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Lunatic Ravings!
And now, Part 2 of why I hate Bob aka Psalm 7.2a Bob was given 2 weeks to train for his upcoming boxing match. The champion felt this was more than enough time and he also gave Bob $500.00 so that he would have the necessary training equipment. Bob used a portion of this money to buy a pair of used sneakers from a local Goodwill store. Even though they were a couple of sizes too small, he still wore them when he jogged early in the morning because he felt that they would be better than a pair of penny loafers. Soon, the neighborhood kids started to jog with Bob. For a normal person, this would be uplifting but to Bob it was a nuisance because he felt that "all these little people are stupid as all little people are because they're little so that means that they have little heads which only means that they have little brains too." No matter what he did, the kids kept following him during his morning jogs so he decided to buy a ticket to Australia in order to continue his training. His reasoning for this was (and still is) unknown, but it had something to do with the Aborigine women. When he got to Australia, he concentrated on training. Boxing wasn't well known in the land down under so he had to content himself with sparring with slabs of beef in a meat factory. He soon stopped this when he found that the slabs of meat were getting the better of him every day. Still upset with the antics of the kids in America, he decided to take his problems out on the youth of Australia. He agreed to pay 50 families a dollar each for the use of their babies as live punching bags. Since Australia was in a severe depression at this time, what with the break up of Men at Work, a dollar was welcome relief for a hungry family. Bob hung the babies on some rope he found on a local wharf and resumed his sparring. Because the babies had a tendency to squirm around, Bob found that he was developing the eye of a newt at a rapid pace and he felt that he was on track to become a serious contender in the boxing ring. Then, disaster struck. As Bob was taking a break from pummelling the babies, a dingo came out of nowhere, grabbed one of the hanging babies and ran off into the wild. Bob was arrested and thrown in jail. When he went to trial, nobody would believe that a dingo stole one of his babies, so he was sentenced to a week in jail and was paroled after two hours. Feeling unwanted in Australia, Bob went to England to continue his training. He made even more progress until disaster struck yet again. One night while drinking ale at a pub called The Gutted and Butchered Possum, he decided that he wanted to walk through the fog to help develop his eyesight. He was warned by the serving wench to stay on the road and to beware of the moors. Bob promised her that he would and left with a Jamaican man that he had met earlier in the day. They started walking and soon got lost in the fog. They started screaming and running around until the Jamaican stopped and pulled a joint out of his pocket. He lit it up and soon was very calm as Bob still ran around screaming. The Jamaican never had a chance. The rabid sheep attacked as he stood in his calm daze and tore him apart. When a local farmer came upon the carnage the next day, he found Bob still running around screaming and had to knock him down with a severe blow to the head with a shovel. Bob was rushed to a hospital where doctor's found that he had been bitten in the ass by one the rapid sheep. Figuring he only had a few hours to live, the hospital staff put on some clown costumes to make Bob's last moments on earth happy ones, but he found this just silly and stupid. When it was discovered that there was no way that Bob was going to die, he was released into the custody of a nurse with really nice breasts. Of course tragedy struck again when Bob turned into a rabid sheep one night and killed a few hundred people so he was ordered to either leave the county or become a member of Parliament. Bob chose the former. End of Part 2. COMING NEXT: Part 3, or them Dixie Chicks are quite the whores. Email Stephen! snide_remarks@theweirdcrap.com
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