Ever wonder what Bob does on a day to day basis? No? Well too bad. I'm going to tell you anyway, you ungrateful swine. Pay no attention to the man in the straight jacket....

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The Beginning of a long Journey...
Fear and Loathing In Saint Louis...
Welcome to Fat City...

Wednesday, April 12, 1999


Went out with my freinds today.

Shall we go around the table? Mouse Cateers, sound off!
First, we have Brian (see photo), who is built like a truck, with a mind like a steel trap and a sense of style like a dead racoon, and his counterpart,
Steph, a cleptomaniac, the future Ms. USA, is also Brian's main squeeze. You will often find Steph sitting in a position reminiscant of a Playboy centerfold. I will not dwell on this, for if I do, I risk being folded in half like a teeshirt by Brian.(She may also be the last surviving decendant of Atilla the Hun, but we never speak of this...)
Then there is Elenor, who was very sad today, the result of a bad depression kick she's been on since her best pal Jean moved into the suburbs.
And finally two newcomers, Billy and Carrie, both of whom have fallen into that desolate pit that is the 'goth look'. (Yes, like on Ricki Lake...).
Nice people, but if you met them on the street, you would probably run away screaming. I mean that in the most honest way possible, even if I do like these two.

And what did we do tonight? Not a God Damn thing.

...and so, the Great Journey begins! Let the battle commence!





Caffine and Jesus...
The Sad Truth about America Today...
Anatomy of a Boy Band...


4:01 am, Friday 14, 1999

There are those who will tell you that ingesting to much caffine or sugar can be bad for you, and lead to, among other things, "erratic sleeping hours".
Never listen to these people. They are fools, and quite possibly, communists.
As any good, red blooded American knows, we were given caffine by some omnipotent being, so that we might lead more productive lives, and sleep less.
To NOT take advantage of this wonderful substance is to spit in the face of God, Jesus, FDR, and Budah.
Say what you will, I shall hear none of this heracy!

Also, while I am on a roll, let me get onto one of the subjects that bothers me immensley...

Boy bands. These collections of 18-25 year old HACKS are immensly popular with the ladies. Why? The only answer is, women are more shallow than men will ever be, and just will not admit it.

What IS a boy band? Let us examine (then mock) the biology of a boy band...
First off, boy bands usually have five members. They will also be the bands cluttering up the top five on the record sales indexes, making it nearly impossible for honest, hard working bands to make it to the top.
They will give off the appearence of having been good friends forever, but this is rarely the case. These boys were hired by a record company, and are little more than actors.
They rarely see each other, except at recording sessions, when they are given the lines that a staff of talent writers thought up, and forced to sing at gunpoint like canaries in a mine shaft; at publicity functions, or at drug binges and orgies.

These boys live fast and dangerous, having sex with the occasional 15 year old groupie, buying helicopters and condos, and doing lunch with Courtny Love and Mike Tyson.

What happens to boy bands that outlive there uselessness? Same thing that goes on in the mob...
They're houses and supermodel wives dissapear, their sadisticly shallow fans move on to the next gang of hunks who can, get this, DANCE AND SING, and the members of the boy bands of today have two options:

A.) They can become Recreational Center instructors and right wing extremest ministers...
OR
B.) Try to make a comeback in five years, when, without the help of writers, voice lessons, hormone injections, or dance instructors, they will be laughed of the stage, and driven into the sea by the very record companies that spawned them...

Forgive me my children. I know the truth is hard, and the reality of what happens to these gullable chumps grim, but take no pity on these boy bands...they knew what the deal was going into it. We all remember Vanilla Ice and Milli Vanilli.

Instead, shun and boycott the boy bands, for their reign of tyranny is choking out bands with real talent, which now have to rely on DUMB LUCK to see them to the top!
I will leave you know, to meditate on what I have said.

Selah.

New Kid On Campus...
Dumb Luck and Buses...
Big Fucking Spiders...


Saturday, June 12, 1999
Had an interesting day today.
I woke up at 2 in the afternoon. My father had taken my brothers to Six Flags the day before, and I had stayed home, as I had a college course the previous day.
I have only recntly begun taking college courses, and at age 15, may well be the youngest student ever, as far as Forest Park Community College goes, anyway.
I rode my fathers bike into the parking lot, and did a wonderful job of hittng a curb at a bad angle, and careening into a parked car, scraping myself up, and locking the brakes on the bike.
When I got home, my father called to let me know that he and my brothers would be staying at his girlfreind's house. Fine by me.
Which brings us to the events of today.
At 3 o'clock I called my freind Brian. We had planned to go see a movie today, the new Austin Powers sequel.
When I arrived at Brain's, he was upstairs in his room, thrashin' away on a brand new $400 guitar. His mom let me in.
Brian's mom cannot stand the sound of my voice. I laught like a spider monkey, which is even more irratating to her. I did not speak as I went past her, and upstairs.
I showed Brian my StitchFace, a thing I made in an independant art assignment in 8th Grade. I'm thinking about making a number of these and selling them.
It wasn't long before Steph and Josh got back from Subway. Enter, new aquantence, Josh.
Josh's father is a minister, and Josh is a religous person, but not the kind that shoves it into your face. I appreciate this greatly.
So, Steph and Brian, both horribly sunburned, Josh, and I set of for the mall.
A word on clothing. Brian woke jeans, cut with scissors below the knees, and bleached in various spots, with a chain wallet. Also, a plaid silk shirt, over a teeshirt. His hair is short, and he's big, and with the sunburning he recieved recently, he looks a little bit like Spawn.
Josh wore a borrowed NoFX tshirt, shorts, and some sort of golf hat.
Steph was, as always, wearing tight fitting jeans and a teeshirt.
And I wore a red Jack n The Box shirt and jeans. The shirt was Steph's, my shirt got wet in the storm.
Imagine if you will, the four of us, walking down the hall. There's the brilliant but loony urban white kid, the respectable, but barely, minister's son, a quasi-supermodel, and a token 6'9", 250lb punk rocker. At best, an odd group, bordering on what one might find in a sitcom. Works for us, though.
While at the mall, we went around doing what most teenagers do. We ate preztles, looked at stuff we couldn't afford, and basically hung out. We putzed around for a few hours, and got on a bus.
While on the bus, we ran into Billy and Carrie, whom I had not seen since the first time I wrote here. Weird ass coincidence.
We talked about what was new, I gave Carrie my phone number, I get bored, and I like to keep in touch.
And, finnaly, a few seconds ago, a BIG ASS spider walked across the keyboard. Scared the shit out of me.
If your nice I'll clean up this report later.

Fools on Parade....
Happy Birthday, Asshole...
Stolen Holiday...

Saturday, July 3, 1999
Hoooooleee shit! Lots of bad craziness in southern St. Louis today! It was like a zombie movie, not even Crestwood Plaza, the only haven for teenagers was safe from the mobs of fools and idiots on the streets today. Slackend jaws, blank stares, and drool made up the atmosphere, as legions of the undereducated came swarming from parts unknown, clogging the streets with their dead.
Feel sorry most of all for those brave souls that must serve theses idiots, for many of them have acquired credit cards, and are just now learning to use them. Restraint for these people is buying only every other shiney object they see, and in a mall, there are an awful lot of shiney objects.
A couple of odd incidents occured to me today, while I moved quietly and quickly through the mall, looking at my feet at all times, because it goes without saying that you can't make eye contact with these people, these are the New Idiots, and those of us who can still use common sense are vastly outnumbered. At one point, while sitting on a bench, filling out an job application, a young black woman, maybe 25, walked up to me, and stuck her face in front of mine, staring very closely at the paper in my hand.
Oh shit, I thought, she's seen me use writing skills. She will now almost certainly beat me to death with her chunky black shoes...
I remained absolutly still, afraid to move. I knew if I did, I was doomed.
The female was unimpressed, snorted at me, then walked off. Knowing I had just cheated death, I hastened to finish my buisness, before calamaty could strike again.
Sadly, the Great Magnet decided to place his full weight upon me, to see if I could withstand the strain.
It was almost 8 when things started to get ugly. It was now almost dark, and people had fireworks. Stupid people and fireworks are like Germans and a leader with a mustache. Put the two together, and there is going to be trouble. I had no means of fleeing the mall until 11, so I hid myself in one of the least visited stores, the Suncoast Movie Company, one of my usual huants. They know me there, and respect me.
Sadly, even this island of sanity in the sea of fools was not untainted. As I walked in, a heated argument was going on between a black woman and a sales clerk. The woman was holding a mock oscar, a metal figure holding a star, painted gold. Both the woman and her son insisted that this statue was an actual oscar, and the sales clerk tried in vain to point out to them that this was not the case.
Becoming angry now, the woman insisted that it was metal and heavy, therefore it must be genuine. I ran in terror to the Barnes and Noble across the street, and after nearly getting hit by one of these fools who had comendered a red car, I stayed the rest of the night there, buried in books.
Bad things are happening. I fear for the saftey of those with IQ's over thirty. As the millenium, or a full moon, aproaches, the New Idiots are becoming stupider and more violent everyday.
Be careful out there kids, this is for real now.

Y2K Cometh, and Goeth...
Boys with Screwdrivers...
Mecha Furby...

Friday, January 7, 2000

So here we are. The year 2000. The start of the "Fools Millenium". I wasn't worried about what would happen at midnight, 2000 here in St. Louis. I knew that it the shit hit the fan, we'd be one of the first targets on the formet Soviet Unions Dead-Man Switch Nuke Silos, what with Boeing AND one of the larget ICBM fields in the country. If all had gone wrong on 2000, and those Ruskie silos had shot off, thinking no one had checked in in 1000 years, we'd all be dead by 9, not anywhere NEAR midnight.
In other, even more interesting news, my friend Mike Cramer (pictured above, all whacked out on God knows what cheap, evil smelling drugs) and I had some good times this weekend. You see, it all started with this Furby I eviserated. (I gave the skin to a female friend for X-Mas.) You see, I had the thing fully powered, and yammering away in Furbish all day, minus it's furry exterior. I have to admit, when you can see the guts of the thing, it's not NEARLY as annoying.
Well, Mikey got the notion in his head to hook the little bastard up to a speaker. What the hell I thought. After a few minutes of careful thought, and then a few more of eany meany miney moe, we finnally got him hooked up to a big ol' stereo speaker. Then Cramer hooked him up to the back of the stereo itself. Now not only did we have Furby in Stereo, but with adjustable volume. Good times, bad logic. (I'd include some close-ups of the Furby, but for some odd reason, all those photos ended up blurry as hell. Cramer says radiowave interference. I say VooDoo.)

Hey, lookit us! Ain't we some sexy bastards. Next time I do something with a Furby, I'm gonna pack one's insides with ground beef, then go at it with a baseball bat. Probably set to some old Run DMC song. Maybe "Slam". In fact, I plan on doing a few of these. Hell, I'll record em, and upload them to the site. Yeah...

Happy DAMN Valentines Day...
Brand New Job...
Who the fuck DOES want to marry a Millionare?...

Monday, February 14, 2000
Well, it's Valentines Day again! And I'm sure none of you want to know what I've been up to! Well, tough shit.
Since this holiday is ussually really depressing for me, I have decided to throw and Anti-Valentines Day celebration next year!

The AV Day will consist of nothing... Valentiney! No chocolate, no affection, no love, no VALENTINES, and no WOMEN! Just me, all my bitter guy friends, a shitload of hard booze, and TV!
The festivities will commence around dawn, when will will wake up and immediatly start drinking! Then, around noon, we'll start making Napalm. Then we'll make Valentines cards for all the inmates on death row, using return addresses of women who scorned us! If we're still alive at 5, we'll reenact the Valentines Day Massacre. Should we still be alive by sundown, we'll go grave robbing! We will dance in the suits of the dead! You see? Do you people see what this "HOLIDAY" does to me? I'm all freaked in the head now!
And that's not the only reason I'm full of hate today!
I just saw the most compelling evidence supporting Earth's need for armaggedon you may ever find.
"Who Wants To Marry A Millionare!" Thrity women compete for the opertunity to wed a wealth bachalor, knowing nothing about him, other than that he has an assload of cash.
How fucking DESPERATE is this guy? How SHALLOW can these women BE? WHY THE FUCK WAS THIS TELEVISED! I need drugs.
Ah, well. I got a new job, in any matter. I now work up at the Wherenberg Des Peres 14 Cine. I give people butter. And Junior Mints. So next time you even THINK about being rude to the people behind the counter, remember, one of them could be ME. And I'll run you down like a Cheeta, and bite off the back of your neck, if I've had a bad day. HELL, I might do it on a good day, just to see what your blood tastes like!
Next time, I'll be telling you all about my transition into madness. Enjoy!


The Death Turtle...
Jake's New Girl...
Nerf War...

Tuesday, April 11, 2000

Hi ho, kids! Insomnia Bob, back from an ever so brief respite! What have I been up to? Well, pipe down, and I'll tell you, you little sons of bitches!
First off, some news about Spooky! He's been moving up in the world, you see. He's got himself a phat gangsta ride, a 1980somthing Toyota Tercel! This BAD ass ride goes from 0 to 60 in about a minute and a half! It's steering is awful, the brakes are shot to shit, and the seat belts are iffy! I have loving nicknamed the car "The Death Turtle".
And yet MORE news for Spook! He's got himself a girl! Shocked? So am I! It's been two, three weeks, and yet, they still date! How can this be, you ask? I wish I knew. Well, nature DOES abhor order. He says she likes those Zerg growly noises he makes. Anyhooo.....
The other day we drove around town, going from Walmarts, to Toys 'R' Us's, to K-marts, looking for NERF GUNS! We finnaly settled on two nerf Dual Fire Pistols, a Wildfire Chaingun, a three arrow firing "Cock Rocket", and two psuedo-shotguns. We then spent three hours tear-assing (I love that word) through Mike Everett's house, blasting the shit out of each other.
And hold on to your asses, MORE NEWS! I will be attending several conventions later this year! Look for the new "Events" page, and if your in the area, keep an eye out for me, and make sure to walk on the other side of the street. I'll be loaded on caffine pills, and you don't want any of that, people.
Selah.


A Day in the Life of Insomnia Bob

Firday, April 28, 2000
So you wanna know what my life is like? Huh? Well here we go.
Where to begin? Well, the biggest impact on my life is my inability to sleep for days at a time. When I do sleep, I sleep for 12 hours. I was up for two days, fell asleep at 3pm, woke up at 3am. That was four hours ago. Now I'm sitting in front of the computer, typing away. My mom, or dad, whichever one whose house I'm sleeping at that week, has my 3 younger brothers out of the house by 8. Which leaves me alone all day. It's been like this two years.
I don't go to school anymore, and I just got fired from my second job in two years. I usually watch TV druning the day, but the cable is out, so I won't be doing any of that.
For breakfast today, I had a microwaved burrito, topped with some shredded Colby. We were out of Pepperoni Pizza products. For lunch, I'll probably have a bowl of Stove Top stuffing. My life has turned to shit.
I used to have a pretty good social life. I wasn't the most popular kid in school, but I had a circle of friends. Now I only see my friends on weekends. And none of them are from school. The only constant in this time has been Jake. I met Jake through Katie, about two years ago. Jake has since introduced me to everyone I know. I guess that makes hime my best friend.
So I sit here, looking at a cheese stained ceramic plate, and I wonder how I got here? I used to be a moderatly happy high school kid. Now I'm a bitter, half-mad shutin. I don't leave the house except on weekends, and then only to go to someone elses house, at least until nightfall.
Today, and tonight will probably be spent in someones basement. Most likely Cramer's. I never sleep at home on weekends anymore. I sleep on a couch, a futon, a spot on the carpet without any urine stains.
When I sleep, that is.
I've started to lose my mind. I'm sure of that. Dilusions, talking to myself, etc, it all seems real normal until you sit down and think about it, really think. Then it starts to dawn on you. You've been acting like "Uncle" Charlie Manson. And that's a bad thing. Or is it? Have you ever watched late night informercials? These people with thier big smiles, and thier fake laughs. They're getting paid to be happy. You look hard enough at our societies culture, and you'll realize we're all insane. It's DISEASED the way we carry on. I think working at the movie theater really opened my eyes. It had always been on the tip of my brian untill then. Little nine year old girls order small diet sodas because the want to lose weight. That's just perverse. They haven't even lost thier baby fat, and already our society is pressuring them to look like Callista Flockhart. It's mind boggling.
I've come to a conclusion. You people are fucked up hardcore. I'm the only real sane one left, and only because I can smell the shit you're stepping in. I can still see the fucked up shit you do, or cause others to do. You're all supporting each other. By your inaction you're supporting the twisted fucks in Hollywood that make the status quo, the bastards in government who tell you it's okay, and you believe it, the people who play the Chinese War game of Go...
Yikes. I just reread everything I've typed so far. Now I'm not so sure which one of us is the crazy one, after all. Oh well.
I'm gonna go make some Instant Pudding. See you in Hell.


What the hell is wrong with you?...
Madness, Badness, and Public Works...
Drag Racing down Chippewa...


9:00pm-2:12am, Wednesday, June 14, 2000

Sweet mother of God, today was an odd one. Spooky came by around 8 or so. We needed to get his computer over to my friend Eric Sullivan's (Overbyte). The guy's a whiz with computers. We left at around 8:30. After we dropped that off, and I returned his copy of Unreal Tournament, we all went inside to see how it would look on his new Voodoo 5.
He wanted to go with us, but that would have been ill advised, as we we're planning on doing some crimes. Namely, pour 50lbs of Jello into a corporate art fountain downtown. This fell through, however, when we realized we had no money. So we cruised around town, went by Cramer's, then got a hankering for tacos. CHEAP Tacos. So we went to the nearest Del Taco, 20 miles to the south of us. I sat on Jake's roof when we went through the drive through. Told em the window on the driver's side wouldn't roll down. (Lies).
After this we went by a park near my house, can't recall the name, but it's across from the Anheiser Busch Eye Insititute. Any way, the point is, there's this HUGE building there, with NO decernable purpose. It's built into a 50ft hill, with walls ten feet high, and 500ft across, making a perfect square. The only doors on this behemoth are a man sized entereance, near the "front", which is featureless, save for bold lettering saying "AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY, TRESSPASERS WILL BE PROSECUTED...etc.", and another HUGE door you could pass a mack truck through, with room to spare. That's it. No other feature. No way to tell what it is. But rest assured, citizens, Jake and I will get to the bottom of this.
So after all this madness, Jake and I end up cruising back to my house, and not one, but TWO people line us up to race. Keep in mind, we're in a 89 Tercel, missing one window, and with much other extensive body damage. People are dumb. One guy is right next to us, we're at a red light, he's in some sports car, and I tell Jake to rev the engine a few times. He does, and when the light turns green, he BLASTS us, however he failed to realize that we were in the left hand turn lane with our blinker on. Fool. I'm pretty sure I heard him crash.

Punk=Salvation...
First Show Ever...
Birthday, Again...

Monday, July 3rd, 2000
Today, my friends, took the motherfucking CAKE, and smeared it all over the pope. Out of the BLUE, I get a call from Steve Andrew. Steve and I go way back, I knew him before I got kicked out of St. Ambrose. Hell, we were in Boy Scout's together. Last I heard he was going to military school, or some such thing. Met up again when he started going to Compton Drew, the school I went to for 8th grade. Stayed pretty good friends even after I got kicked out of high school. We grew apart though, and I hadn't heard from him in months. Then, he calls me about 4, and asks me if I want to go to a show. "What show?", I ask. "The All show.", he tells me. "Ah.", I say, playing off my ignorence. I'd never been to a show before, so I figured now was as good a time as any. Besides, this was STEVE.
He shows up a little over an hour later, and we're on our way, accompainied by his brother Tim, another pretty cool guy. We finnally get there, a little slum club called the "Creepy Crawl". I'm not making this up. So the first band comes up, and they arn't very good. I couldn't remember they're name halfway through the first song. Seriously, I tried. And next to me, there's this REALLY attractive dark haired girl, and I think she's looking at me. Yes. The next band that came up was one of those screaming chick bands. You know the like, one girl screams, one girl plays bass, one guitar, and in this case, there was some guy filling in on drums, I guess. And he was the only thing that saved this set. First off, the guy had HUGE glasses. I made a crack that he was probably the most hardcore guy in his A/V Club. Anyway, this guy was pretty nuts. He'd bang away on the drums LONG after the song was over. And at the end of the set, he stands up and says "We're the Roofies, and we're gonna slip into your drink and rape you." Class act. Now, during this set, some guy, who later I would learn of as "Pete", begins moshing, with himself. Towards the end, a couple of older guys, (by older, I mean +25), start in with him. One is huge and blad, the other also huge. At least 200lbs, the both of them, and here's 150lb Pete, moshing with em. Didn't take long for other's to join in. The Roofies set ended, and up next was Wretch Like Me. These guys we're COOL. Maybe not the best band, but a FUN band. The lead singer was a head case, at one point, he wedged himself above a speaker, and hung his upper torso out over the crowd, for a full song. This is when I started moshing, there was a good crowd going now. It's nearly a 100 degress in the crowd now, the air is thick with ciggerette smoke and carbon dioxide.
Now, moshing is not the deathsport CNN and MSNBC make it out to be. At least not at this show. If somone trips, three to five people IMMEDIATLY pick em up, and get em on his feet. Tim is crowd surfing the entire time, and MAN can he stay up there. Course, he's a little bastard, probably weights under 150. I would later buy one of Wretch Like Me's CD's, from the lead singer.
So there's a long pause as All hooks up there equipment. Steve assures me I am going crowd surfing. I agree. All comes on, and stirs up the crowd good. The mosh pit triples in size, and there's the one dark haired girl crowd surfing for the first half of the set, moshing the rest. Tim actually makes it up on stage, and sings a bit of one of the songs. After several unsuccessful attempt, I get to crowd surfing. I end up going end over end several times, and landing on my feet. It was amazing.
After taking a few accidental headbutts, I stager out of the moshpit, and find the dark haired crowd surfer, with one arm drapped over either Steve or Tim. She's just tired. All's set ends, and after sticking around after the encore, Tim and Emily, the dark haired girl, excahnge numbers. I get nothing. Nuts. So I exit the Creepy Crawl, drenched in my sweat, and some not mine, I smell like ciggerette smoke and onions, (yes, onions. No, I don't know why.) and I'm beaten, bruised, and so tired I could fall over and die. And I feel GREAT. Ladies and Gentlemen, visit your local Punk Club. You'll be glad you did.

Politics...

Wednesday, October 18, 2000
Hi there, kids, it is I, Insomina Bob. I haven't added any ravings because, well, I've been out a lot, hanging with friends, looking for a job, beating old women, normal teenager stuff. But now, I have a beef worthy of the Insomnia Bob webpage.

Politics.

Hunter S. Thompson, the man who inspired me to start this website, spent many years as a political journalist. From reading his books, I can tell you he was both intoxicated and disgusted by the political game.

Such is true for me. On the one hand, I am utterly disgusted with the Presidential candidates our government has handed us this year.

The only candidate I thought had ANY structure was Sen. Cain, and I'm a democrat. But they got rid of him right quick, leaving us with the Odd Couple of the modern political world.

On the FAR right, we have George W. Bush. An obvious moron whom I wouldn't trust to make me a Big Mac, let alone run the country. How this man made SENATOR is beyond me.

Well, no it isn't. He had an assload of money. I just WISH it was beyond me.

And on the other hand, we have Al Gore, who has all the charm of an evergreen tree, and all the personality of my wrist watch. Part man, part machine, all politican.

So with the days ticking down, I pray for a third option. I honestly believe EITHER of these buffons will lead the country to ruin.

A headline from Yahoo.com reads "Gore and Bush clash in political debate!". Did any of you actaully watch this?....I just realized the people that read this website are the most politically apathetic generation ever. Nevermind. Well, I wouldn't call the politcal debates a "clash". More of a dry heave. It was not unlike making "Tea Serving" and Olympic event.

Thankfully for my conscience, I can't vote yet. But if YOU can vote, for the love of CHRIST, vote in this election. If for no other reason than to increase the chances of getting a candidate who gives a god damn about the 18-30 demographic in 2004.

Of course, at this rate, in 2004, it'll be Jesse Camp and Howard Stern running for office, with Pauly Shore running for the independent party.
Fuck.

Selah.

A Day In the Life of Insomnia Bob, 2

January 09, 2001
Hi folks. Me here. I haven't done any rants in a long ass while, so I decided, what the hell. I need a creative outlet, anyway, or I'll kill... again.

Well, most of my prescious god damned time is spent working at Sears these days. Today, I woke up around 2, so I could be at work at 4. My schedule is screwy. I'll work 4 hours one day, and then 9 hours and 34 minutes the next.
I check my horror-scope, and this is what I see...

01-08-01
Horoscope for InsomniaBob (Cancer) You feel like you have gone back to your childhood today, dear Cancer. More than ever, you remember the little girl you used to be, the places you used to live. It may be nice to write these memories down in a journal. Take the time to get lost in your memories. They're worth it!

I can honestly say, I have forgotten the little girl I used to be.

SO! Up to work, I spend 8 hours folding clothes, and dealing with mallrats, the elderly, white guys in FUBU clothing, and blonde princesses with credit cards in daddy's name.
Which is to say, YOU PEOPLE. Yes, that's right. YOU.

As long as I can remember, I've disliked the general public. I don't like strangers. Hell, I don't even like being touched. It freaks me out.
These little nuerosis make me a bad candidate for working anywhere that involves anything more than myself, a computer, and maybe a snack machine. I had the same "God I hate people" problem working at the movie theater. At first I didn't think it would be a problem, but apparently, it is.
I don't even make eye contact with the customers. I just realized it today. I'm not sure WHAT that means...
One of our female managers is working today. She's always coming to Sears when she's not working, and I've seen her little kid a couple of times. I'm certain he wants to kill me. He's about 9 months old, but I swear, if you saw the way his brow furrows when he sees me, you'd think the same thing. I'll have to be careful when this kid is old enough to weild a knife.
I take my break, and eat a cup of instant soup. It sucks.

I come back from lunch, and one of the girls I work with tells me for about the tenth time that day I need to smile more. Sorry if I don't feel like doing a fucking cartwheel, lady, but these people are PISSING ME OFF.

Things start to slow around 9, and at 9:30 the store is closed, and out registers are all buckled up. A surfer guy comes up and asks where the insulated coveralls are. I tell him we have one pair left, but we're closed, and he'll have to come back tommorow. He get's an attitude, and yells something about just wanting to know for future refference. He walks away, and isn't more than 4 feet away before muttering "asshole".

At 10, I'm out the door. I resist the temptation to find the surfer guy and burn him in the parking lot.
And now I'm at home. Tommorow, I go in again, only EARLIER. Goody.

Wheels, Deals, Pigs and Meals.

May 08, 2001
Hi folks, Insomnia Bob here. Pardon the lengthly hiatus, but I've been kinda busy as of late. First bit of news, George W. Bush is out MOTHER FUCKING PRESIDENT, and in his first 100 days in office, he repealed medicare coverage of birth control (in other words, more poor people with babies!), and started a COLD WAR WITH CHINA! GOOD ONE! Gas prices are soaring, california RAN OUT OF ELECTRICITY, and Christina Aguilera managed to skank herself up more than even I would have thought possible. (See: Lady Orange Jelly video. Something like that.)
In other news, I quit my job in Sears, in favor of less money and fewer hours working at Babbages. On the up side, I get to sell video games. Success.
And the most recent development, I've gotten myself a car. A white, 1990 Cutlass Supreme, complete with peeling paint and hinky A/C. I love that car. Unfortunatly, I don't have a liscence, but since the death of the Death Turtle, Jake has had plenty of time, and ended up chaperoning me. (Sp? Fuck it. Editor be DAMNED!) I'm learing to drive VERY CAREFULLY, as I don't yet have insurance.
The last few days have been spent hanging out with Cramer, Jake, and Eric, driving around, and making fun noodle swords. Perhaps I'll upload some video of that latter, keep your fingers crossed.
So, that about brings you up to speed. Now, the other day, were we driving on Lindberg, after an unsucessful attempt to get into a hardware store, namely Home Depot, Missouri's 24 HOUR Hardware Store. Cramer, Chris, and Tony were in one car, Jake, Eric and I in the other. A cop pulls around me, and pulls over Chris's car. Fuck. Now what?
Now, since I'm not very well going to pull up behind a cop at 3am in a car with NO INSURANCE. So we kept on driving past, and then I circled. The plan was to wait for the ticketing to be done, and then follow them to Cramer's. At this point, we figured Chris had been going a few miles over the speed limit. We found out later that he was pulled over for NO FUCKING REASON. Apparently, the cops can pull you over for cruising Lindberg, which makes sense, god knows we fucking hate the idiots that do that, but this was totally unnessicary. Now to top things off, Cramer is getting arrested for missing a court date for a speeding ticket a long ass time ago.
Meanwhile, we've parked a ways behing the cop, and Cramer, and I send Jake ahead to keep an eye on the cop. "As soon as he pulls away, we'll get behind Chris like nothing happened." Or so the plan went. Unfortunatly, Jake got accosted by the police. Then, so did I. Allow me to explain.
After I sent Jake ahead, he came back and said he'd found a side street that was closer where I could park. Sounds good, I thought. Wouldn't you know it, but as soon as I turn into said street, and a cop pulls up behind me. Now, at this point, I am driving illegally, as Jake is outside the car, running along side me. He tells me to keep going, and I do. The cop stops Jake. Meanwhile, Eric and I go back to the parking lot, and I decide to go get Jake. After all, I can't go anywhere without him. Eric has no liscence.
I walk up to where I lost Jake, and just as I round the corner, ANOTHER cop flags me down. For those of you keeping count, that's 3 pigs. Must have been a slow night. He sends me up to where Jake is. Seeing me get accosted by the pigs, Eric heads back to the car, which is good, as it kept the cops from going through my shit. Nothing to hide, but I don't relish the idea of some over paid, inbred south county FUCK getting his mits on my ride.
Now, by this point, Jake has been 'searched for weapons'. And by 'searched', I mean 'groped'. The cop put his fucking HAND down Jake's pants. I guess in case he had some sort of DICK GUN. Real popular with the homies, those DICK GUNS. When it was my turn, the bastard goosed me. If I'd had all the legal documentation, no way I'd have let the fucker search me, but I needed them to pay as little attention to me as possible, so I played it cool. They had us sit down, and let us stew for a while, then let us go, saying if they saw us again, they'd arrest us. God bless america, where you can get arrested for being under the voting age! So what have we learned here, kids? SoCo cops are FUCKING RED NECKS.
But don't worry, I'll be sure to get my revenge. Stay tuned!
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