Monthly Archive for June, 2004

June 29, 2004

Published on 6/29/2004 in Dear Diarrhea. 0 Comments

Every once in a while I like to tape record one of my friends at work, kinda like a day in the life except it’s more like a work day in the life. On this night I am hanging with my friend and fellow entrepreneur, Gerald’s MacSpleen, we co-own an artsy hotel in the greater New Jersey Turnpike area. I brought a tape recorder and here is some excerpts from that evening.

(Gerald picks up phone)

GERALD: Hotel Miss Match, how can I assist you this evening? Okay… now I only have cots and king futons available for now, is that okay with you?…Uh huh, mmmm…. right, I see. We are open all night… Thanks for calling…

(Phone rings) Good evening, Hotel Miss Match, how can I assist you this evening?…(long beat) I tell you what, I will get Bobby to send up a single and you can just fold that other futon in half to give you extra padding… Yes, that’s why we are called Miss Match, just for that reason alone… Right- Right, I thought I made it perfectly clear before you were given the bolt cutters- You need to let me finish ma’am!!! … You had a choice of entries into the room and you chose to enter from the ceiling, what do you not understand about that?….Can you hold for a second, I have another call-

(Clicking over) Hotel Miss Match, how can I assist you this evening?… We are closed on the fourth of July in honor of Martin Luther King day… I wish I was joking because we are gonna loose a lot of money, especially with the firework convention less than a mile away… Oh, you are going to the convention?… That’s horrible, I wish we could help you… No, it’s in everyone’s best interest to see that Mr. King is honored for all he did for us and whatnot… No, we were forced to close on the actual Martin Luther King day to celebrate a Jewish Holiday called, Pass Over day- … Same thing. Anyway, to make a long story short, we fell behind in the holidays and we probably won’t get caught up until Thanksgiving in mid January…Hold on please, I will ask my partner… No, business partner!

GERALD- Bobby. This joker says he has close to seventy-five people wanting rooms for the firework convention on the fourth of July. What do you think?

BOBBY- Oh, I don’t know… Has he ever heard of a black man by the name of, ohhh, I don’t know, MARTIN LUTHER KING DAY!!!! The answer is no!

GERALD- You’re right. What was he thinking. I will just click the hold button once and get him back on the horn and tell him to get lost-

BOBBY- STOP!!! Don’t click over to him, make him stay on hold for a couple hours to punish him for being a racist!!!

GERALD- You’re right. I should click over and let him know that I will be putting him on hold for a couple of hours.

BOBBY- Fine. That’s fair.

GERALD- (clicking over) Yes. We want to let you know that we are going to put you on hold for a couple of hours, it’s 8:30 right now… so, at about 10:30ish, I will click over and give you an answer about giving you guys rooms on the fourth of July. I am putting you on hold, starting… now!

(Gerald’s puts the guy on hold. We then pull the fire alarm to get the guests out of the hotel so we can take a dinner break at Shoney’s Big Boy restaurant. Thirty minutes later, I start the recording again.)

(Man enters Hotel desk)

Man- Boy I’m am I tired. Do you have any rooms available?

Gerald- Yes we do… Do you have any pets with you that you are gonna try to sneak in your room?

Man- No.. Why do you say that? I just want to get some sleep.

Gerald- That’s fine. But first, you don’t mind if we pull out our dog sniffing dog to check out your vehicle do you? It will only take fifteen minutes.

(Gerald shouts towards the back room where our dog sniffing dog named Sniffy sits with her new born pups)

Gerald- SNIFFY!! SNIF-FYYYY!!!!!! Sniffy, get your bitch ass out here and check this fella out!!

Man- Okay! Okay! I have a small dog in the car… I was lying through my teeth! I am sorry!

Gerald- See that very small sign over there on the wall? Well, it says “Dogs are allowed, just don’t lie about them”… So, go on ahead and bring in your little friend and get some sleep. The only thing we have to do is charge you an extra ten buck for your lying fee.

Man- That’s fine. I should’ve just been straight up with you in the first place. Lying doesn’t get you anywhere.

Gerald- I like that attitude!

Man- Oh, by the way. How did you know I was lying about my dog?

Gerald- Just the look in your eyes. You had those beautiful lying eyes.

(Then I chime in)

Bobby- Plus you have a ton of dog hair on your black shirt and a touch of dog feces on your chin.

I turned off the tape at that point. I had enough and plus the Shoney’s was starting to kick into high gear. At 10:30 as promised, Gerald clicked over and gave the convention fella the bad news. We probably lost upwards to a lot of money by closing on the 4th, but a holiday is a holiday. We aren’t running a Blockbuster Video here, we have morals.

June 28, 2004

Published on 6/28/2004 in Dear Diarrhea. 1 Comment

I don’t know where I can get my hands on some pancakes at the location that I’m at right now. I crave those fluffy guys like crazy. Ask yourself this, how long would you walk for some hot pancakes? Five or six blocks? Too long of a walk, huh. The longest I have walked for pancakes is 19 blocks, which is one block shy of a mile. Was it worth it? No. I had only enough money for the cakes and not enough for a couple neutral eggs to offset the sweet, syrupy goodness that was stuck inside my gut.

People ask me why I eat my pancakes first and my eggs last and I say the same thing to them every time, “Shut-up and eat your food. Don’t worry what order I eat my food. Shut your trap. And when I mean trap, I’m talking about your mouth!”…

One of my biggest pet peeves is when my friend pours cold syrup on the glob of butter sitting atop of his pancakes. This drives me absolutely crazy. I end up hating him for a solid thirty to forty-five seconds as he prepares his stack of cakes like the commercials taught him to. It only works like in the commercials when the syrup is HOT!! Not ice cold from the fridge, dumb ass! It cools down the butter and stops the melting process in its tracks.

This is what is suppose to happen according to all pancake-related commercials, be it syrup from Mr. or Mrs. Butterworths or a box of Very Hungry Jack pancake mix, they always show a piping hot stack of cakes with a sizable glob of butter trying it’s best to melt a hole through the middle of the pan-fried dough, and then, out of nowhere, a gorgeous hand from a hand model starts pouring syrup over the pancakes, taking a small amount of the melted butter along the syrupy river like a stream of melted gold poring down a waterfall. Umm um good! With the temperature of the hot cakes and hot syrup, all the butter eventually melts by the fourth or fifth bite. That doesn’t happen when the syrup is cold. You are left with a rounded off glob of cold butter sticking to the side of the plate. And who in their right mind takes the time to heat up syrup before they pour it on their cakes…No one! No one that I know for sure.

To me, I am a big fan of holding off on the cold syrup for a few seconds as I evenly spread the rapidly melting butter on all of the pancakes. Takes less than ten seconds to do and when it comes time for the syrup, I don’t give a shit if has ice cubes in it, bring it on! I’m covered! Covered in melted butter baby! Can’t tell that to my friend… He just doesn’t get it and it is a shame. Seriously takes only ten seconds to spread the butter evenly on all the surfaces of the pancake and or waffle.

My friend does the same type of thing with jelly on his toast, another thing that drives me absolutely bonkers. He puts a glob in the middle of his toast and half-assly spreads it over a quarter of the canvassing area. He bites into uneven bits of dry toast and every once in a while will hit a massive clump of jelly, much like eating a jelly doughnut. If I did that my mouth would say to me, “Whoa whoa whoa. What is this, Bland Central Station? Put some jelly on these bites, don’t just tease me like that! Spread it evenly so we can have a little consistency here!”

Another commercial got a hold of him in his early childhood years. Sure jelly looks better in delicious chunky piles than when spread thinly and evenly on all areas of a piece of bread, but come on now Jody, think for yourself for once.

I am always trying to improve my English and rid some of the southern pronunciations that I grew up saying. One of the words that I want to keep saying the southern way is ‘syrup’. I hate this word when it is correctly pronounced. “Sear-ip! Can you pass the sear-ip please, I am from the Midwest and I am pronouncing the word correctly.” For some reason I can only tolerate the way I grew up saying that word… Sir-up…like in “Yes Sir up”…Took the y right out of there. It is much more pleasant for the ears than with that y in there… Try it the southern way and I bet you’ll like it much better. Sear-ip is too lispy. It sounds like someone trying to imitate a gay man asking for sear-ip for his waffles. Bad word that need some retooling. I’m not being homophobic by using that last example so get that out of your head, please.

I will end this Dear Diarrhea on a joke that is similar to an early joke I said a couple paragraphs earlier. You ready? Here it goes…

This is me stepping out of a busy train station in Mississippi in the early 50′s…”What is this? Klan Central Station or what?” I mean, come on now.”

Pretty good, huh.

June 21, 2004

Published on 6/21/2004 in Dear Diarrhea. 0 Comments

“Get down from there! Get down now!” Sergeant Frangler was pissed as all get out. He was up to his nuts in training these clowns how to fight in swan formation. It is 2008 in sunny Fort Bragg North Carolina. Four and a half years into world war three. Training a bunch of clowns how to fight and protect our country was going to be a massive challenge for the sergeant. He has been drilling information into these groups of young soldiers for three years straight and it was beginning to take it’s toll on the fifty year old lifer.

“Get the hell off that statue you f’ing idiot!… What do you think you’re doing up there!”… Sergeant Frangler is screaming at Private “Silly Goose” Platfert, a 27 year old ex-child entertainer from Flagstaff Arizona.

Silly Goose is one of the toughest soldiers to “break” into a legitimate fighting machine according to Officer Johnstonson. “I’ve never seen Sergeant Frangler this aggravated since the group of Carnies were drafted a couple months ago. With the new draft laws in effect, we’ve been getting some interesting groups of professions coming in here. In the end, it all works itself out. I thought we were doomed when we drafted employee’s from Banana Republic, but they shaped up to be a very sharp looking and efficient group of killers for the United States Army. I’m pretty sure these clowns will come through for us in the end.”

One of the best soldiers in Brigade 4573 is a clown from New Jersey name Private “Floppy Pants” Hortsnarph… “We got a group of 50 clowns from all over God’s country goofing around, pulling pranks and shit all the time, and out of all my headaches, Private Floppy Pants is the only one that has stopped me from pulling out a grenade launcher and toasting these fucker’s all to hell. Get that balloon monkey off your rifle, Private Bumbles!!…See what I’m talking about?! I mean look at them. These clowns can’t sit still long enough to get into one simple formation!! Can’t sit still for more than 30 seconds before a stupid balloon animal pops out or a whoopee pillow comes farting out of nowhere… See over there? Floppy Pants is standing at attention, not laughing and getting all carried away when the pranks come marching in…. I think it is his mime background that makes him somewhat tolerable for me to deal with… Don’t get me wrong, I hate mimes with a passion as much or more than your standard issued clown, and if it was my choice I would have them all put down like a toothless Chihuahua, but in the case of training these idiots to serve our free country, I’d pick a mime over a washed up bozo any day of the week.”

A few weeks later Sergeant Frangler spoke to Officer Johnstonson at graduation day of training camp. Only 30 soldiers made it to the next stage of the war and the rest either were dishonorably discharged or placed in prison for pranks and pratfalls that injured other soldiers. “Did you see that movie a few years ago called Patch Adams, I think that hairy comedian was in it?” Johnstonson nodded yes and mentioned that the star of the movie was Robin Williams. “Well I hated that movie with a passion!” the sergeant continued as he polished his gun for the ceremony. “In the end of that movie, that hairy doctor pulled a fast one at his graduation and didn’t wear any pants under his gown. It pissed me off when he did that and I’m afraid that these friggin clowns will try to pull the same shit today.”

But he had nothing to worry about. Sergeant Franglers yet again broke a few good clowns into a group of fighting machines to protect and serve our country. Thirty ex-clowns came marching down the line in perfect formation with the exception of Private “Floppy Pants” Hortsnarph, with mime paint on his face and Private “Parts” Parker, who wore an ape suit under his uniform.
It didn’t seem to bother the sergeant all that much, he seemed to be too busy thinking about the group of draftee’s from McDonalds coming into town the next day…”He looks like that!”, the sergeant points to Private “Parts” Parker. .. “The comedian guy, what’s his name again?”…. Officer Johnstonson told him again. “Robin Williams.”…”Oh, that’s right. I hated that movie!”

June 15, 2004

Published on 6/15/2004 in Dear Diarrhea. 0 Comments

The NBA finals, tonight!! Yeaaa!!! Go Pistons! The finals this year has brought a couple of my old friends together after a long time of hating each other. It is music to my mo-town ears that Blake and Jamie are able to be in the same room together rooting for Detroit to end the Laker Dynasty of yesteryear.

At first, I thought it was impossible for the two to be in the same state together, let alone the same room. We were all nervous when Blake was first released from prison back in January. The gang knew that Jamie was on the verge of killing Blake if he ever set eyes on him again. We had no clue that Blake would randomly drop by Jamie’s apartment during the third quarter of game two. If it were not for an eight point lead heading into the half, it could’ve been the end of Blake Servanteen.

I remember the reaction from Jamie that day like it was a week ago. Blake walks into the apartment without knocking, sporting an “I killed your sister” tattoo on the back of his shaved head.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU MOTHER FU-… Wallace was fouled! HE WAS FOULED! HELL YES! THREE POINT PLAY!!!” Not fifteen seconds after Jamie lunged after Blake with a butcher knife, the two were in each other’s arms hugging and watching Rasheed Wallace sink a free throw to put the Pistons up by ten with two minutes remaining before half time.

I couldn’t tell you how relieved we were that Wallace hit that timely shot as Blake walked into the room. That’s what the Pistons have been doing all year and this time it saved my old friend’s life… It got a little sketchy at half time though. The recap of game one and the first half of game two was all but exhausted a couple of minutes before the third quarter got started. I was stationed in the middle of the two on the couch with a can of pepper spray and was ordered to go for the whites of Jamie’s eyes if he lunged at Blake again. I did everything in my power to keep up the positive Pistons chatter, trying to keep the two preoccupied, but during a Burger King commercial break, the one where the actors act like they are in the British hit-com, “The Office”, all hell broke loose…

Ya see, we all hate that series of Burger King commercials with a passion and every time one comes one, a lot of negativity fills the air. It went down something like this…

BOBBY: …And when Rip hit the go ahead three at the start of the second quarter, I was all like, “You da black man! Ha ha haaa! You da black man!”

BLAKE: I hear ya. (High five between all of us in the room)

JAMIE: Did you see the playoffs last year?

BOBBY: Are you asking me or Blake? I was with you last year. Blake was in prison because he killed your-

JAMIE: My sister, I know. I just wanted to know if you were able to see the playoffs last year when the Pistons got swept by the-

Burger King commercial comes on.

BOBBY: Look! Look! I hate this commercial! Do they not know that they are COMPLETELY robbing The Office?!

JAMIE: Who in the hell is gonna dig through a trash can and sniff a bag of old Burger King food?! So friggin’ stupid!

BLAKE: I know! When I was in prison I saw the first season on DVD and right when I turned it off to watch the television, guess what was on the screen?

BOBBY: No friggin way!

BLAKE: Can you say…oh, I don’t know..VERBATUM!!

(We all slap an angry high five. Blake and Jamie slap five too hard, hurting Jamie’s pinkie. Jamie jumps on Blake and smashes a box of pizza on his head.

JAMIE: You killed my sister, asshole!! You killed my sister!!!

Anyway, I ended up spraying pepper on the two and the fight quickly ended when the third quarter started. Everything was fine and dandy up until the final twelve seconds of the game. During the last time-out with all of us sitting on the couch holding hands and praying to get a second straight win, Jamie put everything in perspective. “Guys. If we get two wins in LA and the series goes to Detroit, the Lakers are all but done. And I will be the happiest man on the planet, able to forgive even the most evil doing people on the planet… Just have to hold them for twelve more seconds…”

With two point two seconds remaining in the game, Kobe Bryant launches a three pointer to tie the game, and eventually the series… Before the shot even went up, Blake was out of the door, missing a sixteen pound hammer flying towards his spot on the love seat.

Game three was a blast and all was forgiven, at least for the time being. The Pistons held a ten to twelve point lead throughout the whole game. Lots of laughs and even higher fives than before. With the exception of a little flare up between the two enemies at half time, everyone was on the same page and eager to meet again tonight. My friend Doug is coming over with a stun-gun and hand cuffs just in case the BK gang comes on again, but besides that, looks like the Pistons will do it again. Just like they did in ’89 and ’90, when they brought all the evil doers together for a world of peace and forgiveness.

June 11, 2004

Published on 6/11/2004 in Dear Diarrhea. 0 Comments

The line to get into the after party was growing hipster by hipster, about a block long. I was looking good too, completely sticking out from all the black outfits that my fellow line-mates wore with my electric blue cardigan and plaid slacks. My hair was at an all time height, about half the size of Marge Simpson’s , which is a pretty massive fro. “You better believe I am on the list my friend”, and the bouncer let me in.

That’s what happens when you go to a screening of a Hollywood movie here in the great city of New York. I forgot the name of the film but that didn’t really matter. At the time, all I could focus on was the two bartenders throwing bottles back and forth to each other like a couple circus clowns.
It’s a craft that must’ve taken them years of training to master. Which reminded me of a craft that I have mastered, and that is the art of making fun of people that take themselves a little too seriously. Let the games begin!

I was in complete awe when I first walked into the trendy little bar in Chelsea., not only because of the flare style bartenders to poke fun at, but there was free liquor from the welcoming hand of a couple attractive Skyy vodka promoters.

The very first thing I said after my third shot of vodka was directed to the bigger and more talented bartender. He just completed what looked like a triple axle with a shinny blue bottle of Skyy vodka., flipping it in the air without spilling a drop, then pouring a perfect shot from about four feet from the glass. “Ohhhh. Very nice.”, gushed a lady that looked to be a victim of his charm…. Let’s go on ahead and get this party started shall we… So in my thickest southern accent, I figured I’d let this guy know how much I enjoyed the show.

“Ho-ly sheeeeit! I never seen nothin’ like that back in North Carolina! How tha fuck do you do that?!” …Sold! I pulled it off! He really thought I was being serious. And I was… kinda. I really am from North Carolina and I really have never seen anyone do the flare bartender thing like those studs could. The closest thing would have to be the bartenders at TGIFridays, and all they could do was open a beer bottle with a lighter and throw bread sticks at the wait staff. So, I was free to let the sarcasm flow, as freely as the sixty different ways Skyy vodka can be made into a tasty drink. “Oh really? A vodka casserole? Sure , I’ll try one! Can I keep the spoon?”

The vodka girls were doing their part, and that was the relentless task of getting everyone hooked on their product, planting that seed so the next time we order a drink at our favorite bar we would automatically recite “Skyy… vodka….now….please” like a brainwashed zombie…. Where am I going with this… Right! The bartender. Anyway, this guy was all over my shit now that he though I was a fan of the flare. Every time I would scream out , “You da man!” or “No no no naaaooo! You did NOT just do that!”, he would amp it up even more, throwing in an extra flip or two and then wink after each dismount, showing his sparkling white chompers as he passed me drink after free drink.

By this time I was drunk and making a huge scene. I wanted everyone to see how obvious it was that I was making fun of this guy. My friend Lisa was having a blast watching me. She kept on correcting me after I would scream out, “Man, it’s just like that movie ‘Beaches’ in here! Look at them go!”…
I must have said it ten times. “Your thinking of ‘Cocktail’, Bobby.” …”Shut-up Lisa…. I can’t… I’ve already tried them all”.

Things got pretty interesting after I had my last dose of what the girl called a “Very berry vodka slider”. One of those tongue tying drinks that only Tom Cruise from Beaches would serve you. That one did me in. I was even louder than before and I had a squinty eyed smile plastered to my face like everything I was saying was the funniest thing in the world. I was what I like to call, on fire. And I wasn’t the only one.

“Everybody look! He’s gonna blow fire!”, I sounded like a total redneck…
The bartender was eating me up! I was by far the loudest cheerleader in the bar, and due to my skills, everyone was captive and focused on the guy as he lit a mouthful of liquor, shooting a ball of fire like a macho dragon. Why stop there, he must’ve been saying to himself. This after I did one of those slow clapping things were I tried to get everyone to applaud his efforts, only to escalate into a one man standing ovation. By this time my buddies were a little embarrassed to be around me. Saying that I should stop making a scene before they kick us all out. “He loves me! Are you kidding me? He is showing off for me!”. And he really was.

I am now a firm believer in the super natural because what happened next was all in slow motion. It happened like this. The bartender pours liquor on his finger and lights it….. “HIS…FINGER… IS…ON…FIIRRRRRE!
WOWWWWW-WEEEEEEEE…YEAAAAA” Then after a long two or three seconds, he holds his flaming finger in the air like he just didn’t care and put his burning finger in his mouth, extinguishing it right in the nick of time. I could not have been louder at that point, getting so involved in this character that I was playing that I started to believe that he really was my hero. Continuing in slow motion, he lights his finger again with more liquid, holding it up and starts to walk in my direction….

I got my wish that very moment. I had all the attention on me right then and there…Shit! Why is he walking towards me? I look over both of my shoulders. He had to be heading towards of one of the ladies that have been swooning over him all night. Somebody step up to the plate now, come on ladies!! Not gonna happen…He puts his flaming finger right in front of my face and looks at me with a big smile, you could see the reflection of his burning finger in his eyes. For a lady or a gay man, this would come across as sexy and inviting. But for me, I wasn’t into having this relationship go any further than a few fake smiles and a couple screams…. I look again from sides to side, as if I was on the Price Is Right, and needed an immediate answer as in what to do next. So I panicked, and did what he wanted all along. I put his finger in my mouth and put out that dreaded fire.

Oh-my-godddd… Why did I just do that? I just put his finger in my mouth…No I DID NOT just do that… I just let him put his finger in my mouth… Everybody is laughing at me…What in the hell was I THINKING!!!
…I need to leave now…

I was speechless… I out did myself this time, I really did. All I could think about was how red my face was and the taste of sweet banana liquor and human salt stuck in my mouth… It was time to take myself out of the ball game…

Right when I was about to leave the bar, my friend says to me, “I think that bartender is gay.” …

“Really?… Why did I just put his finger in my mouth? Huh? Please tell me why I did that?”

And so I learned a valuable lesson that night… I’m sure one day I will remember what that lesson was…

Another Dear Diarrhea in a couple of days!!!! Bye…

June 3, 2004

Published on 6/3/2004 in Dear Diarrhea. 1 Comment

If I had a pet I would name it Peeve. That would be a catchy and cool name for a pet. I would be willing to bet that no one in my fifteen block radius has ever named their dog or cat Peeve. You might waste that cute name on a goldfish or a hamster, something that doesn’t live that long. Don’t want someone to say, “Oh, I get it… Peeve, as in pet peeve. Yeah, you told me that about five times already. Your iced tea is gonna be $2.70″ And I would get all defensive and spat back, “I know it’s $2.70! You’ve told me that the last twenty-thousand times I’ve ordered from you!”

I say this hypothetically because every so often I will repeat the same story to people. I hate it when I do that but more importantly, I hate it when people tell me the same story over and over again and I suffer from my Libra tendencies and act like I never heard the story to avoid any awkward moments, faking a real response like, “I know… Here, here. Come give daddy a hug. Your great aunt was a trooper. Once again, I’d bet she is hovering over you in heaven just waiting for your number to be called so you may join her up in the clouds.”

The worst is when it is a funny story and you have to fake a genuine belly laugh like you did the first three times you heard the story. Fake laughter is an art form that I am proud to say that I have mastered to the tee. In my business, you have to make the customer feel good about themselves, and in my business, the customers are all the industry big wigs that really aren’t that funny in the first place and you better believe that their stories are gonna be a snore-fest as well. That’s when laughter training is key in order to put them on top of the world and ready to sign you to a big development deal. You never know when a boring story about so-in-so’s neighbor who accidentally burned a hole in his tie with a cuban cigar while drinking and driving his boat in the Hamptons, is gonna come flying your way.

The level of hilarity really depends on the level of power the person may have in your favor. Let’s say that a commercial agent told me that cigar burn story, since I already have a commercial agent I don’t need to give them too much energy, at the same time I don’t want to burn any bridges. I would respond something like this…”Hum hum humm (this is a smile laugh using no teeth, just a little shake from the diaphragm) That’s funny… I hope the tie wasn’t from Cuba as well. (Beat) You know how hard it is to get a good Cuban tie now-a-days!” Then I would end with a smile laugh and pat the person on the shoulder or a give them a soft pinch on the elbow, look at my watchless wrist and leave the scene. This puts the person at ease and unfortunately for the next person, the confidence to tell the same boring story again.

I pull out the big guns only when a possible deal is about to be put on my table. Let’s say Jo Smo from Crazy Cable Channel 45 is meeting with me about a possible situation comedy starring me as a donkey trainer, whatever… you get the point – big time meeting here. So he tells me the same story about the tie, this is how I would respond… most likely. First I would smile really big during the story telling process, showing my teeth kinda like a dog does when he wants to show another dog who’s boss – with that same quiver going on with my upper lip, because as we know it is very hard to hold a fake smile. Then about half way through the story I would hide behind my glass of milk which I earlier requested before the meeting ever took place, and take a bunch of baby sips to rest my laugh muscles for the finale yet to come. Then, when he or she belts out the ending, “…And it was stuck to his sweater! His tie was glued to his sweater!” That’s when I snort really loud and spray milk out of my mouth and nose, covering myself in milk and snot. Then I pull out my dog toothed smile and let the natural flow of tears run down my face as if the story made me cry laughing. (Making milk come out of your nose instantly makes you tear up. Run with it.) Here is the clincher, I grab my crotch as if I’m about to pee in my pants and run out of the meeting, never returning. I would then call his or her assistant a few minutes later and ask them to relay the message that their boss was so funny that I peed in my pants and I had to go home and change and if they would just fax me the contract to sign, that would be better because I couldn’t bear to hear another story like that again. I don’t know. It all depends on the situation. To tell you the truth, I had to make myself laugh every time I read this damn diarrhea entry looking for typo’s and whatnot. Hey, it made me feel better and more confident by doing so. I’ll take laughter anyway I can get it!

Bye for now. Keep reading my Dear Diarrhea’s, they are good for what ails ya!

Bobby