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!