-like. I looked like Meg Ryan after a recent botox treatment. Dad only had to stop once on the way home. I needed to spit out a mouthful of blood. On the way into the house I vomited up quite a bit more blood and realized that I still had use of my taste bloods. You see blood, especially the regurgitated variety, tastes really bad. Anyway that is my story of the wisdom teeth.

One day later I feel almost normal except for the blood oozing out of my nose at regular intervals. Was it worth it? Yes because those fuckers had been hurting for almost two years and since I didn't lose my ability to taste or more importantly die, I am able to deal with the minor inconveniences.

Go to Hell

My wisdom teeth will be no more after tomorrow. I told my mother that that the procedure scared me, in particular the part about being unconcious. She called me a pussy and laughed. It is good to know that the maternal instinct is alive and well.


Go to Hell

I have read several books during the past couple weeks, most of which were miserable, however; they did inspire me to write a couple stories. Hopefully by next weekend I will have them ready for public consumption, and then each of you can critique my prose that very well could be poetry.


Looks like I am actually heading to the Kentucky Derby this year, at least for Friday night and Saturday evening. Sadly, I have an auction on Sunday which I will probably end up missing do to a combination of factors. I have to fly to make the derby and also be home in time for the auction, at least in theory. I hated flying before the Arabs Gone Wild tapes surfaced, so one can only imagine how I feel about it now. Copious amounts of drugs will facilitate my stepping onto the plane, thereupon blacking out into sweet, sweet oblivion. This will not be a problem when I leave on Friday, as the stop over allows more then enough time to switch flights, especially when one considers the note I will tape to my chest giving exact details as to where I need to be next. The real issue is the flight home. Even though a friend of mine, who hails from Louisville, stated that it should be no problem to catch a 9:30 pm flight on Saturday, I have my doubts. First and foremost this friend is stupid and also extremely jealous of Bob. Ok one of those statements is false; regardless I am pretty sure that Bob won't make the flight. That is of course assuming he even attempts to take it. Since, I, Bob will be intoxicated there is no telling what might occur. Instead of flying home, earning $300.00 and most importantly maintaining what little love my parents have left for me, I may spend the evening ogling a busty waitress way out of my league and giving her tons of tip money for smiling in my direction. But, what would happen if I did make the flight, because the airlines have never witnessed the awesome presence that is drunken Bob.

Would they even let me on the flight? Or, would I deem the aircraft secure enough to fly? The first answer is easy of course they would let me fly after an obligatory strip search and anal probe since I fit the terrorist profile so perfectly. The fat white male is definitely the one who is seeking to overthrow the Western world. During the time they spend on my search I can very well imagine the several dozen Arabs they let by who are speaking in foreign tongues, pointing excitedly at the plane and making a boom-boom noise. Which is exactly why the second answer would be no, no, no god damn way would drunken Bob feel the flight is in anyway secure. Any sort of non-English chatter would be cause enough for alarm and alcohol induced paranoia to set in. Those Latinos seem like an unreasonable bunch and apparently they are taking over America, who is to say they aren't ready to fast track their domination and join forces with Al Queda. Seriously that could happen, but probably not. In fact I am suspicious of even non-native speaking person on a flight, especially those who aren't snow white. Is that racist? God, I hope so but only in a good way. My theory is that the only Muslim whom I trust is the white English speaking one who has no accent whatsoever. Since there are about five of those in the world you can see why I am pretty apprehensive about them as a whole.

Maybe I should take a cab.


Go to Hell

(White Man Disclaimer)

The above statement in no way reflects the thoughts and feelings of the Caucasian world. We have long since given up any hopes for survival and hope, at best, to be assimilated by other races and cultures. So please don't blow us up because Bob is a fat bastard.

I am in love. She is everything I would want in a woman, ok I am not sure if she has huge cow like udders but since everything else is there I will give her the benefit of the doubt. Though I am sad to say that this young lady has an extra emphasis placed on the young part. Apparently she is barely pubscent which I find to be oddly attractive but also very problematic. Even true love is not worth potential anal probing by Bubba and friends.

She is probably ugly anyway,

Go to Hell

Last week was pretty rough on Bob. A cat pissed in his car, he contracted the black death (i.e. a chest cold) and was told that the Easter Bunny is in fact not real.


Sometimes it ain't easy being me.


Go to Hell