The Boble VIII: Joe and the Sepia-tone Rag
Jesus, reprinting the Boble has been vaguely painful. So here’s the last chapter of Genesis, and then we’ll take a little break. Book 2 of The Boble will pick up in 2009.
“Joe and the Sepia-tone Rag”
Joe wasted no time getting on the bad side of his family. When he was in high school, he was a hopeless dreamer and misanthrope. In his twenties, he graduated from college with a degree in ‘applied classical literature from the National Socialistic era.’ Deep down, his father was rather proud of Joe. But Joe had to be kept in check. Jake believed in tough love. The best way to show tough love was to act with nothing but resentment towards his son. In an attempt to show some kindness, however, Jake provided Joe with a sepia-tone rag that had been in the family for generations. Abrahamilton’s sister’s mother’s cousin (his third wife) gave the rag to her son, who was slaughtered by Jake’s uncle’s grandson. Therefore, the rag had come into Jake’s possession. But Joe’s brothers saw this gift as a display of favoritism and they decided to sell Joe to a passing band of Arabs. Seems a little harsh, doesn’t it? Well, these were harsh times. They were also ignorant, unenlightened times peopled with creatures that were just barely human. The exceedingly slow evolution of the human brain would be a constant source of irritation for BOB. But that’s not for us to question. BOB viewed the world as if it were made out of Legos: Tired of the design? Tear it apart and build another. You’d think the whole Flood thing would have driven that home for us. It didn’t…it hasn’t.
The Arabs eventually sold Joe to the Egyptians (remember Egypt?) where he was put into prison after continuing to frustrate and annoy every individual he came into contact with.
Joe worked as a slave on the Manure and Baby Parts Processing Farm. He hated everyone and was locked in a shoebox every night. Fed only the tiniest of fingernails, he grew gaunt and unhealthy. BOB then came unto him and told him that everything had been a horrible mistake.
“Really…?” Joe muttered, unconvinced.
BOB nodded vigorously, “Oh yeah, man. Terrible. You got some real bastards for family.”
“If it weren’t for you, they wouldn’t be my family.” Joe seethed.
“Like I can control who your family is.” BOB hissed, angry at being called on that point. “Look, I’m here to get you out of this mess.”
“So what’s the game plan?” asked Joe.
“Well, I do have a plan.”
“It’s kinda out there…”
BOB pulled up a rock and sat down, looking around the cell with disgust. He was wearing a long, black trench coat. Apparently, the Great One felt that such a coat would act as a disguise while he moved amongst the slaves and prisoners. Bob cleared his throat and began to relate his idea. “Ask people about their dreams, then tell them a really good bullshit story.” BOB’s lips twitched a little, perhaps the hint of a nervous smile.
Several moments passed.
“That’s it?” Joe blinked.
“It’s the thing now.” BOB said unconvincingly, “A dream interpreter can really make a living.” BOB hesitated, “Besides, you ain’t got nothing to lose goat-boy.” And so BOB vanished.
The next morning, Joe approached a slave who had been troubled by nightmares and offered the wretched man part of his fingernail breakfast.
“Thank you, brother. I haven’t eaten in months…” the slave muttered.
“Tell me about your dreams,” Joe asked quietly, politely.
“Well,” began the slave, “everything was in a shade of blue. There was this girl who wasn’t wearing any clothes and she kept coming up to me and asking, ‘Would you like to take my ass-virginity away?’ I said no and walked away. But she followed me, and the word ‘ani’ was repeated over and over by a chorus of dwarves. Suddenly, the world spun away, and then was replaced by a large hedgehog who attacked me with a jelly sandwich. I was kidnapped by aliens, and then I ate dinner. But then I was naked, and the alien said: ‘Would you like to take my ass-virginity away?’ I said yes, of course, and we danced to a song where the only lyrics were the words: ‘Ani Sandwich’. Then the alien turned into my sister, and my dick was stuck inside her and she was screaming and screaming and -”
“For the love of BOB! Stop!” Joe shouted.
“What do you think?” the slave asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide his erection.
“I think I should kill you.”
“No, about the dream.”
“Ah,” said Joe. “Well, let’s take it apart bit by bit. The shoes represent a fear of the dark, and the letter ‘T’ means that you really want some tea.”
“Oh wow!” exclaimed the slave. “You’ve just helped me to live longer! Look, everyone, a miracle!” This man is truly with BOB!” the slave was shouting and screaming with ecstasy as he came repeatedly in his pants.
Later in the week, Joe was brought to the Fayro.
“I had a dream,” the Fayro said, “and it has come to me that you can interpret dreams.”
“Proceed,” Joe humbly invited.
“Well, in my dream, I was standing on the bank of the Ohio River –“
“You mean the Nile?”
“Oh, yes… same thing. Anyway, I’m standing there wearing a cloak of living midgets,
waving at my lover who happens to be an eight foot tall tangerine.”
Joe held up his hand, “A what?”
“Tangerine.” The Fayro said in a slow, clear voice. “Anyway, my lover waves back, then falls to the ground squirting juice all over the place. Suddenly, I knock my head on a Ferris wheel as it passes by, and everyone begins screaming ‘NARCS!!’” A few members of the Fayro’s court jumped, uncertain for a moment, then relaxed as he continued. “I yelp and hide the stash of coke that I keep in my purse. Suddenly, the police are tying me to a sexual torture device and saying, ‘See the short people? They’re Japanese.’
“The next thing I know is that I’m in this mall. A man runs up to me and hands me this time bomb. ‘If I don’t bring this back,’ he says, ‘the curse is yours!’ Then he runs away. The next thing I know after that is that I’m sniffin’ coke with a group of policemen, and we’re talking about the lock on the evidence room door.”
Joe stared blankly for several minutes after the Fayro stopped talking.
“Um…that’s it.” the Fayro said happily, his eyes slightly glazed.
“Ahhh,” Joe said artfully, having quickly gained proficiency at sounding professional, “The shoes, um, represent a fear of the dark, and the letter ‘T’ means that you want some tea.”
“I don’t drink tea.”
Joe tried to smile, shaking a little. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Maybe you should.”
The Fayro thought about this and then he said, “You are truly gifted. I hereby promote you from the status of lowly slave to the status of not-so-lowly slave. Now you shall be fed bits of poison with your fingernails.”
“Blessed be you, O He of the Warped Mind!” Joe exclaimed as he was lobbed out the window.
Joe then became a servant to the Fayro’s chief steward. The steward saw that he had a
special and gifted young man on his hands. He saw that Joe was holy and blessed. He spoke of these realizations with his assistant:
“My man Joe is an amazing creature,” the chief steward said.
His assistant nodded vigorously, adjusting numbers on the sheets of paper that surrounded him. “Absolutely, my lord. Gifted indeed.”
“He’s a Hebo, you know?”
“Yes my lord,” replied the assistant, “I am aware of his heritage.”
The steward nodded, “I can see that he is truly holy. I see that he is at one with his God.”
“Yes, m’lord.” The assistant replied. After a pause, he added “Let’s sacrifice him to Osiris.”
Joe survived, of course, and spent many years as the steward’s loyal slave. Then Joe’s brothers came to Egypt to find him, bringing the entire Hebo tribe along. They were sorry for what they had done and wished to invite Joe back to the Hebo tribe as their leader. The Hebos had a joyful reunion and asked the Fayro if they could rent the banquet hall. The Fayro replied that it would be no problem and he enslaved every single Hebo in the morning.