Man, sometimes my job is so boring, I seriously contemplate the finite qualities of the internet. Thank fucking god that I have access to the internet at work. I think I’ve actually exhausted my surfing potential.
However, yesterday I checked out Uncle Bob’s diary here on diaryland and let me tell you, that man is the funny shit. My entire diary isn’t as good as just one entry of HIS diary. My diary whines a lot. Not a lot of humor. Uncle Bob makes me want to be a better diarist. And not in a “Jerry Maguire” kind of sappy way, but a competitive jealous way. He’s too much.
http://unclebob.diaryland.com
He also makes me want to use the word “fuck” a lot in diary.
Today is the Pulp Fiction version of Weet’s diary…. Fucking right it is!
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Next weekend we will be camping in The Great White North. Home of the Loons. Real loons. Not just crazy white people. Actual “On Golden Pond” loons. I have this insane urge to say “Listen to the loons, Norman!”.
Crazy!
Anyway, I’m not excited about this because it involves a lot of work. Esteban assures me that it doesn’t have to be so much work. Easy for him to say. He doesn’t have to do all the packing, shopping, food prep, cooking, cleaning, unpacking, laundry, and basic shitty work that I end up doing.
Sure, it’s easy for him…. He just orders me around while we put up and take down the tent. Little General. That will be his nickname this trip, I think.
I’m going to get my ass kicked…. I know it already.
We’re taking the truck, so that should require a home equity loan to fill up with gas. Sheesh. Plus, we’re required to wait to drive up with Cheri and Joel because they are concerned that they will not be able to find it. Hell, I can print them off directions! What’s the big deal. We’ll bring a freaking cell phone. Call us when you get to Manitowish Waters and we will fetch you people! Chhrrrist. Fuck.
Last time we went camping with a couple (no names!), we had to listen to them fornicate all night. Ooooh. MMmmmm. OOOOHH. EEEEEEEHHHHH! [slurp slurp slurp]. It’s really hard to look them in the eye in the morning.
It’s all true. We don’t respect them anymore.
I can just imagine: “Hmmm… we’re in a tent with 1/16″ fabric walls…. there are two other people laying 10 feet away with more 1/16″ fabric walls around them. We’re in the woods and there are no other sounds and everything is completely quiet. I’m certain that they will NEVER hear our grunting!”
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I’m trying to be like Uncle Bob and it’s just not working….. so much for Pulp Diary day.
Fuck.
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