Friday Night Fun

A buddy of mine invited me over to shoot the shit and watch some movies. I opted to not go over; instead I decided to clean the hamster cages. It seemed like a good idea at the time because Sam & Frodo were starting to develop quite an odor, the stench was very reminiscent to that of a toppled porta-potty. A cleaning was in order. Sometimes I do things without thinking about the consequences. I have torn sinks out of walls, assaulted my fair share of urinals, shoved one ton dumpsters down a hill, sucked on the breast of a four hundred pound woman and even once, yes just once, let a young lady stick her finger up my butt and wiggle it around and around and around. Save for the last example, which I enjoyed considerably (the poop I had shortly afterwards was magnificent) I came to regret each instance and countless other poor decisions as well. I thought Bob had learned better, to know when enough was enough, and most definitely when to not act like a complete and utter ass.

I was wrong.

I took Sam out of his cage and as I was placing him his hamster ball, he looked deeply into my eyes as if to say; your eyes hold endless mysteries, my lord, please clean my odorous abode and make it fit for a servant of the divine. I could not deny such a request, even if it was made only with his eyes, so I vowed to wipe away the feces, urine and stale food, making his temple to me, his God, worthy once more. My first mistake was to clean the cage in the kitchen sink. Of course I emptied out all the loose bedding, food and dry shit but there still remained a considerable amount of grime. Actually grime isn't terribly accurate; what remained was a gelatin mass of shit, piss, food, hair and wood chips. I truly expected the unholy mass to demonstrate some sort of mobility because it looked, and most definitely smelt, like something driven out of the bowels of hell by the Devil himself. Thankfully, there was no discernable movement, so I delved into the task at hand. I soaked the molded plastic in a soapy bath and was overjoyed to feel the mass come loose and slip away. If only Lovecraft knew that it only took soap, warm water, and elbow grease to overcome that which bumps the night. Of course he knew all too well and soon, to my horror, so would I.

After drying the cage and placing fresh bedding within it; I gently took Sam from the ball and placed him within the Temple of Bob. He shot me a strange glance, one filled with pity and shame. I was taken aback, at first, and then became quite irate. How dare this furry infidel look upon his God within any short of admiration and fear in his heart? Yet, something about his look unnerved me, it actually terrified me. I quelled these thoughts for what sort of hamster God would I be if I let the furry little beasts see indecision and fear in my eyes. After ensuring Sam was comfortable within my shrine, I went back to the sink in order to tidy things up. Something stirred within the drain, at first I thought a few pieces of bedding had wedged themselves inside, which would easily be taken care of with a couple jabs of a fork. It was not stray wood chips in the drain, or at least not wood chips alone, it was, in fact, the gelatin mass and it had somehow found a way to grow. What would I do? What could I do? Madness threatened to overwhelm me until a strange clicking broke the spell. Sam was chewing on his cage in such way as if to say "Awake my Lord or the beast will consume you." I threw caution to the wind, scooped up the throbbing mass and placed it in the garbage. I had won. Or, had I?

Frodo's cage came next and it appeared to be no big thing. Even after discovering a similar collusion of hamster refuse to Sam's within the plastic walls, I knew no fear. Was I not the same man, no, God, who had slain a similar beast minutes before. I had nothing to fear and even decided to tempt fate itself and opted to not clean out the cage before washing it down. I left all the bedding inside and threw it in the bathtub. I decided the easiest, and most fitting, way to cleanse the cage was with a cascade of water. I turned the faucet up to the highest setting, took a step back and let the water do its work. I mentioned earlier about poor decision making skills and this was destined to be yet another example.

Ehhh......and it smells even worse.

It only took forty minutes, two rolls of paper towels, and swallowing my own bile to clean up the mess. Lovecraft was right; there was no way to fight the madness.

Go to Hell

I was quoted in the newspaper on Thursday. I feel honored, though am a little miffed they left out my take on how Kerry eats donkey balls. Damn the press and their need to appease the donkey ball eating segment of society. Thankfully I am able to express my full opinion in today's post.

(As Reported in the Newark Advocate)

Park Place Antiques & Collectibles probably will close for business Friday, said store manager Robert Wilson.

Kerry's stop is good for downtown as a whole, Wilson said. And though it won't help the business attract customers Friday, closing for the day won't hurt too much, he said.

"I don't see a lot of people coming in buying antiques during a presidential rally," he said. "Fiscally, it's not going to help us, but it's not going to break us either."

(What the Advocate reporter omitted)

"John Kerry is a donkey ball eating bitch." "Sarah Michelle Gellar For President in 2008." "By the way you have a pretty mouth for a boy."


Go to Hell

Who would have thought



The charges against Kobe Bryant were dropped without prejudice. Kobe said I am sorry for sticking my dick up your ass and everyone is happy, except the citizens of Eagle, Colorado who were troubled to learn that the prosecutor and judge in this case, both elected officials, are functionally retarded.


Drinking, driving and decapation- Oh My.




Gay Republicans? Fact, fiction, or undeniable proof that God has a sense of humor.





Christ compels you.





Go to Hell
(I actually put effort in today's post, too bad it doesn't show. )

Irascible Racist

Bob: Hey dad, you know the woman who owns the Golden Wok? (the best Chinese restaurant in town)

Dad: Yea.

Bob: Her daughter is really cute and around my age.

Dad: She is probably half-white.

Bob: No, I am pretty sure she is pure Chinese.

Dad: You know those people tortured our men in World War II.

Bob: You are thinking of the Japanese.

Dad: The difference is? They are all murdering bastards.

Bob: Dad...

Dad: Is that her over there?

Bob: Her daughter? Yea, that's her.

Dad: Definitely half-white.


Go to Hell

Fun with hyperlinks

Early this morning while looking up actresses from the ridiculously bad Dorm Daze, I had cause for alarm. Actually, to be honest I had cause to be terrified beyond belief. I had just finished viewing my tenth Topanga Fan site of the night, when I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head in time to see the backend of a beast both furious in movement and gargantuan in size. This abomination had the appearance of an arachnid but appeared to have only four legs. Also, it had some sort of appendage at the end, resembling a tail of sorts. Perhaps it was a Scorpion, albeit a deformed one, missing the obligatory eight legs. Or, was it something worse, a being not yet identified in the annals in Zoology. Could it be that I had by chance discovered a new species in the trailer, was that possible? I would call it the Bob Bug, no take that back; I would call it the Bobus Maximus Bugimus, yea I like that much better. Anyway, my initial horror waned in lieu of this promising prospect. I had finally found a means to success and fortune. However, my mood soon turned dour once more after realizing that this "new" species was perhaps a very old one. Had I stumbled upon one of the ancient space faring ancestors of the Arachnids? Was it sent to spy upon me, converse with me or simply to suck the very marrow of my bones? How does one battle an immortal bug? I needed a plan of action, so with the aid of Google I sought a way to free myself from the Space Bug menace.

I learned that most terran based arachnids could easily be dispatched with a well placed stomp, however it was prudent, and just plain cool, to wear a pair of cowboy boots while doing the stomping. But, was this not an immortal arachnid, a being so foul that it only needs four legs to control the universe, not the usual obligatory eight. I feared that simple stomping would not be enough. After several minutes of searching, my quest seemed doomed, that is until I stumbled upon the most useful of biological endeavors, cryptozoology. If the Mexicans could live with the dreaded Chupacabra, which many believed had extraterrestrial origins, I, Bob, could overcome this dreaded menace. Yet, even the scientific prowess of the cryptozoology community had no answer for my most pressing of queries; how was one supposed to destroy an immortal space monster?

I knew there must be a way, but I had no idea where to look next. With all options exhausted I relied on the power of google to save me once again. I typed in Giant Space Arachnid and found salvation. The Giant Spider Invasion was a classic film was from the 1970's. As the titled indicates it deals with a Giant Spider Invasion, one that was caused by a wayward meteor. Now, I must admit the story sounded a little farfetched and it didn't exactly mirror my own but it was nearing five in the morning, so I was willing to entertain any solution, even creative ones. Basically the plot revolves around a meteor that is the gateway into another dimension, one bent on taking over the earth via giant spiders. I tried to figure how the film ended, but all I discovered beyond a brief plot summary, and that the Skipper, Alan Hale Jr., played a key role, was that the giant spider was in fact a VW Bug. How does this help me? It really doesn't. I guess the immortal space farcing arachnids had won. Then again I might just call Terminix.


Go to Hell

While thinking about the ways that Alltel plans to screw me in the future, I came up with some brilliant film ideas. Last week I spoke about my love for the versus movie, at least concepetually speaking, and that same love inspired several movie ideas.

Here is my favorite one.


Mommy v. Daddy

This film would deal with the pending divorce of two high-strung yuppies and the little boy who asks "Why did daddy leave? Was it because of me?" The movie would begin with the usual Lifetime quality fair, with the mother & father arguing over who gets the summer home in Belize, and why did you have to sleep with the Mexican Nanny named Pedro. For the first thirty minutes the little boy wouldn't be mentioned at all, except for the occassional pan over to his cherubic tear lined face. Eventually mom & dad would run out of commodities to argue over and the custody of their son would come up. Deep down both parties, being innately selfish-bastards, don't want custody of their son. But, since their son was little more than a commodity clothed in flesh they battle out as to who is the more fit parent. The judge, in a moment of perfect clairy, decides the only fair way to determine who gets little Johnny is through Gladitor style combat. The next forty-minutes is dedicated to mommy & daddy bludegoning one another to death in a suburbia styled arena, surrounded with razor sharp white picket fence. Using various implements, such as the weed whacker & Arnold Palmer golf clubs, the two sides are abley equipped in seeking each others demise. At the climax the parents, and the audience, is horrified to learn that not only custody was at stake, but the fate of Johnny's very life is up for grabs. The judge, in another brilliant moment of clarify, decided to spice things up a bit and place Johnny in a cage suspended above a pit of boiling vanilla pudding. If a victor wasn't decided in the next two minutes, Johnny was going to be a boiled pudding pop.

The next minute sees both sides fighting with all their mettle, with many apparent death blows being exhanged. Yet, neither side will fall even after a prodigious loss of blood. All the while Johnny is screaming in the background "Why is daddy hitting mommy with my Louisville slugger, WHY DADDY, WHY?" With only thirty seconds left on the Johnny-is-going-to-die clock, mommy & daddy realize something very important; they can both go adopt a little Cambodian boy and live another day. So, the two parents exhange forced pleasantries and walk out of the arena. Shortly thereafter Johnny is lowered into the boiling pudding and his last words are "Daddy, mommy don't you love me?"

Of course for it to be a true versus movie, there must be an ambigious ending. The movie closes with little Johnny's pudding covered hand shooting forth from the bubbling Cosby-sanctioned mass.

El Fin


Brilliant, right?

Go to Hell

The Devil, Me & Verizon Wireless


I learned long ago that life is not fair. I remember the exact moment this became clear; it was during my sophomore year of high school when I was cut from the junior varsity basketball team. I am the first to admit that I was far from the best player, nor was I the most athletic, but I did try my hardest, out hustled nearly everyone and never complained one bit. All of this would have been moot if I had been the worst player on the team, but I wasn't. One of the kids picked in front of me, was more athletic, much less inclined to work hard and only marginally better than myself. He also quit one week later. Why? Because he couldn't care less about the team, he just tried out as a lark. I knew this would happen when they chose him over me, as did many other people, including a couple assistant coaches. He had a bad attitude, poor ball handling skills and non-existent jump shot, apparently his thirty-six inch vertical made up for those failings. Or, maybe it didn't. So, yes Virginia there is no Santa Claus and your father is diddling the babysitter.

How does this pertain to today's post? It really doesn't, save for the fact that I am well aware of how cruel and unjust the world can be. But not even a jaded soul, like me, could have imagined what occurred today. My cellular phone company, Verizon Wireless, had all of its local numbers drastically changed. How exactly? Whereas my number, along with everyone else, in the area had local phone numbers, they are now considered long distance. Meaning if you want to call me from an Alltel owned land line, which is virtually every land line in a twenty-five mile radius, you have to dial 1-740 and incur long distance charges. What the fuck is that? I called Verizon and they blamed Alltel, citing competitive "differences", and since we all know that Alltel is the Devil, I believe it. Guess what? It doesn't fucking matter what the reason is, my phone number is basically inaccessible to anyone but other cellular users. I can't receive local calls.

Verizon said they would change my number, but at this time there were none available as they were negotiating to purchase more from Alltel. I am not going to hold on my breath on that one. To make matters worse I am locked in a two-year contract with Verizon (I know, stupid me) and the buy-out is something ridiculous like $250.00, even though I actually paid for my phone over a year ago. And, to make matters even worse, if I did opt to buy out the contract and choose another carrier, I still have to change numbers, since my number will forevermore be long distance.

Somehow my number exists in the void, where it is local to none and foreign to all. God hates me. Can you blame him?


Go to Hell

I took down last night's posts because they were made me sound like a little bitch. I am all for being a bitch, in fact I plan on voting an all Bitch ticket in November, but being a little bitch just ain't kosher. And, after watching Euro Trip, which is actually pretty funny, I decided that angst ridden guilt is meant only for teenage girls, hair dressers and the French.

I am still not terribly happy with the parental units, and mother didn't help her case by referring to me as a little faggot pussy in the twenty plus voice mail messages she left today, but she has called me worse, which doesn't really make me feel better but it does provide a fairly substantial case for matricide.

I made some demands of daddy dearest, actually an ultimatum would be closer to the truth, and he agreed to abide by them. I seriously don't believe he will, however he is the male progenitor of the seed that created the man, the myth, the Bob so I am giving him a chance. And, if he does revert back to his semi-dishonest and unscrupulous ways, I am going to kick him in the nuts and move to Peru.

Oh and want to insure one particular person, whose mother entrusted some very valuable merchandise to the auction, that whatever misgivings I have about dad's methodology, he does it in order to generate higher prices. In other words, he is a cad, but one who bilks to the buyer, not the seller, i.e. your mother. And, assuming he doesn't get kicked in the nuts, I promise that the pieces will do better with me than anywhere else. Cause I am kick-ass, and have access to dad's black book of old people with too much money who like to spend it on stuff from their youth even though they will soon be dead.



Go to Hell

I have refrained from discussing politics, unless while intoxicated, because nothing good ever comes of it. If you read back through the archive, especially the early posts, my political persuasion is readily apparent, as is my disdain for the other dominant mode of thought. I could claim that heated, honest debate is enjoyable and good for the country, but I would be a liar. There are some issues that are open to interpretation, such as, which is better vanilla or chocolate ice cream, but when it comes to the next President of the United States only one option is credible and desirable. You know whom I referring to, but if you don't want to read my previous or simply think that I am incapable of intelligent political discourse, the following is meant for you.

One candidate is running on his Presidential record, both the good parts and bad. His candidacy is not informed by popular opinion, in fact much what he does infuriates approximately forty percent of the population. Though that is more to do about who is he then what he does, which I will touch upon again later. Do I believe he has done no wrong? Of course not, he has made many mistakes, however I would classify them as honest ones, which is virtually unheard in the body politic today. Yet, I do concede to the existence of an equally impressive list of reasons not to vote for him, sadly the other side hasn't picked up on any of them. "My" candidates opponents do not disagree with his policies, because if they did why would they support a man who parrots virtually every one of them. The only differences between the two platforms are issues, such homosexual marriage and abortion, which generate a lot of heat but will not be satisfactorily addressed by either side. And, right or wrong (I vote wrong by the way) most of the hot button issues in the campaign, like the ones I just addressed, will be decided by the courts. I know that the President appoints Supreme Court Justices, which subsequently has final say when it comes to abortion, homosexual marriage etc. , but it requires congressional approval and trust me no radical, whatever that means, conservative or liberal will be changing the balance of power in the highest court any time soon. Congress, and its desire to subvert the constitution, will not allow it.

This leaves really only a few core issues for the candidates to campaign on. Those being the economy, the war on terror, Iraq, social security and health care. I challenge you to find one substantial difference between the incumbent and the challenger when it comes to these key issues. There are dozens of superficial ones, but when you delve beyond the rhetoric it becomes clear that both sides are very similar. The difference is that incumbent has been implementing, challenging and actually dealing with these problems for nearly four years, while his opponent is simply campaigning on a platform of status quo. Occasionally the challenger disagrees with the President, such as he recently did with the issue of troop redeployment, however he usually changes his mind shortly thereafter upon realizing how asinine his position is.

Really the only true difference between he campaigns is Kerry served in Vietnam nearly forty years ago, Bush didn't. And, trust me Kerry is beating that dead horse into the ground as much as humanly possible. Your behavior, both noble and otherwise, from several decades ago usually doesn't pertain to ones actions today. I am not going to speak to the dozens of veterans who feel Kerry is lying about his service, because it is moot point. He did serve when called, and did suffer some sort of injuries, be they self inflicted or otherwise. Though, I do find it darkly funny that his lauded military service included war crimes, several violations of the Geneva convention, and culminated in a triumph return where he lambasted the war, joining the modern day Benedict Arnold, Jane Fonda, in protesting the it. I wonder how that would have went over if a SS soldier did the same thing in post-WWII Germany. I expect he would have been shot.

You see the only reason to vote for the challenger, based on his tendency to mimic the other guy's policies and reliance on double-speak when that tendency is pointed out, is he is not Bush. I strongly believe that every Democrat, especially the ultra liberal contingent that is currently running the party, would vote for Hitler if only because he offered an alternative to Bush. These folks are not basing their decision on logic or truth, instead they are relying on a deep-rooted hatred for a man simply doing his job. I just want to go on the record and say voting for Kerry, because he is not Bush, is not acceptable, in fact it borderlines on insanity. Actually take that back, it is non-seneschal/nutty rationale and, even more disturbing, incredibly dangerous.

Since I am such a nice guy, and am in a very charitable mood, here are some valid reasons not to vote for George W. Bush. He didn't immediately fire George Tenet after 9/11, which may have lead to faulty information concerning the war in Iraq. The President has been anything but fiscally conservative, and, though I am reluctant to admit it, Reagan's policy bankrupting the opposition will not work this time around. Bush has failed to unite the nation, in particular the Congress, behind his vision for America and the War on Terror. If you remember that was one of this main running points in 2000, he campaigned as a unifier and, fair or not, he has divided this country like never before. G W has left the northern and southern borders largely unprotected, which is paramount to giving the bad guys an invitation to cause havoc. Osama Bin Laden is still running loose, and while his death would not end the terrorist threat, in fact it would probably escalate it, the fact that he is alive is an insult to every American, especially those who lost their lives on September Eleventh.

In other words you have every right not to vote for Bush, but I do encourage you to do so for informed reasons and not simply due to blind ignorance and hatred.

Though, I am still hoping Nader will win and lead this nation to untold prosperity. Though, we will have to give up some of our sovereignty and agree to become part of the Peoples Republic of China, but that is such a small price to pay.

Go to Hell

One and only one thing has captured my attention this summer, Amish in the City. At first I thought the show was a parody of reality television, because really who in their right mind green lights a Real World like show with half the cast being Amish.

Yet, after watching a few episodes all I can think is "I would like to meet that crazy son of a bitch." Surprisingly the real genius of the show is not the Amish folk; instead it is the antics and boorish behavior of their Big Brother reject roommates. If you ever thought stereotypes were wrongheaded, bigoted or simply, stupid please go watch this show because virtually everyone is represented and exemplified here. Who would have thought that a group of Amish would be far better adjusted to the "real" world than their cookie cutter roommates. The show is genius I say, genius.

And, Mose is my a hero.

Go to Hell

By the way if you ever do catch the show please do not watch the horror that comes afterwards. UPN was attempting to put a new spin on the choose-your-mate & date reality format but forgot one important social caveat. When a man dates, and when I use the term date I mean fucks, many women he is considered a player. Conversely, when a woman dates lots of men she is called a dirty, dirty whore.

Fair? No, but the fact that I have course pubic hair running up the interior sides of my butt cheek isn't fair either, so learn to deal with it.