Because You Want To Read Me! (A Bob Story)

Once upon a time there was a wicked English Major who thought it would be funny to copyright the term ‘once upon a time’. At the time of this writing he has made $27538291823 just because people generally start out their stories with once upon a time…

This is the story of the wicked English Major versus Bob. Bob is a rather unintelligent man who happens to like cliché’s solely because he can’t understand anything but cliché. The English Major has made $2712345754 off of Bob alone. But Bob has vowed revenge.

Enlisting the help of the wicked stepsisters (who actually only exists in fairy tales) he set about to ruin the English Major’s life. First, it was a midnight raid into the house of the English Major.

The wicked stepsisters with their magical powers (they inherited them from their long deceased mother. The wicked Witch of Svendor) changed the word ‘isn’t’ into ‘ain’t’ in every single one of the English Major’s finals papers. Bob laughed gleefully. And they escaped into the night. The English Major was furious, but what could he do? All he could do was rake in more money every time the phrase ‘once upon a time’ was used.

The English Major was plotting his revenge.

He hacked into Bob’s computer files and accessed his blog. He then corrected all the misspelled words and added the correct punctuation as he saw fit. The English Major laughed maniacally. Bob, on the other hand, appreciated it greatly. Thus, another attempt by the English Major to ruin Bob’s life, was thwarted.

That night, Bob and the stepsisters decided it was time for another midnight raid into the English Major’s house. So they set off through the woods and over the river. Eventually they got to his house whereupon they noticed for the first time that the English Major’s house was made of candy and gingerbread. Bob, being the simpleton he was, did not find this in the least bit suspicious. After all, it was slightly clichéd, and cliché’s were his forte.

Bob and his friends were in for a shock: unlike before, the English Major was actually home this time! They could still cause mayhem but they would have to be quiet and sneak past his bedroom. So they did. Or, at least, they tried.

But the English Major was a light sleeper. At the first sound they made he was awake. He started mumbling and then boldly spoke up, “Who’s there?”

Bob made no sound.

“Bob, is that you?”

Bob thought quickly. What was he to do? What was he to do?? He decided to speak up and fool the English Major.

“Um, uh, no, this isn’t Bob. I, uh, actually don’t know a Bob. I’m not even a person. I’m sort of a disembodied, ghoulish voice that happens to haunt, um, all English Majors. Don’t speak, for I could correct your grammar. I’d do it too. You can’t stop me! Now, uh, go to sleep!”

So he went to sleep.

Bob and company then set out to further ruin the life of the English Major by erasing the dot’s of the ‘i’s and erasing the crossing’s of the ‘t’s. Bob left out, and the house fell silent. The next morning the English Major was furious! He started hitting walls and overthrowing tables and cursing the name of Bob. He was generally throwing a bit of a tantrum. But he wasn’t exactly sure how to get back at Bob. Bob didn’t care if the English Major corrected his Blog. He couldn’t affect him in any way when it came to grammar.

So he consulted a witch. The evil, the terrifyingly, horribly, revolting, disfigured witch by the name of Priscilla. He explained about Bob and his love of cliché’s and asked how he could get back at him. The witch had an idea. She explained it to the English Major. He liked it.

Her idea was to bring to life the big, bad wolf of fairytale fame and let him eat Bob. She brought the wolf to life and explained to the wolf what he was to do. Well, the wolf was only that: a wolf. He didn’t understand commands, nor did he understand the differences between certain people. So he ate the witch and the English Major. And then he ate Bob when Bob brought the stepsisters home. And he also ate the stepsisters.

So the wolf had a happy ending and everyone else died. And the moral of this story is that one’s happy ending may be someone else’s tragic life’s end. For every boy who gets the girl, there is still the other boy or girl who wishes they were that boy or girl.

But at least the wolf is happy.