Lady Friend Status Upgrade

In my previous Fact I stated that I spent some time with my 'Lady Friend'.  It probably came as a surprise to most of you that I even had a 'Lady Friend' in the first place.  Well I did, and she was amazing.

I say did, as in past tense, only because she is no longer my 'Lady Friend' in the sense that she has gained enough experience points to go up a level, and change character classes.  She has now gone on to become my 'Special Lady', or as it is more commonly known, my Wife.

Now I know that most of you are probably in shock and awe of this amazing revelation, wondering how the hell I could have never mentioned any of these sordid details on this amazing web log.  You see, I try to keep my current 'Fact' based life going ons under wraps, until they have enough time to ripen and mature, to become the hilarious written material that you get to read when I see fit.  I'm making a rare exception in this case because I'm just so gosh darn golly happy about the whole thing, I thought I might infect all of you, ALL OF YOU, with some of this happiness!

My wife and I (prior 'Lady Friend') have been together for....anyways, we love each other very much.  Our relationship for the past indistinguishable amount of time has been a dramatic, lust filled ride to Valhalla that only the truly blessed can experience.  To sum it up, take an episode from several daily Soap Operas, mash them together, and that would be the best way to describe the way our relationship is and has been.  But not in a bad way, in a fun way!

We have that rare gift that is missing from most modern day couples: the ability to make each other happy on a regular basis in every aspect.  Which is why we decided to get married.

IN VEGAS!

That's right, after 15 brief minutes of intense discussion and tears, we decided to fly off to Las Vegas, handcraft two wedding rings from tinfoil left on the ground from cigarette packages, ordain a street performer as a minister (a very convincing Hello Kitty), and be married right there on the spot!  It was magical.  Funny thing is, absolutely no alcohol was involved until after we realized what we had done.

In all seriousness though, and this will probably be the only time you'll read any of THAT here, I have never been happier.  Right now I have a spouse that I feel truly understands me, and goes out of her way to make me happy, and which I do the exact same for her.  For the first time in my life I feel certain that I have a love that will last through the ages, regardless of the ups and downs that we may endure.

So to all of my faithful readers out there, I want to let you know that I am truly happy, in Love and blessed with the most intelligent, gorgeous woman in the world.

And I'm not telling you her name so you can't stalk her.

So It's A Fact: The actual trip to Vegas and wedding went absolutely nothing like how I just described it, but it was just as crazy.  And no, I did not hand craft our rings out of tin foil from cigarette packets.  It was grocery store aluminum foil, I have a little more class than that.

More Excuses

Hello to all my faithful and (very) patient followers!

It has been sometime since we last met, and for that I apologize. I will not bore you with all of the details as to why I have not posted any recent facts lately. No, for if I were to do that then this site would no longer be the ‘Facts of Bob’s Life’, it would then lower itself to some sad, sad blog of some sad, sad man who insists on informing the world about his daily duties.


As I said prior, I will not bore you with the tiny details as to why I felt it was needed to neglect all of you, and deprive you of my rich and fulfilling entertainment, but still I feel that I do owe you an explanation as to why I've been gone for so long.  Rather than write a short novel of excuses (lets face it, that's what they are), I would like to try and do something different to help soothe the pain of my absence.  I would like to show you my excuses!!


In anticipation of this post/pseudo Fact, I have been keeping a visual diary of my going ons and what nots over the past few weeks, to try and help you all understand why I have been so hesitant to update the 'Facts'.  So without any further ado, let us begin our journey of what I like to call the Bob's Visual Tour of Excuses for not writing 'The Facts of Bob's Life':

The one thing that took up the most of my time was trying to update my house.  I feel it has a nice contemporary feel to it.

After finishing my house I felt it was time to celebrate...with my lady friend.


And celebrate we did. Also, to everyone out there who may have anxiety about certain "man" issues, I think this picture just proves that size does not matter, especially when it comes to love! 

I tried my best to try and get in touch with some old friends. For the most part I succeeded. 

Unfortunately I also wasted a lot of time drinking, which of course leads to partying...

...which leads to me peeing in my neighbour's yard and them chasing me down with their pets.

I was also forced to watch a ton of movies that I did NOT want to watch.

I also tried to get back into some Anime series, but that ended up being too much for me to handle.

All in all, in the end, I managed to stay out of trouble.

Somewhat.

 So it's a Fact: I've been pretty dang busy, and just in case you were wondering, each and every one of these pictures still has a resonant Fact based story behind them in some obscure way. You'll just have to come back and see what they are!


Bonus Fact: Because I've been so impressed with my own photography, I've decided to updated my never visited, never updated B.S. by Bob blog to accomodate my amazing photos. For more info on what THAT'S all about, go check it out right now and then tell all of your friends about it!

P.S. I love you!

Ah Sheet Mahself!

Poop and I have had a long and fruitful relationship.  We have always managed to stay together for 30 years regardless of all the arguments we have gotten into.  Despite the awkwardness and discomfort that Poop can sometimes bring, I always seem to bring it up in conversation, even in private.  Sometimes I feel like I will never truly be rid of Poop.  It's just always there.

I sit in front of my computers for endless hours trying to think up of ways to relegate the factual stories of my life to you, the reader, in new and entertaining ways.  Somehow my mind goes completely blank, and an oblong brown log comes spiralling out of the darkness to encompass my mind, whispering in the darkness one word, over and over again: Poop, Poop.

It's haunting...yet funny.  I get the giggles every time.  I find it uncomfortable, yet relieving, that no matter how hard I try, I can't stop passing up poop.

So I have succumbed to the horrible truth that Poop will always be funny, and that the only way to exorcise my personal demons is to cast those same demons onto you.  Here now is my latest Poop Demon!

One evening my girlfriend and I decided it would be a fantastic idea to "go out" like normal couples do.  We both figured it would be fun to join some friends for fun, laughter, drinks and debauchery.  A best friend of mine asked us if we wanted to join him and his special lady friend out to a comedy club that they swore up and down was the funniest place on earth, more so than MASH reruns on TBS.

We arrived at said comedy club after getting lost, several almost car wrecks and a run in with a gang war.  I immediately knew something was wrong once I thought that we arrived late and looked around to notice that the club was empty.  Nevertheless I kept my optimism high, for the night was young(er)!

All of us then democratically decided to order food and drink to make the night better.  I remember ordering something that resembled a prime rib.  I say resembled, because it definitely looked like it, but upon my first bite it tasted more like a moist beef bouillon cube.  Good stuff.

Once the "Comedians" started their act I wanted to commit Seppuku to end the unfunniness.  Unfortunately the knives that were available were barely sharp enough to cut through my Prime Bouillon much or less my intestines, so I was stuck with a bunch of overweight Dane Cook/Gallagher hybrid acts.  On top of that the "comedians" found out the only way they could be "funny" was by constantly picking on my girlfiend.  Needless to say, she was not having a good time.

Unfortunately for me though, what started out as a terrible night ended up turning into a horrifying night. Somehow, and god knows how, one of the said "funny men" made me chuckle.  I don't remember if it was out of general humor, or my embarassment for them, but it did happen.  Little did I know that there would be a price I would pay for my laughter.

Once I let out that tiny chuckle, I felt a strange, wet, acidic warmth spread throughout my lower regions.  It was not pleasant, it was not solid and it smelled like bouillon. I had just shit myself.

I knew what bodily sin I had just committed, but I was not about to stand up, declare it to the world and then run off to the bathroom.  I played it cool, like a cool man would.  I casually took a long sip from my $5 bottle of beer, looked around to seem even more casually cool, then got up and did a cheek clenching shuffle/walk to the bathroom to undo the damage I had done.  The entire way I could feel something running down my legs.

After getting into the bathroom stall and whiping away the tears in my eyes, I peeled away my clothes to see the damage that was done.  I will be the gentleman here and spare you the damage of giving you a description of what I saw, the horrible gritty feeling I felt through every swab of toilet paper that I dabbed on my leg, or the putrid smell of baby shit mixed with battery acid that filled the air.  But I will say that I did not know that the human body could make a solid turn into a liquid that fast.

Sadly the night did not end quickly.  After cleansing my body, I had to go back out and endure another hour or so of "comedy" before we could leave.  Sitting through hilariously unfunny comedy in shit stained underwear, and possibly stained pants is not a fun thing to do. I don't hesitate to not recommend it.

On top of that, In that hour I had to endure comedy hell, I ended up making three more trips to the bathroom to ensure I wasn't hit with another bodily excrement exit surprise.

So when it was all finally over, and we all got to leave, nobody was in a really good mood.  Everyone complained about how nothing was funny, everything was expensive.  I tried to be funny and say "hey guess what I did!", but thankfully no one heard me or just didn't believe me.  The night ended with a warm shower full of soap and tears.

Honestly I feel like I pulled off the whole incident rather well.  No one knew what happened until I said something (like now), I kept a fairly balanced emotional state (until now), and somehow nobody smelt a thing.  Apparently my shit doesn't stink (which is a lie).

I am not surprised one bit that this happened to me though.  I come from a long line of self shitters.  It runs in the family.  I think there has been at least two people in each generation of my family that has shit themselves at least once.  My Grandma being one of them.  The title of this Fact is actually a quote from her during one such incident that my sister was privy to witness. Now I belong among those ranks.

So it's a Fact: When I poop myself I get those tiny little red pimples just like babies do when you don't change their diaper right away.  They itch.

Where the Eff Have I Been!?

Ten minutes ago I woke up from a nice long refreshing night of sleep, stood up, brushed the pine needles off my sleeves, flicked the dried up vomit stains off of my pant legs, and walked out of the ditch towards my house to start my day.  After I walked into my living room, it wasn't until the deafening sound of sobs of joy from my girlfriend over my return, and the constant tear filled repeated statement of "Where have you been for the last four months" had all died down that it finally dawned on me:  When was the last time I updated my blog?

In all seriousness, I have absolutely no idea.

For four long months I have been through arduous tasks and nightmarish scenarios.  Terrible, unspeakable hells that only the most spiritually pure, and morally strong can overcome.  Thankfully I am made of that fiber.  For I am Bob.

To give you a taste of what revelations I will pour upon you (hopefully), here is just a taste of the trials and tribulations of the factual content that has most recently been poured onto my life.

• Living rooms had to be refurbished.
• Furniture had to be bought.
• Said furniture then had to be put together.
• Laundry was to be washed, rinsed and repeated.
• Movies bought then forgotten. 
• Legos all over the floor.
• Roof repairs.
• Roof destruction.
• Lawnmower havoc.
• Finding lost friends through the sin that is Facebook.
• Committing a sin by ignoring the unholy god that is Facebook.
• Pee jokes.
• Poop jokes
• Pee & Poop jokes
• Mid to hi level mid-life criseses(?)
• Non anal based doctor visits
• Rampant sexual fabrications that cannot be described in words.

And the list goes on!

Now I know, nay, I feel your compassion for me and all the hardships that I have gone through, but that still does not excuse the fact that I have ignored my loyal, obedient fanbase. I emptily promise to do my best to keep you entertained on a basis, whether it be regularly or semi-regularly.  Because it's good for you, it's good for all of us and more importantly it's good for me.

So feel safe knowing that I have not left you behind, that your days will always be filled with laughter and that you are more than welcome to not leave a comment after any post I make.  Because you guys never do.

So it's a Fact: I'm more than likely going to write about how I crapped myself at a comedy club than I am about anything on that list.  It was alot funnier than me buying furniture.

A Crappy Fact

Poop is an amazing thing. After several semi successful bowel movements today, I thought to myself how incredible it was that no matter how much we devour, it all eventually jettisons out of our body like a slimy brown torpedo. OR a magnificent yellowish shower of putrid hate from a rectal garden hose, depending on what type of mood your body is in.

I can see why the people who have the mindset that we should do nothing but take vitamins and eat nothing but the bare essentials, do what they do. I mean what's the point? You're just going to crap it all out anyways! You're body digests and processes all that it needs from the food you take and unloads the rest. So why even bother eating that bowl of nachos followed by a cup of choocolate caramel syrup mix? It's going to be gone in 10-15 minutes regardless. Of course if you did follow the strict vitamin only regimen, I'm assuming you would just shoot out nothing but a bunch of hollow plastic capsules, which would definitely wreak havoc on your rectum.

Anyways, I bring up poop only because, like I said with my glorious opening statement, that it truly is an amazing thing. You are reminded by bodily pain that your stomach is full of toxic waste, and after the agonizing process of relieving yourself of said pain you are rewarded with a few moments of bliss. Relaxed, harmonious bliss, for all of the effort you put forth for pushing that nasty garbage out of your body.

Most people I know equate the experience of shitting to that of a holy experience. Once they leave the bathroom, you can hear the rest of the water rushing down the toilet, but only just barely because the person (almost always male) is too busy exclaiming to the world what an amazing body log they just gave to the world. Even their exclamations they try to impart onto all that can hear can barely be heard because they are laughing so incredibly hard. One can only assume this is because they are just so overwhelmed with happiness because they got that much closer to heaven. Or they're just stupid.

Personally I can attest to one experience where I reached Nirvana by means of defecation. Before I did though I had to travel through several levels of hell.
While in the military you are forced to eat all kinds of food that will do nothing to your stomach but turn whatever is in your insides into solid concrete. I can't say that it is a good thing, but it definitely boosts your ego. Poop wise anyway.

For several days I had not had one stomach churning, bubbly type feeling or movement of any kind to suggest that I was going to pass a mud baby in the immediate future. I didn't think much of it at the time, I was more thankful that I didn't have to take time out of my day to sit on the toilet for fifteen minutes and then bleach my ass three times a day. When suddenly it hit me.

While in my room a sharp stabbing pain hit my stomach. I knew exactly what was happening and what I was about to give to the world. I doubled over in agony and forced myself to crawl into my bathroom. Once I finally made it to the ivory dais known as the toilet I grabbed whatever solid surface I could find and prepared for what was to come. But that was the problem, I was not prepared.

Suddenly all of the sound went out of the room, I could hardly breathe. All of the energy in my body was being zapped out of me. I was losing focus, control, I was letting my body take over my mind. The turd now had control. Regaining some kind of control I managed to focus all of my energy to one focal point of my intestines and push.

Suddenly everything started to go black. Instead of hearing nothing, I started to hear a ringing in my ears. The pain kept overtaking my body to amazing new heights, but I had come this far and there was no giving up now. Where there was once darkness there was now specks of light. Like when the Enterprise goes into light speed in Star Trek. Finally when I thought I had given up all hope everything stopped and I found myself on the floor. Three minutes of my life are literally missing because of this incident.

Tears were running down my face, I was out of breath and my body felt like I had been molested. I had made it through alive and in one piece. All I could do is sigh in relief. Sweet, beautiful relief, which made the tears seem more like salty hands caressing my face, comforting me for the hard journey I went through.

Sadly, that relief was short lived because now I had to face the horror that I bestowed onto the world and then flush that evil away forever. I was mortified to look into the toilet and see what had come out of my body. My imagination ran wild with visions of a giant brown slug with a human head and octopus arms, or a pulsating caterpiller that glows with hate. Instead, when I got the bravery to actually gaze upon the wonder of which I created, I saw what closely resembled a baby arm holding a hand grenade. Which is just as horrifying. I flushed it immediately praying it would never return.

I can definitely sum up this experience as the scene in Total Recall when Quaid pulls the giant tracker ball out of his skull through his nose. Just replace nose with asshole and you've got the idea. I hope to never go through this experience again. Reaching that level of relief/Nirvana was amazing, but I would never want to travel through that many hoops of fire ever again. Plus I wasn't able to walk or sit properly for someting like three hours afterwards.

So it's a Fact: Poop can bring us much enlightment if we allow it, or push hard enough. If you're like me you'll end up like David Bowman in 2001 and saying "My God, it's full of stars!" in the middle of the experience, but it will be mixed with horrific images from David Lynch's Eraserhead afterwards.

Past Traditions

With the holidays being over, and me finally coming out of my recovery period of said holidays, I now find myself in the appropriate frame of mind to write a well written Fact of Bob's Life.  A release of which I know the world hinges upon.

During the holiday season I was constantly reminded by several family members (mother and father) about old family traditions that are no longer done by the family.  Either because we all became too old or the traditions themselves were just stupid to begin with.  Things like reading Christmas stories before bedtime on Christmas Eve, or laying out snares on the roof for Santa's Reindeer.  This got me to thinking about traditions that were lost in my own personal life.  Not Christmas traditions, just ritualistic things I used to do every day that I no longer can do because of outside circumstances.

Let's travel into the past together for a moment so that we can explore this subject further!

Whilst in the Army I was lucky enough to get my veiny little hands on an old Nintendo Entertainment System (NES).  This provided me with hours upon hours of mind numbing entertainment to distract me from the fact that I just got done spending hours upon hours of my day in a mind numbing job.  Whenever I got the chance I brought all of my old Nintendo games from home right back to the Army with me.  One of those games was the glorious Xevious (pictured below).

One day my best friend Jones came into my room and saw me playing Xevious and he couldn't believe his eyes.  Neither of us could believe that the other knew that the game existed, since we both believed that we were the only people on planet Earth that had even heard of it.  Immediately we began to play...for three hours.

It became a ritual actually.  We would play the game in two player mode, see who would get the highest score and how far we would get, and completely over analyze the complexity of the game.  This went on for about two and a half years on a fairly daily basis.  Xevious is one of those games that as simple as it is, it constantly changes and is relentless at kicking your ass.  One minute you think you have submitted the game into licking the heel of your boot, and then a second later, some strange alien craft that looks like something out of Salvador Dali's toilet comes out of nowhere and annihilates you without mercy.  It's painful.

But we didn't just play Xevious mind you, we had to create an environment to play Xevious.  We almost always had a fresh pot of coffee from my perfect Coffee Maker that I mentioned in a previous Facts.  Also, we always, ALWAYS had Type O Negative playing on the stereo.  If I remember correctly it was mainly the "Bloody Kisses" album if I remember correctly, but sometimes we'd throw in a little "October Rust".  Normally I am a big advocate of just listening to the actual music in a videogame instead of outside music (I find it distracting), but the music in Xevious sounds exactly like a toddler walking on a casio keyboard.  Which is basically the Demo Track that comes installed with said keyboard.

Eventually my friend Jones ended up getting deployed to Iraq.  From there the Xevious Tradition ended.  I never played Xevious again.  Every time I tried to I felt like I was doing something wrong, like there was something missing.  It was only until just recently that I decided to put aside my emotions, go ahead and pick it up and play.  The whole time I felt like I needed somebody to talk to about what I was going through, about all the crazy psychadelic spacecraft that were trying to take my life, but even if I did I knew that there would only be one person that would truly get what I was trying to say.

So until I'm somehow magically able to get in touch with my friend Jones and get his ass up here to play Xevious, I'm probably just going to have to just leave the game on the shelf for now.  Besides when I last played, I sucked ass to an almost epic proportion.

So it's a Fact: I need a Goose for my Maverick when I play Xevious.  And no, there is no subtext to that.

Expanding Your Horizons

Today I got the bright idea that despite the fact that I hardly keep this blog updated on a regular basis, and that hardly anyone reads it, the one thing that I need to do most is create another blog!  So guess what I went off and did!  You guessed it, I created another blog!


Why on God's earth would I get the urge to do that?


Primarily it's because I like to complain.  Alot.  I do my best to try and keep this blog focused, and stick primarily to the Fact's of My Life, but there is just so much out there that I want to whine about that I couldn't contain it anymore.  So I created a new blog that would allow me to dump on the world with my useless knowledge.


How do I get to this wonderful well of worldly know how?  Why you can follow the B.S. by Bob link to the right, or just click HERE!  It's that simple!


That's all that I have to add for now.  I have to get back to the amazingly dreary holiday season.  Until next time folks!


So it's a Fact: I've just got way to much crap to say.  Which is why it's called B.S. by Bob.

Holidays Schmolidays

Holidays. They are slowly starting to become the ingrown hair on the inside of my ass cheek that I cannot get at.  But Bob, you ask, how could that be?  Aren't holidays supposed to be full of joy, excitement and ever unfulfilled promise of family unity?  Why yes, I answer sarcastically, on paper it is.  For me though, as I age day by day, that drunken vision of beauty is starting to fade away.

Now we as a human race can be unified in agreement that we have all had at least one bad holiday experience in our lives.  Whether it be a bagged turkey on Thanksgiving Day (which has been recorded in a printed Facts of Bob's Life, which I'm sure will be reprinted here), ill thought presents that the patron saint Santa put absolutely no thought into before dropping down our chimneys for Christmas morning, or the sheer joy of discovering that the easter eggs that our Lord and Savior Jesus left for us to find on his Easter Birthday were actually rotten.

Some of us are more lucky than others though, and have had the good fortune of experiencing more than one nasty experience on more than one National Holiday.  By some of us I am of course referring to me.

I won't entertain/bore you with all of the gruesome details of every single holiday that has left a bad taste in my mouth (both figuratively and literally).  Instead I will tell the tale of only two.  Two of the most recent holidays that have transpired and have started to cement the Fact that I am on a path to hate the holidays forever.

Let us start off with the most recent Halloween in the year 2009 A.D.  Halloween is our way of celebrating our Pagan forefathers ingenuity of escaping captivity by demons, and various random hellspawn, by baiting them with candy and then disguising themselves like various franchise money making mascots or cartoon characters.  Without their bravery and fortitude our world would be overrun with harpies and the skies filled with blood soaked chains.

I was planning on having a rather happy Halloween this year because I was fortunate enough to have my daughter on this holiday.  My plan was to have her dressed up as her favorite Disney Princess, go all around town to beg for candy, and then find some Halloween related social gala to attend.  It would have been fantastic.  Unfortunately mother nature had other plans.
Despite having already gotten the flu shot two weeks prior, I was fortunate enough to recieve the flu the day of Halloween.  My temperature rose to 100 and some degrees, I could barely keep my eyes open due to fatigue, and I had lost the ability to eat solid food.  There was even rumor that I would have to be put down...or just go to the doctor, whichever was more sanitary, I don't remember.

Because of this I was in a dilemna: I could force my daughter to stay with me, and we could enjoy Halloween together in a horrible non Halloween way, which would consist of just sitting around and watching me cry the whole night OR I could have my Mother and Girlfriend take her Trick or Treating and have her enjoy the holiday properly. Like a good father I chose the latter, let my daughter enjoy her Trick or Treating while I sat home in a pool of my own tears. Despite this being the absolute worst Halloween ever for me, it ended up being an absolutely wonderful experience for my Daughter.

Let's move on to the second most recent holiday before I start crying again: Thanksgiving.

Before I go on let me get a disclaimer out there that will absolutely confuse the bejesus out of you.  I had an absolutely fantastic Thanksgiving!  There was nothing wrong with it at all.  I had tons of family and friends over for the whole day, enjoyed good food and everyone else had a wonderful time as well.

So what was the big deal? Why do I feel the need to complain?

All day I had sat around and waited, and waited for that damned turkey to get done basting in its own juices, so that I could tear into it and all of its supporting dishes as well.  All day I was tortured by the fine smells that were constantly pouring out of my kitchen.  The only thing that was getting me by the entire day were a variety of chip and dip related snacks that could hardly dampen my hunger.

When the time finally came for us to gorge ourselves into this amazing feast, that by the way tasted like an angel crapped in my mouth, I found that I could hardly eat any of it. I just stared at my plate absolutely confused, wondering if there was something wrong with me. Not to be beaten by a mere plate of dinner I loaded it up again and did my best to force the food down my throat.  No luck.  I was bested.

I just sat there with my head hung in shame that I could barely eat Thanksgiving dinner.  To make matters even worse I couldn't even eat any of the deserts that were sprawled out all around me. Pumpkin Pie, an absolute must for me, was staring me in the face and begging me, whispering lustfully into my ear to tear into it. As I stared at it all I could do was cringe as my stomach turned.

This upset me to no end, this inability to eat on the day of all days to eat.  I even had to give away all my leftovers to my mother and sister because I couldn't stomach the thought of having any more of this damned dinner in my house. An amazing Thanksgiving was turned terrible in my mind because, quite simply, I just couldn't gourge myself like a fool.

So it's a Fact: Holidays are turning into days of dread for me.  If you need proof look no further than this last Halloween that was ripped out from underneath me due to a crippling flue like disease, or this Fantastic Thanksgiving that somehow turned me into an incontinent old man that can't eat a damn thing.  Bah!

Time For Change, Part Three: Yeah, Well, There Went That Idea

I'm going to start of this wonderful Fact Filled post by not apologizing for my lateness, or offering any sort of explanation for the tardiness in my writing.  All that I can say is that my life is so full to the brim with drama, excitement and absolute fulfillment that there is no possible way that I could work my personal endeavors around it (ie writing).  So the sooner you forgive yourselves for being upset at me for the lack of no new content the happier we will all be.


Now, where was I when I started this whole thing?


So that whole summer of Change thing, I was going to go on and on about several more immeasurably intriguing events that had happened to me that I had even somehow managed to chronicle with pictures, partially moving pictures and pieces of flesh.  But since I am now past the whole "I'm going to share my wonderful life of change with you" moment, I am merely going to summarize all of it into one Fact based post instead of actually sharing any of my eye melting multimedia that I now have locked in cold storage.

Why would I do such a horribly crude thing? Is it out of selfishness? Laziness? All I can say is partially yes to maybe and perhaps. But as I said earlier, it's best that you just forgive and forget and read on.

So what were the rest of the amazing adventures like that I partook upon, that were apparently so wonderfully life affirming that I felt the need to marginally distraught the world with my Fact Filled Tales on a poorly scheduled basis?

1. Wakeboarding: While on my earlier fishing adventures I was also enticed to try and perform the ancient daredevil art of wakeboarding.  At first I was dumbstruck at the mere suggestion that this recreational activity was brought forth to me. I thought that this sport of old had long since been retired in the 80's, along with such things as Aviator Sunglasses and Braided Mullets w/ Beads in them. Alas I was wrong.  Wakeboarding lives! I was coerced into trying to perform this physically grueling task after several...beverages.  And after said several beverages it is safe to say that I failed miserably.  Watching me "learn" to Wakeboardwas either the funniest or most pathetice thing to have witnessed, I haven't decided. Even though common sense and repetition of failure should have taught me a lesson to stop doing something I'm not good at, I am not one to give up so easily.  After three days of torture and pain I had finally conquered the board de la wake, and rode the waves like a true champ! For two minutes at a time, because my arms had turned to absolute Jello.  Which ostensibly led to...
2. Burnt Flesh: Because of my bullheadedness, and inability to realize I'm not good at something, I was also out in the flaming sun for hours on end.  This left me with two things.  The first being a righteous tan that lasted for approximately 12 hours, and the next being a sun burn bestowed upon me from Satan himself for no less than 2 weeks. This kids is what you get for never giving up! I know, I know, who cares, we all get tanned and then sun burnt.  For me though, I only get pale or burnt, and I'm not even a red head. It's just that way for me.  Sure I can get a mean farmers tan, but for some reason I just can't tan worth a damn (put that on a T-Shirt). Having a tan that made me look like I walked off the set of Miami Vice made me feel absolutely Bodacious!
3. New Doo: Prior to all of this, I was planning on doing something that in retrospect is actually pretty lame, and I've actually done before in the printed Facts of Bob's Life. I was going to keep you all updated on the what nots of what I was going to do with my beautiful mane of hair. At the time (August I think) I was letting my hair get fairly shaggy, almost to the point to where I was looking like either the Norse God Thor, or Jim from the Office, so it was getting time to trim the locks. For me I only have two options for my hair, either I can have it terribly short or horribly long.  There is no middle ground.  If I have it mid length then I can't style it in any way, shape or form, and it looks like a big nest of greasy grunge crap.  So I made the bold decision to shave it all off again, and took some beautiful pictures of myself, including a wonderful topless picture to prove it.  I was planning on posting them but that obviously didn't happen.  Who knows, by the end of this Fact I just might.

And that just about sums up what I was going to ramble on and on about for the rest of the Summer of Change and what not. Notice how the majority of all of these mini Facts are somehow mysteriously based around fish, or at the very least water? Seems odd to me!


Anyhoo, now that this whole mess is over with I plan on getting things back to semi regular normality in some shape or form.  But we all know how that goes, for all I know I won't post another Fact for six weeks, or it may be in twenty minutes from now.  Mystery prevails!


So it's a Fact: Just like the Prologue the ending to this series of Change Based Facts is nothing but a big ol' Cocktease.

Bonus Fact: I used a capital W for Wakeboard because Wakeboarding owned my ass the entire time I tried to own it.  Even after I finally figured out how to finally use the damn thing it still managed to punish my frail body for days after. So I will respectfully capitalize Wakeboard going ever forward.

Epic Bonus Fact: ...sigh...here are those pictures I promised.

Before I cut my nasty mange...  

And after, plus I'm topless!

Time For Change, Part Two: More Fish

After committing my own personal cardinal sin of eating fish based products, it felt like that there were now no bounds, no limits to what I could do in life! It felt like I had already reached the zenith of accomplishments by eating God’s very own slippery, mercury filled, open mouthed abominations.  So I now stood at a crossroads with no paths. Just staring at the ground mumbling, hoping some kind of coherent thought would eventually pop into my fragile mind and lead me into the direction of change that I so desperately craved.

Then it finally dawned on me! Eating those fishy prawn bastards wasn't enough.  No, I would have to capture (and release) these creatures to truly bring some form of creativity and lust back into my life! Plus it would be a truly ironic follow up.

So I decided to temporarily take up the fine art of fishing.

I didn’t come to this decision on my own like I make it sound. In all actuality it was one of my best friends who had been coercing me for about…I’d say three months, to get me to go fishing with him before I finally buckled down and said yes. Day after day he would call me and pester me to death. Begging and pleading me to go fishing with him, constantly saying that the only way to get stress out of my life was to go fishing, the only way to enjoy the summer was to go fishing, the only way to get rid of that nasty pale tone on my skin was to go fishing. I kept pushing it off saying “oh yeah, sure we will. But not tomorrow, maybe next tomorrow”. To be truthful I was busy most of the time and I didn’t have a license to fish, but deep down I was truly resentful and hateful to the task of fishing.

Why's that you ask?

The last time that I had gone fishing was when I was the tender age of 12-15 years old. My best friend at the time and I used to go almost every day, and fish in the creeks in the untamed lands of Priest Lake. These creeks were usually the only safe places to fish, mainly because it’s where you wouldn’t be attacked by the savage Neanderthal, since they had a natural hate towards the sound of running water. Our main reason for fishing was to go out, enjoy nature, try and catch fish and smoke cigarettes. It was a great time.

I think it was also fun for my best friend to humiliate me as well. You see he was able to constantly catch fish over and over again. While I on the other hand would sit there and stare at the water with hate. Hate knowing that my line would never catch a damn thing.

This went on for years.

One day it happened. My line started yanking, I started pulling, and I reeled in a fish! It was an amazing three inch long piece of crap that you couldn’t do anything with, but I was amazingly proud of it. I must have stood there for fifteen minutes yelping like a madman, drunk with accomplishment, happy with the fact that I had finally caught something other than kelp. I had the full intention of mounting this damn thing on my wall. We then took the fish, tied it off to a side of the creek that wasn't running and continued to fish. Not more than 10 minutes later I heard a noise.

I turned from my hard earned, pride filled fishing to see something absolutely horrible. Some goddamn dog comes out of nowhere and proceeds to eat my goddamn fish! My only fish! Every last bit of it!

I tried to scare it, tried to yell at it, but it just sat there eating it then promptly ran off. It didn’t even have the decency to leave me the head. My friend did have the decency to laugh at me. So there I stood, pole in hand, with no fish. From that point on I vowed never to fish again, mainly because I realized how pointless and boring it all was, but also because my one accomplishment from all those years had been taken from me.

Which brings us back to modern times.

After weeks and months of being badgered, I finally gave in to my best friend’s demand that I go out fishing with him. He kept insisting that it would be good for me and we would have a good time. I went out with him expecting the exact opposite. I drove out to the spot dragging my feet with a scowl on my face looking all around me for some ravenous fish hungry dog to jump out of the bushes.

But wouldn't you know it, the second I arrived there and started fishing I got the exact opposite of what I expected. I not only enjoyed the time I had fishing, but I also caught a fish. One that was more than three inches long. That little taste of capturing my most hated food enticed me to do more fishing with my friend.

Sure enough I did even more fishing and ended up catching an assload of fish (which cured my inferiority complex), but I didn’t stop at just regular fishing. I went trolling, drove a boat while others fished, learned about the different lures (and promptly forgot), I lost my pasty complexion and got super Tan/Burnt, and then lost that because it all flaked off in giant potato chip size chunks of skin. I even took my daughter fishing and she caught loads of fish (which was absolutely adorable image, and the pictures of her doing so deserves to be on every Hallmark card known to man).

All in all performing one of my most hated recreational tasks on my most hated foods ended being one of the most fun things I did this summer. It was great schtuff.

So It’s a Fact: I learned that sometimes it’s okay to pick up old hobbies that you once hated, and that sometimes even though you think you know better that sometimes your friends do know what’s best for you. And now I’m an effing fisherman because of it. Though I have to borrow everyone’s gear.

Time For Change, Part One: Prawnish Delight

As I slowly march towards death in a humble fashion day by day, I tend to think more and more about all of the things that I have never done due to high moral standards, or just personal procrastination.  Whichever the case may be, I feel that in my mind the decision I make is rightfully justifiable. For instance, as mentioned in a previous Facts, I refuse to eat any form of seafood (even Tuna), simply because I find that our edible friends of the sea taste like stale vomit laced with mercury. Nothing, other than money, could change my mind to even consider licking, much or less eat, a finned friend of the ocean.

But then my moral structure collapsed, and I ended up doing the exact opposite.

While on vacation in July I was having a coursed meal, and the ‘appetizer’ that was being served was an animal of the prawn variety. This prawn also happened to be slightly spiced up, which I’m assuming was to hide it’s vile lead based taste that lurks behind every 'edible' creature we humans pull from the water. Including penguins.

Once it was served to me, all I could do was gaze upon this strangely decorative piece of sea meat, and think to myself of all the times that I had been confronted with the same situation. Loads of food plopped right in front of my face, served only in the most delicate fashion only for it to be the food that you have the upmost hate for.

Then I promptly picked up one of these prawn carcasses and bit a piece of the disgusting prawny flesh off with my teeth and chewed it semi thoroughly. The whole time I gnawed, small pockets of liquidy flesh burst onto my tongue, exploding with every small bite I took before finally letting it slide down my throat so that it could infect my entire body with its putrid, prawny like hideousness.

And you know what surprised the ever loving shit out of me? The prawn really wasn’t that bad. Sure, the pod like flesh popped in my mouth with every bite that I took. Sure, the texture of the meat was exactly what I would imagine it would be like biting into the hide of a giant mutant grasshopper from a post apocalyptic future. Sure, I wasn’t able to eat the lettuce that the prawns were laid upon (because dead prawns appartently need a blanky more than I need a filler in my stomach to tamper down mutant insect chicken seafood hybrid meat). But I was avidly happy to find out that it was an overall delicious experience. I think the spiciness of the meat helped.

All in all though, they didn’t taste that bad, and after I was done eating all four of them (four!) I felt like a true champ, a big boy! I ate all the food off my plate, save for the lettuce, and nobody had to tell me to do it. I did it all by myself!

Why did I perform this horrific act of eatery, having a full mental preparedness that the Prawn would fill my body with disgust and foulness? Like the title of this Fact suggests, it was time for change. I’ve only got so much time left before I can no longer say that “I’m almost 30”, and soon I’ll just have to say “sigh, I am 30”.
 
I don’t want to be a cantankerous old man who refuses to try anything new, or do anything different, just because he’s set in his ways even though those ways are right and true. I at least want to be able to say that I have tried a certain amount of things before I get to that point.  And now I can say I've tried nasty, spicy prawn meat.

So it's a Fact: If I wake up one day and have a hard outer shell, I know what to blame.

Time For Change: Prologue

During this last month of summer, it was my plan to take all of you fine readers (how ever many of you there are out there) on a strange and wonderful ride through some strange and wonderful Factual Bob-like journeys on a semi regular basis.

These Facts were not going to be just any Facts though. No, these Facts would have been different. They would not have been the ordinary strange, obscure, sometime perverted pieces of my life that I bestow upon you to help guide you through your life like journeys.

What in Gouda's great name could these Facts have possibly been about? Read on to relieve tension!

An actual chronicle of Facts with a running theme throughout that was actually consistent. PLUS AS A BONUS: they would also be current! So they wouldn't be culled from my fragmented memory of years past, only weeks past instead. Perhaps on first reading this amazing concept you might feel a tad bit underwhelmed. Well I'm not, and that's what matters!

So what's the running current event based theme?

I had realized that I had gotten to a point in my life where I had become to set in my ways. I had been eating the exact same foods every day. I had been drinking the exact same type of drinks each day. Wearing the exact same types of clothes all the time, and going to all the same places to do whatever it is I wanted to do (shop, eat, hang out, buy pens).

I also realized that this repetitive, or stagnant, way of living was really starting to weigh me down both mentally and psychotically. Thus, as the title of the Facts suggests, it was time to invoke change.

As I said earlier, my initial plan was to pepper you all with the amazing adventures of change I had sprinkled myself with! Tales of Fish, Prawns, Hair and Peeling Flesh! Unfortunately I spent far too much time trying to indulge in these very agents of change that I hardly had the time to sit down and actually write about them (that and I was lazy too). So now that I'm all done with these amazing adventures of mine, I will begin assaulting you with said amazing adventures, one by one!

Right after this Prologue.

So it's a Fact: Prologues are just a big ol' cocktease.

Freak of Nature

Last week, for four days, I was completely holed up in my house doing absolutely nothing but sitting on my couch, drooling blood on myself, and watching television as the hours of the days passed me by. Why on earth would I do such a horrific and incredibly unsanitary thing such as this?

On August 4th 2009 I had the four remaining wisdom teeth that I had in my mouth removed. They were causing me great pain, they were causing me great bodily damage, and they had to be dealt with properly. I say remaining because I had already removed two wisdom teeth years prior to this incident while I was still employed by this fine country's military.

I am of a rare breed of human being that is lucky enough to have the privelage to produce, own and bare extra wisdom teeth (six total in my case). Which got me to thinking to the purpose of this particular Fact: I am a freak of nature.

Not just because of the extra wisdom teeth, oh no. There's plenty more freakiness where that came from. It's just that while sitting there, paddling around in my own pool of blood that drooled out of my mouth that got me to wonder about all of my other bodily oddities. The ones that make me stand out from the rest of the herd.

1. I have a large, obnoxious bald spot on the back of my head. This would be the first and most noticable one for everyone to see. When I was born, apparently the skin on the back of my head didn't heal all the way (or some doctor like rubbish along those lines), and left a hideous mushroom like stamp of barrenness on my scalp. Despite hollow promises that hair will eventually grow back on this patch of nothingness, there is still nothing there. I am forced to walk this earth with an oddly shaped patch of veiny skin, that lies amongst my beautiful main of hair.


2. During the early twenties of my life, I started to learn strange new things about my body! Certain things like that it apparently came with inherint abilities, and powers, like being able to recieve messages from God! Or as doctors like to call these 'messages': seizures. Yes, I have epilepsy, and I am an epileptic fool. Without the aid of medicine I would be flopping around like freshly fried bacon, or a fish out of water, or some other pathetic analogy of something that flops.


3. During one of these Messages of God/Seizures/Epileptic Hissy Fits, I just so happened to fall on the ground and flip out just right that I was able to break some bones in my body. Unfortunately those bones just so happened to be my back bones! So due to my efficiency in epilepsy, I have a Compression Fracture in my spine. I can still walk around and lift heavy objects, but I tend to get worn out if I lift anything too heavy, like a pillow or a small kitten. Also I can't really run anymore. I can trot from here to there in small bursts, walk briskly, or if I'm really feeling up to it I can flat out sprint for three seconds! But run? Eff no! That crap hurts.

Those would be the major ones, the ones that stand out the most and make me oh so unique. These are the conversation starters, the ones that I can bring up when things get dull: "Soooo, did you know that I have a broken back? But did you know it's because I hada seizure?"

Of course there are even more freakish charactistics that I harbor, little things that no one else would notice or have to deal with but me, but I'll save those for another time or place.

So it's a Fact: If I was a kitten I would have been the smallest, weaker one that the mother cat slept on to put out of it's misery.

The Price of Protection

Prophylactics. They have always been a constant in my life, in that no matter where I turned they just happened to always be there. Which is strange since I don't ever remember buying them. For me the condom is a lot like canned soup; It's just always there ready to be used, until you actually need to use it that is. Then you either don't have any or you don't have the right type.


Yes, you heard me, I said right type. You go over to grab one of two badly bruised 'love mittens' that happen to be in your possession, and wouldn't you know it, they're un-lubricated! To put this into a better perspective, and to also fall back onto the earlier canned soup analogy, you go to grab a can of Condensed Chicken and Mushroom for a wonderful casserole you're about to prepare, and all you have are three cans of Chicken and Stars.


This is when I am forced to go on a rare quest: A quest for condoms.


This quest is not one that I particularly like to embark upon. Not because I am an immature man that still giggles himself into a frenzy at the mere thought of putting a 'latex sheath' over his manhood, though I am drooling with silliness as I write this very fact. It is the hazards that one encounters while purchasing 'rubber love gloves' that makes the entire experience cringe worthy. It is a stressful, time consuming and humbling experience.


How could buying 'passion socks' possibly be all that...horrendous? Like I mentioned previously, buying 'child stoppers' has never been a part of my regular daily schedule because they have always miraculously been there. I don't have any experience with location of said 'love bags', their cost, or their variety. So for me to just run in to my nearest retail location, grab a box of fun, and run out is definitely out of the question.


Whenever I do muster up enough courage to wander out in public to be seen purchasing a box of 'rubber love sleaves', I always end up doing just that: wandering. I have no idea where to go, I always end up backtracking into the tampon section, and somehow I always run into at least two to three old women in battery powered wheel chairs that impede my useless progress.


Once I finally do meet my destination it's almost impossible to describe the overwhelming feeling of ineptitude that fills my body. Standing in front of a seven foot tall wall full of condoms, filled with dozens of variations in sizes, colors, and flavors, is incredibly confusing, especially when you only need to pick just one. It's even more intimidating when the first thing you see at eye level is a giant row of Magnums that you know you will never use in your entire life.


Going back once again to the soup analogy, it's hard to try and pick up just a can of Chicken Noodle when all you can see are Chicken and Basil, Chunky Chicken, Chicken Base and then all the variations of Tomato soup right next to it. And none of it is in order.

After embarrassing myself by wandering around the health section of any nameless retail store, and shoving my way past numerous handicapped elderly women, my fears and stress have only just begun. Once I go to actually purchase the 'groin protectors', I somehow always manage to run into one of two scenarios: I either A.) have a cashier that is of obvious strong christian base and morale's, and sneers at me the entire time he/she helps me purchase my box of 'goo catchers', never wasting a moment to stare down at me letting me know that I am committing a moral sin. Or B.) I get stuck in a long line of customers constructed primarily of well to do families!

So there I stand with nothing in my hand but a big glowing blue box of 'cock bags', while in front and behind me are loving families consisting of parents and children, who are all running around and playing, and having a wonderful time shopping, while I stand there trying to hide my box of goodies. And eventually it happens, some kid comes up and asks me what I'm holding in my hand. It's all I can do to not say "something your parents should have bought". Instead I just stand there red faced and let the tears of shame run down my cheeks.

In fear of running into either of those embarrassing situations, I would just as much rather run home and wrap my sex glaive in a sandwich bag, dunk it in vegetable oil and shout out at the lucky woman that I'm about to bed and proclaim "Gaze upon my sexual ingenuity and pray that it does not fail!" Problem solved and a good time had by all.

So it's a Fact: Being the responsible adult that I am I do not run home and wrap my baggage in a baggie, and simply brave the horrors that one must encounter to ensure proper protection. For it is the price one must pay.

Bonus Fact: Happy Belated Father's Day

Film, Static, Lava...Hate!

Some of you may be too young (or too old) to remember this, but at one point in mankinds spotted history of media indulgence, there was one format that we as humans dabbled in that was doomed to failure. No it was not VHS, Beta or Reel to Reel. It was known as the VideoDisc.

An entire film, television show, or pansy ass musical stored onto a record like storage device, which was then placed into a plastic sleeve, which you THEN shoved into a VCR-Record Player combo/hybrid machine to watch said visual splendors. When half of your eye candy galore was over you simply walked up to your machine, slid in your plastic casing, slid out your casing, flipped it over, slid it back in to the reverse side, and resumed watching whatever the hell you were watching...which was probably Grease 2.

Yes, the VideoDisc was from what I could remember, and google, the precursor to the Laserdisc. You could fastforward with the touch of a button, you didn't have to rewind it when it was over and altogether it was just an amazing thing to behold.

Yes, it was a glorious thing to watch, listen and yes, love.

As you can probably tell from this Fact, my family were one of the few beholders of this amazing piece of technology in not only the untamed wilds of Priest Lake(where technology was considered black magic), but also the world. I can't exactly recall how we came into possession of this lost technology, but it was of little consequence to me. What really mattered to me was the fricking movies!

We had things I had never seen before and couldn't believe existed: Airplane! Star Trek the Motion Picture, episodes of Star Trek, The Longest Day, Fiddler on The Roof (which for some reason I kept watching though I couldn't stand. Topol must rock that much), Charlie Brown cartoons, and more...because I honestly can't remember the other ones. I know we had the unfortunate happiness of owning 'Grease 2', and an episode of 'Little House on the Prairie', but trust me we had a shitload of other films of higher quality and Oscar worthy esteem.

It was always something I could count on, that VideoDisc player. I could always go down in my basement, turn on the TV, and slide in that big square plastic monstrosity of a film and just relax and know the only time I would ever have to get up was halfway through a film, and never ever be bothered to rewind it when it was over. It was truly bliss dear readers, truly bliss.

But bliss can only last so long.

One day, as I giddily flew down the stairs to try and attempt to watch yet again the final episode of 'The Fugitive' (having never seen any other episode in my entire life), something was awry. The warm, comforting VideoDisc logo and its soothing theme song didn't play out on the television like I had memorized it. No, it was replaced by something else. Something awful.

Static.

Not just any static though. The kind of static that would just barely let you see the magical wonder that lay beyond it's flickering snow like blanket of pain and confusion that consistently blasted in your face. The kind of static that is so loud and obnoxious, that it sounds like a dozen tiny leprechauns just magically jumped out of your sofa and immediately started dancing and flatulating in your face.

The kind of Static that fills you with hate.

My blood boiled red! This could not be! I immediately pulled out the disc and switched sides to see if the same affliction had cursed its backside. Once again, nothing but hate filled static. An immediate solution presented itself: test another disc to see if it too is suffering the same fate as the finale episode of 'The Fugitive'. I then turned to a trusted classic, 'The Fantastic Voyage', which had never let me down before. It too had had succumb to the fate of the hell static.

Now it was a matter of desperation. I pilfered frenetically through our vast collection of discs and as fast and efficiently as I possibly could I slid them in and out of the player to see if they were infected with the same strange disease as their fellow brethren had been.

One after the other it was the same thing: static, static, static! Finally after I had gotten around to 'Ordinary People' I had given up and decided that they were all doomed to suffer the same fate. Sitting on my knees in front of the television, head hung low, I faced the fact that an old friend had finally passed.

I somberly walked back up the stairs to tell my parents the sad news. "Well, you're father will take a look at it." was all my mother said, not realizing the gravity of the situation. I didn't have the heart to tell her that all was lost.

Days had passed. Or was it weeks? I couldn't remember, it was all a haze. The shock of it all was so hard to take that everything was a blur for quite some time. But then the real tragedy came.

As my mother had promised my father had indeed taken a look into the horror that had befallen upon the VideoDisc player. Rather than discovering what was wrong with said player and correcting it, he had stumbled upon something far worse.

Somehow, with his keen detective skills, or both of my parents combined, it was found that my younger brother and sister had decided to take it upon themselves to enter the wonderful world of their imagination! In this wonderful world they also decided to create and play a game called "Don't Fall In The Lava". Let me explain the rules!

The game goes like this: the entire carpet of the basement is considered lava, and you can't touch it. You can only stand/step on furniture to be safe. THIS INCLUDES VIDEODISCS!!!!

So, unbeknownst to everyone, my two little siblings were down in the basement happily bouncing around on VideoDiscs for hours on end, doing their very best to stay safe from the unending dangers of carpet lava. During this hapy little time they managed to destroy every single VideoDisc film we owned.

Finding out what had happened to my dear VideoDiscs offered me no closure. Oddly enough I was the only one who was pissed off at this whole affair. Everyone else seemed to brush it off as an "Eh, it was going to die anyways" type of event. Not me. No, I saw it as a vast collection of fine film and strange, sporadic episodes of television just being tossed away in a blink of an eye, never to be watched again.

At least my brother an sister are safe from the lava.

So it's a Fact: I'll never get to see that last episode of 'The Fugitive'. Though if I remember right it was pretty damn crappy.

Over Not Under!

It's the little things in life that matter the most. The tiny day to day issues that your normal, 9 to 5, carbon based life form tend to not notice, but that immediately raise red flags for you once they cross into your field of vision and are forced to interact with them.

I'm almost positive you, the gentle reader, already know exactly what I'm talking about:

the person who doesn't wipe the spit out of the corner of their mouth when they talk,

cars that take up two parking spaces,

pubic hair on a toothbrush.

The list could go on forever. Tiny little nuances that could be corrected oh so easily, but for some damnable reason they never are. They just sit there, staring you in the face, mocking you with their simple idiocy.

What makes it worse is having to be forced to stare at these faults knowing that you could easily correct any one of them in an instant. But, dare you?! Dare you invade someones personal facial space and wipe off their salivary shame? Dare you call out all those who would be proud enough to join you and lift a random strangers car and re park it properly in the lot of a TJ Maxx? Dare you risk the possibility of infection to remove the unsightly mess of curly love hair from a tooth brush just because it's the right thing to do?

Probably not.

Like you I have many, many little tangents that I run into in life that tend to piss me off to no end. The one that I seem to run into the most often, and hence piss me off the most, is one I think goes far too unnoticed.

Toilet Paper Placement.

When I sit down to take care of business, and I finish said business, I expect only one thing afterwards: to be able to place my hands on a clean roll of ivory, imitation cloth like splendor, and pull off as many sheets as easily as possible. Emphasis on easily.

Now in my mind, this should not be a hard thing to expect at all! It should be expected! Why am I complaining then? Because for some reason, some unexplainable god forsaken reason, there is a trove of human beings out there that cannot grasp the simple fundamental concept of properly placing a roll of basic fucking toilet paper onto it's little holder.

Am I going too fast for you? Am I getting too far ahead of myself? Well let's go back a step!

The basic design and physics of a roll of toilet paper, i.e. how it was ordained by God, is that when pulled, the sheets of butt cleansing paper must roll off the TOP of the roll of toilet paper. Let me reiterate.

The...Top.

"Why is this so important that it needs to be explained and also deems worthiness to be a Fact of your Life Bob?" I'm glad you asked!

Nothing irritates me more than when I have to wipe my tiny ass, and I go for a sheet or five, and lo and behold...there's nothing there! I see the paper, it's right there in front of me, yet nothing is coming into my slightly stained finger tips! How is this even humanly possible?

Because some Podunk fool didn't take the half second extra out of his/her life to think about me and use the horrible physical effort I'm sure it would have taken to actually turn the ungodly heavy roll of toilet paper around and put it in the dispenser properly.

Or to put it more eloquently, because some A-hole put the Toilet Paper in upside down.

Because of this I now have to sit on the toilet, feeling like a moron, either fingering the back of the toilet paper roll desperately trying to get just a shred of paper for my grimy ass, or spinning said roll with one hand and catching the extra paper from the back with the other. Either way I feel like a retired 70 year old woman at a casino desperately trying to get coins out of a slot machine. Except I'm on a toilet.

Fortunately for me I have the ability to change the world with this affliction of mine. Kinda. Obviously I have control of my Toilet Paper in my own personal surroundings, that goes without saying. BUT If I am at a friends house, and I happen to see the Toilet Paper upside down: around it goes buddy boy, around it goes. I will not have it in my presence.

Sadly there are instances where I cannot alter this bastardization in anyway: restaurants, grocery stores, firing ranges. Reason being because they smartly keep their TP under lock and key for protection. Protection from me.

So it's a Fact: Over not under folks. And if I find my Toilet Paper upside down in my house after this post I know that you did it!