BOB STORY

BOB STORY

One day, Bob woke up and died. However, Bob was quite confused. Dying didn't really matter to him, it was common enough; Bob’s problem was that he just didn't know where he was.

"Pass the peas," said Bob. "Pass the peas."

Bob got up out of bed and prepositionaly walked over towards the window which looked out upon the world.

"This is certainly taking a long time," thought Bob.

Eventually, Bob made it to the window. He stood, staring at the curtain.

The curtain stared back at him.

At these moments Bob was always afraid. "What will be out there when I open the curtain?" he asked. “Who knows what has happened between my waking paragraphs. Perhaps the sky has fallen. Perhaps it is raining meatballs. Perhaps I talk too much."

Suddenly, without warning, Bob threw open the curtains. Eyes wide, heart beating faster, he stared out upon a suburban dream.

At that moment, Bob wished he could die.

"It is just as I feared," quoth Bob, "everything is exactly the same. I am where I was."

Bob scratched his head pensively, and closed the curtain.

Bob sat for awhile.

Something prodded him.

"What?!" Bob interrobanged. "I thought I was done."

No, Bob was still confused.

"I don't understand," said Bob, "I'm still confused."

Bob decided to find out what was so confusing. He ran to the garage and hopped on his mo-ped, Skippy, and rode down the street.

Bob stopped on a quarter (his brakes needed some work) in front of the public library. He bounded up the steps and burst through the doors. He looked left...He looked right...He manly strode towards the information desk and waited in line.

"Where's the card catalogue?" demanded Bob, when it was his turn.

"Sir, I can't help you. You aren't wearing any clothes."

"Damnit, uhh, uhh..."

"Jane."

"Damnit, Jane, I haven't time for clothes. I need to find 'confusion' in the card catalogue!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but the card catalogue is outdated. Everything is on computer now."

Bob stopped in his tracks. He leaned over the counter and scratched Jane's head.

"What are you doing?" asked Jane.

"I'm thinking..." replied Bob, "...could you help me?"

"What do you need?"

"Confusion."

"Well, first you should narrow your topic. It's too large."

"Huh?"

"You need something more specific: 'Confusion and cheese,' 'Confusion and Confucius,' 'Confusion in the 20th Century...'"

"I'm confused," Bob blurted.

"Okay," smiled Jane, "we'll try 'Confusion and...'"

"Bob," Bob grinned back.

"'Confusion and Bob,' and we wait a little bit, and...here's your call number."

Bob thanked Jane and became active towards the bookshelves.

Suddenly, he found the book, right there between Steppenwolf and So, You're Gay: So, Bob, You're Confused.

Bob sat down on one of those fun little, roll-y footstool things (even though the rubber tread felt funny on his bare buttocks) and began to read:

            15 September, 18--

            Dearest Judith,

            I know not what I shall do. It has been not even a fortnight since dear Mr.
            E------- left our dear parish for his winter abode in ----------shire, and I am in
            the utmost degrees of melancholy. Ever since I first met him, I have been not
            a little smitten. He made love to me several times in the library, and we made
            many promises unto one another. However, here's the rub (as our grief-stricken
            Dane said): Now that Mr. E------- is gone, I feel less and less for him daily.
            His aspect is certainly not unpleasing, the same being true of his manners. But
            we have no real commitment. He is as a puppy is to a child to me: cute and
            fuzzy, but slobbery and ready to follow whomever gives him food. What shall I do
            when he returns and expects me to become his bride? My mind is torn asunder.
            How are your dear aunt and pretty sister? I sign lovingly

            Your humble servant
            Melanie

Bob scratched his head slowly. Then he scratched his stomach. Then he scratched his foot.

Bob was still confused.

And then it hit him, like a motorcycle out of the sky.

Bob ran home. Then he ran back to the library and got his mo-ped. Then he rode home in style.

Bob arrived home and went to the deep freeze in the garage. He scraped the layers of ice off of everything.

"Ahhh," he ahhhed, "here it is."

Bob symbolically pulled a symbol out of the deep freeze and symbolized it.

Bob was happy.


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