This is a great story about a heroic Lion that when faced with the option of wearing a Chicago Bears helmet, opted instead to break it!
I hope that this event inspires the 2007 Detroit Lions to do the same, and crush the Bears.
-Ray
So today they finally did it, they put down that stupid horse. An animal that just ran in circles making rich white men loads of money somehow made it’s best career move by breaking it’s leg.
The sympathy and stupidity poured in as retards around the country sent bags of carrots and apples and hay and other shit to to help him get better. To all those people I have the following to say…
I will go buy some glue tomorrow, cause a little more just became available.
If you tracked the day to day progress of this passing fad you are a moron. If you sent a bag of food to a rich man’s pet instead of sending it to a local homeless shelter shame on you, you aren’t worth living yourself. I don’t care about your intentions, you are stupid. Perhaps if you spent as much time developing your relationships with your own family as you did following a honkey’s assets your home life wouldn’t be so miserable.
I have an idea, now that your messiah is dead, use your time and resources for something that will actually help your fellow man. Or will you just jump blindly into the next mercy fad that comes along and pretend that you actually are capable of feeling real human compassion? Caress your Live Strong bracelet and remember that even though Lance is no longer riding, cancer has not been cured yet.
For those of you who wasted your lives hanging on the edge with a dumb beast all this time, shame on you. There are real problems with this world to act like the Barbaro injury means 2 shits to anyone.
I will repeat cause I feel strongly about this, if you sent food to a rich horse instead of sending it to a homeless shelter where it could have actually done some real good for your fellow human beings then you are a deplorable, horrible person who should be first up against the wall when the revolution comes.
Fuck Barbaro.
-Ray
Sorry for the lack of updates this week. I’ve been hard at work working on a secret project that will kick yo’ ass so hard you’ll be tasting size 12 for weeks.
With any luck it’ll be done late next week with updates to follow.
Also I am in Big News Show this Sunday and I have been doing some writing/rehersing for that as well.
So that is why I’m lame. I’m sure I’ll have more sardonic things to say soon enough.
As soon as the super secret project is ready, code named “MC DJ MSE” you’ll know about it through this site, so keep looking to your screens and I will bring you joy.
-Ray
First off, I hope that all of you enjoyed this little trip down memory lane with me. I vowed many years ago that I would keep the Mighty Bobman stories alive through my website. Of course under the old site they had their own little home, but with the upgrade to the blog, I wanted once again to give them their moment to shine.
I very recently asked the author, David Nowell, if he would be writing any more Bobman stories any time soon. His answer was pretty insightful. He responded back that, “George Lucas made a mistake by going back and writing the previous installments to his already perfect trilogy, to not learn from his mistakes would be criminal.” Ok, perhaps that is not a direct quote, but I believe that the spirit of the statement lies in there somewhere.
In any case, I hope that you have taken the time to read the stories, they are all highly brilliant. If I remember correctly, they were actually written part 8 first, then 7, then 9. But this all takes me back away from my original point of posting tonight;
I have a headache.
A really annoying one too, it started at work tonight. It’s one of those piercing headaches that as long as I am holding still and not moving too much I do not feel, but as soon as I do something basic like stand up, sit down, or think, it drives a blast into my skull. I took some generic-o pills at work, and I think I’ll drop a couple Advil in a few, cause it has not helped any, and I’m getting annoyed.
So what to do at 3am with a debilitating headache on a Saturday night? Why, watch TV of course! Everything was going really well, I got a little SNL fix in, and it actually seemed like they did a decent job this week for a change. Then I flipped around and caught a Mythbusters that I have not seen before. Not only that but that hot red headed chick on the show was looking extra good tonight, didn;t she do a layout for Maxim or something like that? Just wondering. Then that ended sadly and I flipped around some more, and what did I find? Well, if you can’t guess then go back and re-read the title of this post.
House of Carters.
Now, I’ll admit, I don’t really know who the Carter’s are, and quite frankly I don’t give a shit and a half. I was kinda hoping that it would be Jimmy Carter and his crazy family kinda like an Everyone Loves Raymond deal, but with the former president, that show would rule, I would watch that. Sadly it seemed like an out of control bunch of brothers and sisters who all have more money than they ever should and live together. The catch is they all bully each other around and have no problem wagging their fingers in each others noses getting involved in the shit of the others. And then one or many of them cry over something stupid, and then they hug after someone gets punched. I think I just nailed the gist of the show. But here is the topper, all of the pushy, aggressive, bully guys on the show are total pussies! I mean, I’ve seen Care Bears that were tougher than these little bitches! So you get one pussy brother getting in the face of another pussy brother, and then they start yelling and then one of them starts acting like a 5 year old then someone cries. Or both of them cry because they are complete douchebag wuss boys.
What the hell is this? You could find better drama in my sock drawer. You could find more likable characters reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. I mean seriously now, it’s like watching that horrible movie Malibu’s Most Wanted, but every character on this show acts like Jamie Kennedy in that movie, and there is no parental supervision or guidance to help anyone. Not that I blame the parents, cause if I birthed that mess I’d wanna split the second cameras showed up too.
Anyways, if you get a chance to check out this show, do yourself a favor and get your 9 year old cousin to punch you in the face. That way you’ll still be able to get the hardest impact that this show can deliver without having to actually waste your time watching it.
Damn it, I was hoping my headache would be gone by now. Guess I still have time to go and watch the exciting conclusion and find out what happens when the one pussy brother gets drunk midday and goes to the supermarket, DRAMA!
-Ray
The Mighty Bobman and His Intrepid Canine Companion Rex the Wonder
Dog Go To Hell!!!! Part 9
By David Nowell 1993
Turning over in his sleep, Robert Q. Smith thrashed back and forth
beneath his Star Wars bed sheets. His loyal companion Rex the Wonder Dog,
sleeping on the floor of Bob’s bedroom, suddenly awoke and began to look
around for the cause of Bob’s discomfort. Sensing nothing, Rex settled back
down, but kept an eye open just in case.
Suddenly, Bob jumped out of bed and screamed! “Oh my eye!” screamed
Bob, “I just had the worst nightmare Rex! I dreamed that me and you were
fighting a race of aliens called the Vogons, and that I beat them, but you
died, and then I was in a laboratory and a scientist said that I dreamed
that whole encounter. It makes my head spin just thinking about it! Wait!
What if I’m dreaming now!” Bob then proceeded to bang his head on the desk
332.8 times, and then said, “Well, I guess I’m not dreaming, unless of
course I’m imagining in my dream that I’m feeling pain, but I’m actually not
because I’m dreaming that I’m thinking about a dream that says my entire
life was only a dream. Or something like that. Anyway, it’s only 2:30 in
the morning, maybe if we go thwart some evildoers I’ll feel better. To the
Bob-Mobile Rex!”
Throwing on his costume, composed of a crimson cape, green boots,
azure tights, and a chartreuse and magenta shirt with the green flourescent
plaid ‘B’ trademark, the Mighty Bobman and his intrepid canine crimefighting
companion Rex the Wonder Dog, clad in an orange cape with an amber mask,
were ready for action.
Conveniently seeing a crime in progress, Bob leaped out of the car,
leaving Rex to take the wheel, and ran helter-skelter toward the two
jaywalking juvenile delinquents. “Stop I say!” yelled Bob, “for I am the
Mighty Bobman, keeper of the sacred powers of Convenience and Blazing
Crayons of Death, defender of the innocent, righter of wrongs, and punisher
of jaywalkers! Now then, young ruffians, what do you have to say for
yourselves?”
“Hey man, what’s your problem, we didn’t do anything wrong,” the
first thug replied.
“Yeah,” said the second lackey.
“On the contrary my friends, you have just contributed to the
general air of moral decay in this fine city of Megalopolis. If everyone
were to jaywalk, do you know what would occur? Chaos, anarchy! And we
couldn’t have that. If we did, I would have to spend all my time preventing
crime and would be unable to lecture you.”
“Hey, I don’t know what the big deal with jaywalking is. I mean,
I’ll tell you what, we just killed six people and robbed an ice-cream man.
If you’re going to apprehend us, why don’t you do it for that?” asked the
first thug.
“Yeah,” the second thug said in an affirmative tone.
“Now, now, I know you don’t want to face the jaywalking charges, so
I’m sure you’re just making up that stories. Those guns in your pockets are
probably just water pistols too.”
“No they’re not!” yelled the first thug.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll just give you a warning this time, but remember to cross at
the light!” Bob, satisfied that he had done some good in the world,
returned home and slept soundly, awakening just in time to go down to the
only 7-11 in Megalopolis and begin his shift.
While making a pina-colada Slurpee, Bob slipped, caught his hand on
a pole, from which a ring slid onto his finger, conveniently making him
intangible just in time for a bullet to pass harmlessly through him.
Unfortunately for our protagonist, he also sunk down into the earth, having
no mass, and, unable to take the ring off due to the aforementioned lack of
mass, began his descent into Hell.
Passing through the various geographic stages, Bob gawked at the
herd of pink flamingos, goggled at hordes of Elvis impersonators, guffawed
at 5 mimes telling jokes, and didn’t giggle, because he’s a superhero and
superheroes don’t go for that kind of stuff.
Walking into Hades, Bob was confronted by Cerberus, who began to
attack him, but suddenly paused, tore off two of his heads, and was revealed
as Rex the Wonder Dog!
“Rex! I had no idea this was your second job! That’s amazing. Oh
well, since we’re down here, let’s thwart some evil, and maybe grab a
Slurpee or five.”
“What’s that boy? Satan’s evil? Nah, he’s just doing his job.
Tell you what though, anyone who could be his secretary has got to be
diabolic. How about if we halt that evil-doer?”
Skipping through the various levels of Hell, Bob slipped in the icy
stage and his spiffy ring o’ intangibility fell off his hand, along with a
micro-bacterium that wreaked so much havoc in Hell that, unbeknownst to Bob,
all of the inhabitants of Hell that might have blocked Bob’s path were
suddenly and instantly reduced to quivering masses of jello.
Continuing on in his journey, Bob finally reached the secretary’s
office, where he gave her a specially crafted crayon he had just created.
It was a green crayon, with the paper put on in reverse. This nullified
her evil tendecies, and she quickly ran upstairs and applied as God’s
secretary.
“Well, that was fun Rex, but I really think I should head back up.
Oh, when does your shift down here end? Oh great! So you can come up with
me too.”
Two hours later, wherein Bob reaches a turning point in his life
“That’s it! After all these years, why not? I’m going to do it!
Let’s go to the store Rex, I’m ready to buy a lottery ticket!”
That night, wherein Bob realizes he didn’t win six million dollars
“Hey, I didn’t want the money anyway. I mean, heck, what would I
do with it? Just spend it all trying to get a Chaos Orb, that’s all.
Well, let’s go see if we can find a consistent plot, we haven’t done that
recently.”
Meanwhile, in a secluded warehouse, evil doings were afoot, well
on their way to establishing a plot.
“Okay Guido, do you have the dynamite?”
“Yeah boss.”
“Excellent, now all we need is someone to take care of that
infernal Bobman character!”
“I’ll do it!”
“Who are you?” the mysterious crime boss whose identity,
personality, and looks shall remain a mystery because, honestly, the
writer’s too lazy to come up with any of these characteristics, asked.
“I am……(insert dramatic pause here)…..The…..Anti-…..
Bobman! Ta-da!” With that, the menacing character dressed in a leather
jacket with chains and a green fluorescent plaid B with a nice shiny red
slash through it on his shirt, twirled his Blazing Plungers of Death and
did a nice little piroutte.
“Okay, what the heck, you’re hired. Kill Bobman, and hey, thou
shalt be rewarded.”
Fred Jones, innocently skipping down a back alley, began to wonder
why he always seemed to be one of those innocent bystanders you see on TV.
It was almost like everything went wrong for him. “I wonder if maybe I’m
just unlucky or someth-”
Fred’s question went unfinished, as a door opened, slammed him
into a wall, and Anti-Bobman stepped out. “Hmmm, well, how to find Bobman?
How about if I just….well….gee, I’m stuck. Oh, wait! I’ve got it!
I’ll devise a nasty scheme and he’ll look for me!”
Two weeks later
Flipping on the television, Bob was just in time to catch the end
of the news. “And, to wrap up the news for today, I’ve got to tell you
folks, this new Bobman amusement park is just raking in the customers. It
seems everyone wants to go and meet The Mighty Bobman. If you haven’t been
there yet, I suggest you do so. I mean, heck, there’s only been one
reported case of someone falling from the Bob Wheel, and that was one Fred
Jones, who’s reported to be in stable condition however, so all is not
lost. Until next time, this is Pink Happy, and this is the Smiley Network.”
“Gadzooks! Someone licensing out my name. I must stop that
ruffian. But how?…I have it! I’ll go undercover.” With that, Bob and
Rex leaped out the door, right into a conveniently placed interdimensional
whorl. Falling into the front car of the official Mighty Bobman Roller
Coaster of Blazing Convenience, Bob’s appearance startled Fred Jones so
much that he fell onto the track and promptly proceeded to get himself run
over. As the roller coaster came to a halt, Bob threw off the safety bar
and started to run towards the main office. After circling the park
5.37294 times, he picked up enough momentum to burst through the already
open titanium alloy door and out the other side. Bob was as shocked as a
two-toed emu on acid. Walking inside, Bob saw Captain Smiley standing in
triumph over the prone body of the Anti-Bobman. “Hey! What are you doing?
That’s my super-villain you creep!”
“Sorry about that, but there’s two reasons why I did this. One:
You would have needed at least a two page fight scene, and the author
really doesn’t have enough skill to write one of those. Two: The author
just remembered the fact that he totally forgot about the mysterious crime
boss he introduced earlier, and he really should work him in soon, seeing
as how this story’s going to end pretty soon. I’ll tell you what though,
if my author, who’s even lazier than your’s, ever introduces an Anti-Smiley,
I’ll let you beat him up.”
“Ok, well, I’ll see later pal. I’ve got a plot to find and miles
to go before I sleep.”
With this, Bob and Captain Smiley sped off in opposite directions,
each heading off into the sunset.
Seven hours, five minutes, and 18 seconds later. After the holocaust
“Wow! That was some blast Rex! It’s a good thing we were wearing
our SPF 9000. Well, since everyone else has mutated into something hideous,
let’s go look for whatever mutant reminds us of a crime boss.” Jumping out
of the Bob-Mobile, Bob accidentally stepped on a six-headed ant formerly
known as Fred Jones. “Ah-ha! That giant oozing slimoid over there must
be him! Oh, wait, that’s just my mailman. There he is! Oh my God!
He’s….a….Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal! We’re in trouble now!!!”
The Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal reached over and swallowed
Bob, Rex, and seven pina-colada Slurpees. Conveniently enough however,
the Slurpees set off a metabolic reaction with the monster that culminated
in his death six hours later, leaving Bob free to slice his way out with a
magenta crayon.
“Well Rex, I may not have been able to stop the apocalypse, but at
least I took down that crime boss!”
With that, Bob went to sleep, ready to face the challenges of a
new, mutated world.
Copyright © David Nowell
The Amazing Adventures of The Mighty Bobman and his Intrepid Canine
Companion, Rex the Wonder Dog, amidst the Evil Annoyons of Vega. Volume 8
By David Nowell 1993
It was a dark and stormy autumn night. As the wind howled, the rain
pitter-pattered against the tin-corrugated roof of the only 7-11 in
Megalopolis. Inside the store, Bob Smith was finishing up the graveyard
shift and preparing to leave. Six feet tall, with brown hair and brown
eyes, Bob was loaded down with weaponry as was usual for most citizens of
Megalopolis in the year 2001. At three in the morning, Bob stepped out of
the store and began the long journey home, little aware of the alien eyes
following his every step.
Stepping into a dark and secluded alley for no apparent reason, Bob
was suddenly accosted by three young ruffians. The first vilely villainous
thug pulled out a vibro-axe and said, “Give us your money.”
Bob replied, “What if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll kill you and take your money.”
“And if I do?”
“We’ll take your money and then kill you.”
Ha! Your empty threats do not scare me! I am The Mighty Bobman,
defender of the innocent, punisher of crimes, righter of wrongs, keeper of
the powers of Convenience and Blazing Crayons of Death! And you my friends,
are dead! Bob then ripped open his shirt, revealing his crimson cape,
chartreuse shirt, azure pants, and the fluorescent green plaid ‘B’ logo on
his chest. His cape flapping in the wind, Bob pulled out a box of crayons
and quickly decapitated each of the juvenile delinquents.
Meanwhile, in a place far, far away as man reckons distance, the
alien observer began to speak. “Yes. He’s the one. Bring him to me. But
see if you can change the costume to something less…..bright.”
Walking away from the three headless corpses on the sidewalk, Bob began
to feel as if his entire body was falling asleep. As he was being beamed up
to the spaceship, Bob only had time to think to himself; “Hmm, I wonder
if mucus is water soluble.”
Bob materialized in a white, antiseptic room full of high tech
computerized gizmos. Rapidly approaching him was a trio of aliens with
triangular faces and green skin with blue stripes. The first alien began to
speak. “Greetings Mr. Smith, I am Zorko, leader of the Generic Aliens. We
have beamed you aboard our spaceship to request your assistance. Our
archfoes, the Evil Annoyons, have tracked us to this solar system and are
planning to exterminate us. We have chosen you as the best fighter on your
planet and wish for you to kill our enemies.”
“Why can’t you fight them yourselves?” asked Bob.
“We have taken a vow of pacifism. However, this does not prevent us
from conveniently stockpiling huge quantities of weapons for you to use.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“We have discovered that your courageous canine crimefighting
companion, Rex the Wonder Dog, is imprisoned in the Annoyons’ dungeon.”
“I’ll do it!!!”
About half an hour later
All-right, so here’s your spaceship. Just start this thing up and
blow away any opposition,” said Zorko. Bob entered the spaceship and saw
rows upon rows of shining silvery gadgets, levers, and buttons. Bob, very
confused, started to press various buttons at random. He could hear
hundreds of explosions on all sides of him. When he finally got the ship
started, he was shocked to discover that he had accidentally destroyed half
the Annoyon fleet. Yet, despite his astounding success, over 692.1466672
spaceships remained. Conveniently enough, at that very moment, Bob suddenly
managed to decipher the controls in the ship. After taking a time out for a
pina colada Slurpee, Bob rushed head-on into the fray. Electric bolts of
destruction were everywhere. Bob swerved left, left, left, and left again,
in no discernible pattern. Suddenly, a copilot conveniently appeared and
armed the weapons in the ship, conveniently disappearing immediately
afterward. Bob began to fire fiery bursts of nuclear doom upon the enemy,
obliterating them all in less than one-tenth of one-millionth of a very
small micro-second. After seeing a big sign on a bigger building that
said, “Annoyon Headquarters,” Bob used his keen powers of detection to
deduce the location of the Annoyon headquarters. Unfortunately, he was
off by several light years and ended up crashing into the building.
3 hours, 22 minutes, and 16 seconds later
As Bob slowly regained consciousness, he discovered that everything
was still dark. “Oh my God! I’m blind!” Bob screamed out in anguish,
dread, dismay, fright horror, misery, panic, terror, and torment. He then
sat up and realized that it was only a convenient map of the Annoyon
headquarters covering his eyes. “Whoops,” said Bob, his face swiftly
turning red. The map conveniently told him the location of the dungeon
and where the leader’s chambers were located.
After a long and grueling ten minute walk, Bob finally reached the
dungeon. In the dungeon was a classic combination of new age technology
and old world style. Computer monitors and force fields go hand in hand
with shackles, whips, and torches on the wall. By a rather convenient
coincidence, all the guards in the dungeon had had a heart attack only five
minutes earlier. Searching for Rex, Bob discovered the prison armory and
decided to pick up a few items. Taking only an axe, a battering ram, a
catapult, a claymore, a crossbow, a dagger, a flail, a flamethrower, a
halberd, a katana, a khopesh, a mace, a manriki-gushi, a morning star, a
nodachi, pair of sais, a scimitar, and a warhammer, Bob continued on in
his quest for the meaning of life until Captain Smiley made a cameo
appearance in order to boost sales for this story and reminded him of his
true quest. Five minutes later, Bob conveniently found Rex’s cell and
conveniently figured out how to shut off the force field.
Releasing Rex from his shackles, The Mighty Bobman and his intrepid
canine companion Rex the Wonder Dog continued on in their mission to
destroy the Annoyons. Following the map, which conveniently detailed the
path of least resistance, Bob made his way to the leader’s waiting room.
As he began to enter the room, a fearsome looking receptionist blocked his
path saying, “Can I help you sir?”
“Yes. I need to speak to your leader.”
“He’s busy now. Can I make an appointment? How does the second
Tuesday of next week sound?”
Bob, beginning to get very frustated, smiled in relief as the
receptionist disappeared into a convenient transdimensional portal that
opened up in the far corner of the room.
Suddenly, 2382 bodyguards conveniently appeared in the middle of
the room. Launching into the obligatory fight sequence, Bob proceeded to
annihilate, assault, attack, blow up, bomb, bother, bump off, burn,
castrate, cripple, crush, cut, damage, decapitate, delete, disembowel,
disintegrate, dismember, dispatch, entomb, erase, exterminate, finish,
fry, gouge, hack up, harm, hurt, injure, jab, juice, kick, kill, liquidate,
masticate, maim, massacre, maul, murder, mutilate, nuke, obliterate, off,
perforate, poison, pop, pummel, punch, puncture, put away, quash, quell,
rip, rub out, ruin, sacrifice, scrape, shoot, shred, slaughter, slay, stab,
tear, tickle, undermine, vex, vilify, waste, wax, wound, x-ray, yank,
yodel, and zap the bodyguards.
Leaping over the bodyguards, Rex began to nose the door open when
suddenly a loud buzzing filled the air and Rex, his hair on end, fell dead
to the floor.
Bob screamed in pain and anguish, “I will avenge you my friend!”
Donning a pair of insulated gloves he conveniently found on the ground,
Bob kicked open the door and saw…a room full of computer equipment and
heavy machinery. Scientists in plaid lab coats were forming a congo line,
while off in the corner was a herd of plastic animals and fuzzy dice.
Slightly bewildered, partially befuddled, and a little confounded,
Bob pulled out a magenta crayon and began to charge the scientists.
Suddenly, in midstride, a dark yellow plaid beam lanced out from the wall
and hit Bob dead on. Frozen in place, Bob could only wait in horror for
whatever twisted torture device his nefarious nemesis had come up with now.
Approaching Bob, the scientist said, “Hello, my name is Dr. Barry
Loathsome. I’m sorry we restrained you, but it was for your own good. You
see, this whole adventure of yours was actually just an experiment of ours
to see if our new and improved, low-fat total reality system actually
worked. Although there was a very good chance of you dying, I’m happy to
say that everything worked out just fine.”
“You mean to say that I dreamed this whole thing,” asked Bob.
“Of course,” answered the scientist, “Mighty Bobman! The whole
thing was one of the lamest adventures I’ve ever heard of. Now, let’s get
you out of that stasis beam.”
“Thanks, doc; you’ve made a difference in my life. From now on
I’m going to perform dangerous experiments for fun and profit.” Saying
this, Bob rode off into the sunset on a plastic cow, waving a cowboy hat
he conveniently found on the side of the road.
Copyright © David Nowell
The Amazing Adventures of The Mighty Bobman and his Intrepid Canine Companion Rex The Wonder Dog. Volume 7
By David Nowell 1993
Late one night in Megalopolis, the wind whistled an eerie
tune to all who would listen. Bob Smith was too busy making
a pina-colada Slurpee to realize that tonight was to become
the most important night of his 27 years of life. The night
of November 24, 1998, had not started out very promising. Bob
had to work late at the 7-11, and missed his bowling night.
He was then held up at gunpoint six times in 4 hours and shot
in the leg twice. Leaving the store at 3 a.m., Bob had time
to ruminate on his life. Orphaned as a fetus, Bob had always
had this strange urge to put on tights and a cape, yet he had
no idea why this concept attracted him so.
Thinking over his life, Bob hardly noticed the faint bluish
electrical discharge in the air. Fraught with energy, the night
sky seemed to be an omen of great things to come. Walking down
a back alley, Bob tripped and caught himself. Looking down
at the object in his path, Bob saw the carcass of a dead cat
in the road, littered with bullet holes and knife wounds. Bob,
screaming out his anguish at this needless loss of life, sobbed
in horror and misery, barely containing the retching feeling
in the back of his throat. At that moment, a slight rippling
sound was felt in the nearby vicinity. In front of Bob, some
sort of portal slowly opened up. In the portal were the
strangest looking beings Bob had ever encountered. With long
oval faces, 7 hands, and one and a half noses, the three aliens
presented a formidable picture. They had no hair, small blue
teeth, a long neck, and looked to be about seven feet tall.
“Are you Robert Q. Smith, commonly designated Bob,?” asked
the first alien.
“Ummm…yes…And who might you be?”
“We are entities generally designated as aliens from the
planet Zrefion. Every 300.42 of your Earth years we journey
to your planet. Upon arrival we examine all individuals
identified as Bob Smith. After completion of selection process
we offer the top candidate powers beyond that of ordinary
Earthlings. If he elects to accept, we confer his abilities
upon him and give him a trial by fire.”
“What do you mean, trial by fire,?” questioned Bob.
“We test the mortal’s skills, reflexes, and cunning to
determine if he is worthy of the powers we have bestowed upon
him.”
“Wait a second, just what place did I finish in,?” queried
Bob.
“If you really must know…24th. Eleven died or were
permanently crippled and twelve refused. However there were
some of us who believed that you should have been placed higher
than you were.”
“Assuming that I even believe you, why are you doing this?
I don’t mean to me in specific but Bob Smith in general. It
seems to me that you’ve been going to an awful lot of trouble
for no reason.”
The alien conferred with his colleagues for a minute before
responding. “The answer to your question lies in the past.
Unknown to modern humans, your ancestor, Adam, had an
illegitimate son called Bob Smith. When Bob was 28.6 years
old, one of our survey ships crashed onto your planet. Stumbling
upon the pilot in his wanderings, Bob studied the ship at great
length and was able to construct a replacement for the matter
antimatter device using twigs and fig leaves. In repayment
for his help, the pilot gave him the powers of convenience and
temporal warp. From that point on Bob Smith became the Mighty
Bobman, defender of the innocent, righter of wrongs, and punisher
of the unjust. After keeping his presence secret from the world
at large for 600 years, Bob conveniently found our address
written on a subway wall and contacted us. He requested us
to create more Mighty Bobmen to carry on for him after his
demise. We agreed to do so and are still continuing the
tradition. If you accept the responsibility, you will be given
the power of convenience and one other of your choice.”
“Well…All right. Let’s do it,” exclaimed Bob.
“Very well. What additional power would you like? Bear
in mind that this is a permanent power and may not be changed.”
“I would like Blazing Crayons of Death!!! The 64 pack.”
“As you wish. The trials will commence in eight hours.
Good luck.”
Eight hours later
Reclining in his favorite rocking chair, Bob was worn out
from the effort of making his new costume. Chartreuse arms
and azure legs went nicely with the green fluorescent plaid
‘B’ logo imprinted on his amethyst shirt. A crimson cape added
just the right touch of dramatic effect. Laying on the floor
at Bob’s feet, the courageous canine companion Rex the Wonder
Dog was clad in an orange cape with a bronze mask. Brown as
chocolate milk, Rex was as loyal a friend as Bob could ever
have asked for. Suddenly, Rex stood up and began nuzzling Bob’s
legs.
“What’s that, boy? Giant Venusian Slug Monsters have taken
over the Atomico City Ice Arena? Let’s go!” exclaimed Bob.
Conveniently flagging down a passing 747, Bob explained
to the pilot that it was incredibly important that he get to
Alaska as soon as possible. When that failed, Bob commandeered
a car from a speeding motorist. Conveniently enough, this very
same car was testing a new gasoline additive which enabled it
to move at speeds upward of mach four. After three trips around
the world Bob reached his destination.
As Bob and Rex exited the vehicle they gazed upon a scene
of mass destruction. Slimy pulsating Slug Monsters were feasting
upon rubble from the once glorious ice arena. Innocent
bystanders were so terrified they were trampling all over each
other to get away. Some of them even went so far as to jaywalk.
Glancing over at the street, Bob saw Captain Smiley give the
jaywalkers a stern talking-to. That was one less obstacle Bob
had to contend with. However Bob was still aware that he would
have to strain his newfound abilities to the utmost to defeat
the vile villains. Pulling out a Crayoli burnt sienna crayon,
Bob leaped at the first monster. Unfortunately for Bob, the
monster was all slimy and Bob was unable to get a firm handhold.
As he began to plummet to his amazingly agonizing death, Bob’s
cape conveniently caught the wind and enabled him to slow his
fall long enough to twist the crayon right into the monster’s
heart. Writhing in agony, the monster set off a chain reaction
which felled most of the other monsters. The few remaining
monsters were quickly dispatched with magenta and puce. Walking
off into the sunset with his intrepid canine crimefighting
companion, Bob looked every bit the model hero. Half an hour
later, after all the reporters left, Bob snuck back for his
car.
Returning home, Bob discovered a man rooting through his
garbage. Slamming him up against the wall, Bob demanded to
know, “What are you doing!!!?”
“Uhhh…Nothing, nothing,” responded the man.
Whipping out a saffron crayon, Bob drew it back but suddenly
halted in midmotion. “Wait! This isn’t your fault.”
“It isn’t?”
“No! You’re an innocent victim of society. Here! Take
my garbage. No, really. Go ahead. Good luck.” With that
Bob shoved the garbage at the man and entered his house, closing
the door behind him.
Walking inside, Bob was startled to see the three alien
hovering inside his mirror.
“Congratulations Bob Smith, today you have demonstrated
to us that you have courage, compassion, and perhaps most
important, luck. One final test awaits you and that is the
hardest one. You will be required to combine the three skills
you have just learned with that of ingenuity. In 45 minutes,
a woman will come to your door. If you can solve her problem
without dying, you will be the official Mighty Bobman. However
you will still be required to give us a ten percent commission
for product endorsements.”
45 Minutes Later
A light tapping was heard at the door. Bob sprang up to
answer the door, his outlandish costume conveniently turning
into a plaid tuxedo. Opening the door, Bob saw an elderly
woman standing outside. “Yes? What can I do for you,?” asked
Bob.
“I had a vision of your house. I need your help. My kitty
cat, Fluffy, has been missing for 2 days and I need someone
to find him. Can you help me,?” asked the woman.
“It would be my honor Mrs. …”
“Quinkert. And you are?”
“Smith, Robert Q. Smith. As I was saying, I will certainly
assist you in finding Fluffy. What does he look like?”
“Well, he reminds of an joke. What’s black and white and
red all over? A dead skunk! That’s Fluffy…except he’s not
red.”
“Yes…well…I’ll get right on the case. Come back in
24 hours and Fluffy will be restored safe and sound to the
comfort of your arms.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith.”
Two Hours Later
“All right punk, tell me where to find Fluffy before I
get rough,” snarled Bob to a young ruffian he was pinning up
against a back alley. After two hours of unsuccessful searching,
Bob had finally located his first lead
“I..i..I don’t know what you’re talking about man,” replied
the juvenile delinquent.
Whipping out an umber crayon, Bob said in his most
foreboding voice, “Wrong answer miscreant.” Bringing the crayon
forward slowly, Bob made it halfway to the hoodlums throat before
the scalawag cried out.
“Wait! Stop! I’ll talk! All I know is that a guy called
Ricardo Loco might know something about it. He hangs out at
Joe’s Bar and Grill.”
Throwing the hooligan on the ground, Bob warned him, “If
I find out you lied to me, I won’t go nearly as easy on you
next time.”
Entering the bar, Bob sauntered up to the counter, ignoring
the stares and snickers his costume attracted. After a few
words with the bartender, Bob ambled over to a nearby table
and sat down. Bob addressed the man sitting there, asking him,
“You Loco?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m looking for Fluffy.”
“I don’t seem to recall a Fluffy. Maybe my memory would
be cleared up with a couple thousand dollars though.”
“How about I give you your life? That might be worth a
couple dollars,” threatened Bob ominously.
“Look man, all I know is that I was hired to grab the cat
and bring him to the old Sluggo Shoes warehouse downtown. I
don’t know who wants him or why.”
“Thanks for your help. Here, the next glass of milk’s
on me. Remember kids, be smart, drink milk.”
Two and a Half Hours Later
Reaching the warehouse, Bob conveniently pulled out a
stethoscope from the Mighty Bobman Utility Belt and placed it
against the wall. The nefarious evildoers were Yiddish,
conveniently enough however, Bob had once studied Yiddish in
college and was able to understand their conversation.
“I don’t understand it,” one of the villains was saying,
“I thought this was the First Cat, yet he seems to know no top
secret information.”
“Maybe we should just ransom him off.”
Ignoring the nearby door, Bob sliced open the wall with
a sapphire crayon and burst into the room. “Wait! You’ve made
a terrible mistake,” cried out Bob. “This isn’t Socks, this
is the wrong cat. Socks is in Washington D.C. However I’m
still going to have to arrest you for catnapping.” Taking Fluffy
into his arms, Bob dropped the three conspirators off at a police
station and went home secure in the knowledge that he had done
his part to make the world a safer place. There was no question
about it, Bob was the one, the only, the Mighty Bobman!
Copyright © David Nowell
This is a poem I wrote right after they captured Saddam Hussein and publically humiliated him on international TV. Since they just murdered him, I figure I may as well post it here now…
Dance For Me:
Dance for me little monkey boy
To the victors go the spoils
Lay there soiled in defeat
All the mighty need their foils
Now parade around all dirty and meek
We’ll poke and prod and laugh
Put your treatment on TV
Worldwide approval will be cut in half
But we don’t care, it won’t disrupt
Our glorious empire
Now kneel down and praise the cross
Throw your birka on the pyre
Sing our song and raise our flag
For we are always right
We will now supplant your culture
We have the power and the might
Throw down your arms and give up now
Uncle Sam’s got the best erection
We’ll exploit Hussein with no shame
Just to help W. win the next election
So I have been spending the past couple of days shut in trying to think and write creatively. I have actually gotten alot started, and busted out a couple sketches on top of it.
I also bought a book on character creation and development. Interesting read, I discovered that in the book of life, I am a ‘mover’. That would be a driven, patient, type A personality who is working to achieve his goals.
But it’s gotten me into the thoughts of novel writing and stuff. I can remember talking to aspiring novel writers in college. They were an odd bunch, I always wondered how they could write truth about the human condition, when they themselves knew nothing about living themselves.
One particular nameless person sticks out. I can remember them working on their fantasy novel for years, never seemingly getting very much further, but still intent on calling themselves a ‘real writer’. I can remember asking why they haven;t finished writing the book yet. I will never forget the response.
“Well my characters have minds of their own, and I can’t get them to do what I want them to do. They tend to just sit around and not wanting to take part in the high adventure which I am trying to create for them.”
I bit my tongue, cause there was so much I wanted to say. For example, “Well then, that means you are a shitty writer.” Or perhaps, “Then the characters you are choosing to base your story on are horrible. If you have a full group of people with no reason to get off the couch, do you really think the reader will give 2 shits about them?” Or even, “Perhaps that is because you have virtually zero life experience and therefore every character you try to write will also be forced to be a shut in as well, since you know nothing about anything outside of your room.
I think my actual response was, “Oh, man that’s a tough one.”
If you find yourself in a similar situation with your novel writing, here are a few tips to get your ball rolling…
If your characters won’t leave the house, burn it down.
If your characters refuse to take an interest in your story, kill them. It should shake up the others you got going.
If your characters won’t do anything, they are bad and boring characters that nobody will care about anyways, go back into their creation process and develop them further, even one dimensional characters can be interesting so long as that one dimension is action.
This has been shitty writers class 101.
You’re welcome.
-Ray
Wow.
All I can say is wow.
I haven’t seen a team lay an egg like that in a long time. To call it an egg is to be too nice, I think I’d call it a bloody stool.
The Ohio State Buckeyes suck.
Florida 41, OSU 14.
Remembering that the Suckeyes returned the opening kickoff for a touchdown, that means that the true score was more like 41-7. Remembering that Florida took a knee at the end of the game when they could have scored again the true score was 48-7.
Not good.
On the plus side Troy Smith is a superstar, and always prevails. Oops.
On the plus side Ted Ginn and the other receivers can’t be stopped. Oops.
On the plus side Ohio State has the best team in the country. Oops.
On the plus side Jim Tressel is a genius who never loses a big game. OOPS!
This will make next year’s championship by the Michigan Wolverines even sweeter.
Oh how I hate Ohio State.
-Ray