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Lunatic Ravings!
Lunatic Ravings - 06/02/03
By Stephen Johnson
Published each Monday
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King's X ---"Black
Like Sunday"
Part IV of why
I hate
BOB
or
The fourth part in the seismic series of armageddon and the tasty aftermath?
Bob, in his gracious and giving way, purchased tickets for all the kids in the orphanage so they could go to the
arena and experience fine cuisine and the chance to check out the young, fake breasted women accompanying the fat,
cigar smoking, bald men since this was America and that is the American way.
I was allowed to hang around with Bob and his entourage because I was lucky enough to be designated the spit bucket
boy. Granted, the entourage consisted of an senile old man who was actually a part-time janitor, but Bob designated
him as his trainer, plus little blind Jimmy who was appointed as the stool boy, but nobody had really explained
how many people make up an entourage so 2 people was good enough for Bob.
5 minutes before the fight introductions, Bob started to freak out and demanded that someone cut him because he
couldn't see. This made Jimmy dry because he thought that Bob was making fun of his blindness, but when I looked
closely at Bob, I noticed that his eyes were indeed swollen shut.
(Later I found out that Bob had a severe allergy to Jell-o and he had eaten a couple pounds of the stuff at the
orphanage, because he was a chickenshit and didn't want to fight.).
There was no way that the fight could be cancelled because of the orphans, so I took a razor blade and sliced of
Bob's eyelids. This is something he didn't expect and he started screaming until the janitor/trainer slapped him
around for a little while.
Finally, we were called to the ring. Bob walked down the aisle with blood pouring from his eyes which caused a
few people to faint because they thought that the spirit of the Virgin Mary and/or Jesus had entered Bob making
him the chosen one.
In the ring Bob went to his corner and started to cry. Jimmy asked Bob to empty his bowels into the spit bucket
which caused me to backhand Jimmy across the face (which he never saw coming. HA!) because the only thing allowed
in the spit bucket was spit. Now Jimmy was also crying because he felt that I was taking away his job of stool
boy so I explained that his actual job was to handle the stool that Bob would sit on between rounds NOT to handle
Bob's poop.
The champ was introduced and he slowly made his way to the ring with a real entourage consisting of well over a
hundred people. It took a good hour before the champ actually got into the ring, which was a good thing because
it allowed Bob to stop crying and the blood to congeal.
Finally, the fight started. Bob looked really good for a couple of seconds and then the champ connected with a
left. Bob went down like that hooker in the passenger seat of my parents Ford Maverick back in the summer of '78,
the ref counted to ten, and the fight was over.
We woke Bob up and told him how much of a pussy he really was. The champ came over and asked Bob how he was doing,
to which Bob replied "No! There ain't gonna be a rematch!"
That pissed the champ off for some reason so he started to use Bob as a living punching bag. We let them be because
the champ was much bigger than all of us put together. Thankfully, the champ stopped the pummelling when Bob's
involuntary spasms stopped.
And that's the story. That's why I hate Bob.
COMING NEXT: I look at
what I've been missing.
.
.
.
What? That isn't good enough?
Fine, here's the REAL reason why I hate Bob:
I'M the one who cut off his eyelids. Today he's considered unique because of his lack of eyelids and he gets money
to show off his uniqueness, plus babes to boot. NEVER has he mentioned the fact the I was the one to bring him
this fame and small fortune.
That's why I hate him.
.
Email Stephen!
snide_remarks@theweirdcrap.com
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