Be Thankful for what you don't have--namely, my life

Christmas is just around the corner. It is a time of happiness, a season to appreciate what we have, and in my case, what I don't have. Here are the haves and have nots of Bob.


The Haves


The early stages of heart disease

An ass that itches in perpetuity

Two Devotees of the Hamster God--Me

Erectile Function

A fear of alien abduction--Damn you Signs

The Devil Goat who lives underneath my trailer

A beautiful, bountiful pair of man teats

A penis

An eerie similarity to Ignatius Reilly (Thanks for pointing that out, Harty)


Have Nots


A girlfriend/money guzzling whore

The love of my family

A life

Worthwhile friends (I kid, not really)

A ten inch penis, though I am almost a third of the way there

An enlarged clitoris

Dead Bodies buried underneath my trailer (There is always next year)

A job

Money

Self-Respect

Hope for the Future

The ability to write functional sentences

The capability to properly regulate my glucose levels

15 Gigs of Porn (I deleted it during a moment of moral weakness)



As you can see, I live a full life, too bad it is mostly filled with shit.

Go to Hell

I am the black sheep of my mother's family

The feast did commence and the relative did not die. I am overjoyed with the former and oblivious about the latter. I learned long ago to ignore the Jerry Springer portion of my lineage. Though the story of my cousin versus the moving vehicle must be told, if only for cheap laughs.

My cousin, let's call him Stupid Fuck, earned $80.00 for doing yard work for a neighbor. Stupid Fuck was overjoyed to have $80.00 since he typically only gets money from terrorizing school children for lunch money. Much like me, Stupid fuck has never worked--it is a genetic trait we inherited from my deceased grandfather/grifter. Of course, he is only seventeen years old, so there is still hope. (He is actually hopeless. I just needed a segue into detailing his age) This precocious teenager decided to spend his money in a frivolous manner, not unlike most of his peers, however; instead of buying CD's, pornography, or oral favors from a homeless fat chick named Shelia, Stupid Fuck purchased a fifth of whiskey and fish scales. I know what you’re thinking, what is a fifth of whiskey? Well, it is enough liquor to make a stupid teenager believe that speeding cars are of no matter. Oh, and though you probably already know, fish scales is what people in the know (drug dealers and junkies) call cocaine/crack. It was disconcerting to learn the term "fish scales" from my mother, but isn't that what mom is there for--to teach their sons drug terminology from the streets. Anyway, the next question that comes to mind is where did a teenager find access to a fifth of Jack Daniels and crack cocaine? The answer is painfully obvious: His older brother bought it, with his mother's consent of course.

Aside: A parenthetical departure; a digression.

Before I continue with this tale of drugs, liquor and the family bonds that unite them, there is something funny, or least I found it painfully funny, to point out. Right before my mother revealed the details about what happened to my younger cousin, she spent several minutes praising his older brother--the same older brother who purchased the crack and whiskey. She gushed over his many successes: He makes nearly $25.00 an hour; he owns a television that, to quote my mother, "Is bigger than a big screen ever could be. It must cost over $10,000"; he has fathered four children, all with the same woman; and he owns a house. Now, this isn't the first time she has praised my dubious relatives, she often states how embarrassed she is by how little I have done with my own life, but in this instance her timing couldn't be more ironic or comedic. Obviously, I am a failure by comparison; one can only hope that someday I will grow up and buy Issy, my eight year old little brother, crack and whiskey.

Anticlimactic Ending: You already know he lives

After drinking whiskey and smoking crack with his older brother, Stupid Fuck decided to do what addicts do best: He loitered throughout town. Not satisfied with simply being a drug-addled pedestrian, Stupid Fuck sought out the open road. Sadly, Stupid Fuck failed to realize that the middle of the street--the most congestive street in town, on the day before Thanksgiving--was the domain of motor vehicles, not high teenagers. He ended up playing chicken with a car doing forty miles per hour; not surprisingly, Stupid fuck lost, he lost real bad. He did survive and only suffered a mild concussion and possible broken jaw. What is it they say about small miracles, oh wait, I remember, they are reserved for stupid fucking morons.

I pointed out to mother that Stupid Fuck was in a good deal of trouble--as was his older brother. The hospital took a blood and urine sample because they were concerned about his racing heartbeat. (Apparently the stimulant, crack cocaine, trumps the depressant, a fifth of Jack Daniels) I am fairly certain that this information will be shared with the police who are investigating his man-on-car accident. Mother was quick to point out that Stupid Fuck would never "sell out" his brother. Not to mention the fact that he has never been convicted (though charged several dozen times) of any crime. He wouldn't receive jail time.

It is good to know that my mother, Stupid Fuck's aunt, is concerned with his welfare. We wouldn't want him to learn that drinking, smoking crack and running towards moving vehicles is a bad idea.


Go to Hell

No Turkey for Bob

I am reading a British horror anthology, while clad only in my tighty whities, when the phone rings. It was my land line, which means it could only be a couple different people--my mother or Issy, both of whom I don't particularly like. However, I have a thing about ringing phones; I have to fucking answer them. The following is a transcript of that phone call and the subsequent conversations that occurred thereafter.

Cranberry hits the fan

Ring, Ring, Ring

Bob: Hello

Mom: You can have a piece of the pumpkin pie that is on the counter. Thanksgiving is off. Go to Frisch's with that bastard father of yours. She begins to sob and quietly lament her life. (Actually, she isn't being terribly quiet and I overhear mom state how miserable meeting my dad and having children made her.)

Bob: What happened?

Mom: I threw the newspaper at the mother fucker and he yelled at me. Can you believe him? He gets mad because I tossed the paper at his head and told him to shut the fuck up, the nerve of that man.

Bob: Yea...ummmm...yea...Dad was being totally unreasonable. I hate when he is like that--as if he deserves a modicum of courtesy and respect. So, can we still have Thanksgiving?

Mom: No, I will never cook for that mother fucker again. That old cocksucker can die.

Bob: Yea, we should lynch him, but that has nothing to do with cooking Thanksgiving dinner for me.

Mom: Go to Frisch's.

Bob: I am not going to eat Thanksgiving dinner at some restaurant.

Mom: You could stand to miss a meal or hundred. Thanksgiving is off. Click

Bob: No Thanksgiving for Bob.


Let the Gluttony Commence

Ten Minutes Later

Ring, Ring, Ring

Bob: Hello

Mom: I am going to cook, but don't expect us to eat together. I will give you a plate to take home with you.

Bob: Can I get several plates?

Mom: You are such a fat ass. Will you stay away if I give you leftover food for later?

Bob: Leftover? I was planning on eating it all at once. It will be an orgy of turkey and stuffing, resulting in an explosion of cranberry.

Mom: You will be dead in ten years. Pick up your food tomorrow at noon and don't come back. I can't stand any of you.

Bob: Works for me.


Next Time on Jerry Springer: Dead Relatives and Why Bob Killed Them

Five hours later

Ring, Ring, Ring

Bob: Hello

Dad: Your worthless cousin was in an accident. He was hit by a car. He will probably die. Your mother probably won't be back tonight. The little bastard was probably high and drunk like your aunt. (My mother's sister) Her family is pathetic.

Bob: Yea, that is really sad. What about Thanksgiving dinner?

Dad: I guess it is off.

Bob: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! He better die, or at the very least, be paralyzed for life.

Dad: We can only hope.


Go to hell

Hermeneutic of Suspicion

I don't really have anything profound or funny to say, but I do want to recommend a book. It is a very entertaining read and fairly informative, too. The author, Ann Coulter, is guilty of grandiloquence, but that is an excusable fault and one that is based less on her character and has more to do with graduating from Columbia.

The book is written with a specific agenda--Liberals are guilty of treason--so it might offend some of you, however; I guarantee it will make you think. I thoroughly enjoyed it, if only for the bountiful supply of clever insults to levy against my Communist friends. (I kid--the friends in question are Marxists) Here is a selected quote from Treason:

"They hate us? We hate them. Americans don't want to make Islamic fanatics love
us. We want to make them die. There's nothing like horrendous physical pain to
quell angry fanatics. So sorry they're angry--wait until they see American
anger. Japanese kamikaze pilots hated us once, too. A couple of well-aimed
nuclear weapons go their attention. Now they are gentle little lambs."

I want you read to this book because it presents an alternative historical narrative. (And it made me giggle) It may not be completely accurate, though most textbooks and historical records aren't either. The point is that one shouldn't accept something as truth simply because the media or academia says so--they tend to be biased just like you and me. Get all the facts, divorce them from the opinions, and go with what is left. (I was going to write "what is right" but that sounded too partisan) Or you could just ask me what to believe; I am the source of all knowledge and minister of moral clarity.


Go to Hell

It is only Blood Money

The plot thickens and continues to unfold like a bad novel written by Danielle Steele, edited by John Grisham and published in conjunction with Tom Clancy. The United Nations has no creditability whatsoever.

At best, it ignored the windfall of money that Saddam made off of the Oil for Food Program; at worst, it condoned and supported this financial treachery. Keep in mind that Saddam used this money to support the families of Palestinian suicide bombers. Also, these funds went towards the purchase of munitions from the French and Russians, which were later used to kill his own people and are currently being used, by the remnants of the Baath party, to kill American soldiers. Oh and let us not forget the several billion dollars Saddam and company pocketed for personal prosperity and to fund future weapon programs--those pesky WMDs keep coming up.

It is good to know that the U.N. serves the interests of totalitarian dictators, Jacques Chirac, Vladimir Putin, Communist China, terrorists and virtually everyone else but THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. It is little wonder that this organization failed to give its undivided support for the War in Iraq. It was too busy supporting Saddam in Iraq.

The United States has been going it "alone" long before this war began; we were just the last ones to realize it.


Go to Hell

Fat Asses Rejoice

Here is to another blow struck in the name of congestive heart failure.

I am afraid that it might, and I stress might, be too much sandwich for the Bee Oh Bee.

Go to Hell

What Would Fat Albert Say

Bill Cosby is a man on a mission. I respect his position and recent ranting concerning black youth. He isn't being politically correct, he isn't bowing to pressure from within his community, instead; he is demanding that blacks take responsibility for themselves. It is unheard of today for any public figure to preach the virtue of self accountability.

I share many of his sentiments and reservations about the black community, however; due to my pink pigmentation, I am not allowed to say it without being labeled a racist. Do yourself a favor and read the transcript. Cosby isn't completely right, but he is a helluva lot closer to the truth than virtually every major civil rights leader and organization in the country.

Peter, thanks for sending the link and pointing out these Cosby nuggets of wisdom.

"The word bastard no longer is something that you can throw at someone and embarrass them."

"Four and a half hours of homework is necessary. Got to be 4 1/2hours, minimum."

"The word nigger is an accepted wonder. You're so hip with nigger, but you can't even spell it."

Preach on Bill Cosby, even if you don't care what I, a white person, think about you.


Go to Hell

They must be smoking Blue Grass

Anyone who calls 9-11 to complain about a smoking ban, hoax or not, should be shot in the head. Furthermore, anyone who calls the local police department or sheriff's office to complain about the issue should be shot in the ass.

Then again, this incident took place in Kentucky--the state that makes West Virginians feel smarrtt.

Go to Hell

My Love Will Endure

I wanted to like Van Helsing. Actually, I wanted to fucking love it. I think Hugh Jackman is dreamy--in a heterosexual way. Kate Beckinsale is unbelievably beautiful--in an I want to hump her children's children's children way. I love monster movies and am even a bigger fan of versus films. This movie was destined for Bob to enjoy. The problem is I absolutely hated it.

I could blame it on Stephen Sommers; he is a talent less hack. But you see, I liked the Mummy films, they were good popcorn flicks and well worth $6.00 a pop.

I don't want to think it, more less write it, but maybe Hugh Jackman was the problem. Van Helsing wasn't a likable character, nor did he work as a dark anti-hero. And, I won't even mention the whole "I am a Werewolf" character arc. Kate Beckinsale sucked. Her accent was horrible and she brought the emotional impact of a dead possum to the character. All I could think was, "Please take your shirt off and spank me like I like it." Ok, I would have thought that regardless but she still sucked.

Richard Roxburgh, who played Dracula, was painful to watch. Dracula is supposed to be menacing, not horrifically funny. However, his performance was not the worst in the film, not by a long shot. Frankenstein was the biggest disappointment in the entire film. He acted like a monk with sexual identity issues, which doesn't work for the original Zombie without a cause. I could forgive the performances and directing, or lack there of, if the story made some sense and provide a minimal amount of enjoyment. It failed to do both.

The story sets up a sequel during the first ten minutes, it just never bothers to tell a story within the actual movie itself. This is typical of Sommer's work; he usually presents a series of loosely connected action sequences with no semblance of story to be found there in. Like I said earlier, I liked the Mummy films, so I am all for movies with no plot. All I require and really need from a film is to be entertained, be it in the form of bouncing breasts, pie sex, Freddy eviscerating Jason, or the whispered utterance of Rosebud. Van Helsing utterly failed to provide any entertainment value. I found it almost as objectionable as House of a Thousand Rob Zombies.

I am glad that I missed it at the theatre, but I am upset that I wasted $3.00 renting it. I want my money back and, more importantly, I want my two hours of time back--I still love you Hugh and want to carry your baby, in a man-crush sort of way.


Go to Hell

Even the Blind Can See

I blame myself, really I do. I shouldn't have expected the DVD rental to work; Blockbuster has far more important things to do--like merging with Hollywood Video--then to worry about the condition of my rentals.

It isn't like the DVD in question was scarred with several FUCKING HUNDRED scratches. It usually isn't appropriate to use the word "scarred" in relation to a DVD, but this is rare exception. Since I couldn't watch the movie, I counted the number of visible scratches on Side A. I quit after one hundred and twenty-seven. A blind man couldn't miss the condition of this DVD; the damage would have been crystal clear, even in Helen Keller's eyes.

The movie did play, sort of. It was possible to watch three to four minute snippets of the film before the disc froze, which usually lasted for a couple minutes, and then it skipped twenty minutes ahead into the film.

Yet, I do want to believe that this movie had just been returned in this condition, that the fine Blockbuster employees didn't have a chance to discover its heinous condition. Of course, I can't buy into that theory since I watched the stupid bitch open up the case and look at the DVD before handing it to me. She did so to make sure it was the right movie, maybe it is asking too much for her to notice that the DVD consisted 10% of unmarred surface and 90% scratch.
I am just too demanding. In the future, I will just punch the bitch in the head and look for myself.

And to think, Blockbuster turned me down for a job on a half dozen occasions. That doesn't say much for me, but it speaks volumes about my people skills.

Go to Hell