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.