Boble III: The Two of Sam, part one
The Two of Sam
Part One: The One of Sam
Chapter One
“Birth-Canal Jokes”
There was a man named Elk who fought with the Rebel army at Shiloh. He came from a poor family in Tennessee and had never seen so much of the world or so much fighting before. He was a big, strapping man who bore his well-oiled muscular body like a flag as he waded across the battlefield tearing out the throats of his enemy with his home-made “sex-claw”. His many friends (for the weaker, softer men all wanted to hang out with this studly guy) called him “Antlers.” Because he was named Elk, so… He did not have antlers, in case you were wondering. And if you were wondering that, then you’re a retard. The nickname was just because men loved Elk. Not to suggest that Elk was homosexual…it’s just that weeks of hard fighting, surrounded by nothing but fierce warrior-men can sometimes…well.
To skip to the end of the war and avoid those awkward days during the Battle of The Wilderness, Elk once again proclaimed his heterosexuality and married twenty-seven women. One of his favorite wives was called Handle, and the other was named Penisize.
Elk was the son of Doe, who was the son of Pal, who was the son of Urk, who was the son of Epstein the Possibly Semitic Fellow, who was the son of Bill, who was the son of Shi, who was the son of Blo, who was the son of George, who was the son of the detective, who was the son of Sam, who was the son of the neighbors’ dog, who was the son of Abrahamilton, who was the son of Bill, who was some relation to Mandy, who was the parent of Nobody, who was the parent of a large Mongoloid, who was the great-great-grandchild of Tom, who was the son of Tom, and so on until Stick, who was the son of Dick, who was the son of BOB. Not that any of that is important, just so you know that BOB created Man and everybody was related to Dick and Candi. Kind of like some Appalachian families today. That fits in well with Elk, and he understood the situation in its entirety. Have we digressed? Truth be told, the digression occurred about 30 pages ago. At this point, it’s a free-wheeling romp through BOB’s brown back hair. So on to Handle, and the immediate story at large.
Handle had no babies, and thus it was that everyone made fun of her birth canal every second Tuesday of the third month ending with ‘Y’ (which was Hebo law, written right beneath ‘Beware Alsace wines’). Penisize, however, had many children; she had so many that she often grew tired of them and cooked them up for dinner. Talk about a wide cunt, though. Penisize was on a total sleaze-factor of ten to the third power. But, man, can you resist a sleazy chick? They’re about as much fun as the crazy chicks. Filthy…filthy! Filthy! I love them!
When the time for sacrifices came around, Elk, in turn, would offer tiny pieces of Penisize to the altar of BOB. There was enough of her to go around, and all the Hebos knew that. But Elk always took pity on his barren wife – Handle. After all, Handle was the more loving and less sleazy of his wives. Whenever Elk needed intellectual company (whenever he got moody during his ‘man-problems’), he would spend time with Handle. And so his sleazy, backwoods wife Penisize would grow indignant. She always started sentences with ‘and’ anyway, how can you respect that? And so…
“I’m indignant!” she would complain, even though she had no idea what the word meant. Oddly, though, she always used the word correctly in her sentences. Hebo Law also says: ‘Trust the grammar of the whore-savant.’
Handle, sensing the Old Testicle style of tragedy looming over her, simply prayed to BOB for a baby. “My dearest BOB,” she prayed every night, “give unto me a child so that I may please my husband.”
She prayed for many years until, one night, BOB was actually free and answered her prayers. “What?” BOB said, appearing before the poor, childless, second-class human.
She was speechless. BOB had appeared on her bed. He was unshaven, wearing a purple-velvet bathrobe and blue-pinstriped boxer shorts. His manly chest protruded and shone even in the moonlight, and he was smoking a huge cigar. He held in his hand what appeared to be a remote control, though, of course, Handle knew nothing of such things.
Handle bowed her head and humbly addressed BOB, “My great and supreme being -”
“Oh, for the love of me!” BOB barked, “Just let’s out with it. What’s on your stupid, petty mind?” BOB was irritable. It was the first of the month and he had just written a number of bad checks to cover the bills. The angels were using too much gas and water, he knew that much, and when he got his hands on that filthy seraphim that had called that sex line in Singapore, there’d be hell to pay.
“I am unable to bear a child, great BOB.” Handle replied at length. She was having trouble speaking in the incredibly manly presence of her BOB, aware that she was wet as a rainforest as his pheromones assaulted her entire chemistry.
“Now what do you want a kid for?” BOB asked.
“I fear that I must have a kid, O BOB. I am a woman living in the middle of an oppressive society, and I fear that if I do not have a child I will be hacked to death by a bat wielding a machete.”
BOB blanched, “Actually… That whole bat and the machete thing was… Well, nevermind.” he shook his head, “So you fear that if you don’t have a kid your peers will look down on you and bring harm to you because a child represents status in this backwards hillbilly community of yours?”
“Yes, great BOB.”
BOB nodded sagely, “If I were you, woman, I’d run away and find a camp of lesbians somewhere. You’d be better off. You stay here and they’ll force you to have a litter of kids.”
“Do you know of any lesbian strongholds, great BOB?”
BOB laughed, “If I did, baby, I’d be with them right now and sure as shit I wouldn’t be here talking to you!”
“Then you must help me – ”
“Do you enjoy sex, girl?” BOB asked.
“Yes…I do,” Handle replied, somewhat warily.
“Then that’s your problem!” BOB decreed, “To have kids, you can’t enjoy sex.”
“Are you sure?” Handle asked.
“It’s deduction, pure and simple. I know of some instances like yours, therefore the situation must be the same with you.”
Handle squinted slightly, watching Bob closely. “Actually, O BOB, that sounds more like induction.”
“No, no, silly mortal!” BOB replied quickly, “Induction has something to do with electricity!”
Handle lowered her head, humbly, “Then how do you propose I learn to be dissatisfied with sex, great BOB?”
“There’s only one way to make sex with mortal men a let-down every single time.” BOB said, untying his robe and patting his knee. “Come here and sit on Uncle BOB’s lap – ”
Nine months later, Handle bore Elk a son. After that, she never touched him again.
The son was named Sammy. Handle took him to the desert and BOB said unto Handle: “I gots me a plan, leave that boy here.”
Handle shrugged, figuring that all this was important to the plot somehow. She bound her son in tin foil and left him under the hot summer sun. Days passed before Sammy finally clawed free and pulled his way to a shaded area.
Suffering only minor brain damage, Sammy grew up to worship BOB and be really cool…with a slight aversion to sunlight.
Meanwhile, for her loyalty, BOB rewarded Handle with another little roll in the hay. Handle (being a woman) was unable to handle the massive Bobliness a second time in her life and she passed away soon after the Holy Intercourse.
“Hmm…” BOB said, “it was fun…but I killed her. I’ll have to try again later. Wouldn’t it be neat if she were a virgin? Nobody would believe her, so she’d still be a virgin no matter how many times I trailed off…” he trailed off. This is all supposed to instill a sense of foreshadowing, but I’m sure you’re too drunk to notice my subtle and truly elegant writing style.
BOB then visited Penisize’s tent. The sleazy whore was just asking for it! She wore a tight pair of cut-off jeans and a loose bikini-top to hold her boinging boobs. BOB taught her what it felt like to be a virgin…touched for the very first time…Woo-hoo!
Something unimportant happened to Elk and his family. They just sort of faded away, and only resurfaced in Boble Trivia Questions. Young Sammy went off to study under BOB’s monks and become a holy man. The best place to begin again is during this time, when Sammy came of age.
After studying the teachings of BOB all day, young Sammy went to bed. There he had sweet dreams about pretty women as any young man should do. He was completely unaware of a beetle that was crawling dangerously close to his ear when a voice disturbed him.
“Yo Sammy! Awaken and behold my machinery…!”
Sammy awoke with a start and went forth to the head monk.
“Didst thou proposition me? Art thou homosexual?” asked Sammy.
Needless to say, the head monk did his best to teach Sammy a lesson with a quart of hot wax and an eggbeater. A little sore, Sammy went back to bed.
The voice came again, “‘Ey stupid! It’s me, awaken and behold!”
And again Sammy was treated to a hot wax whipping.
As he went to bed, he was called a third time.
“By the beard of BOB!!” he exclaimed, “Who’s there? Spirit, take me from this place!”
A being stepped out from the shadows. He wore an aviator’s jacket over a black pullover. Purple-reflective sunglasses glinted in the moonlight. With his glorious hair swept back in waves, this could only be BOB.
“By BOB…you’re BOB,” Sammy said.
“Yeah,” BOB replied. He looked around. “Say, buddy…wanna do me a favor?”
“Name it!” Sammy replied.
“Serve me for the rest of your life and never get paid back for it,” BOB said. The Great One smiled strangely – as if this request may simply be prelude to a joke.
“Well…I don’t know… Can I still enlist the aid of prostitutes to fulfill my sexual desires?” Sammy asked.
BOB stepped back, shocked. “Holy Crotchless Panties, Batman! If you enlist with me, women will be paying you!”
“Oh… Okay then!”
And so it was done.