Boble VIII: Subliminal Messages On The Cereal Box, part one
We have new readers at GS! What the fuck is The Boble? Roll back to the Intro for this little corner of my sad blog.
Subliminal Messages on the Cereal Box (Subliminal BOB)
The Value of Wisdom
Chapter One
Sock
The Chief Eunuch had been thinking for an awfully long time but, finally, he raised his hands and spun around, “A song!”
Sock, startled, looked up over his reading glasses, “Try it again.”
“A song!” The eunuch repeated.
“Is this what happens when you’re a eunuch?” The Chief Scribe asked Sock.
Sock put out both hands, “I don’t know, am I a Eunuch?”
Sock, son of Dil and king of the Hebos was spending a rainy weekend putting together something for the history books. Something to be remembered by, besides marrying a tart from out of state, spending all of the treasury on hookers, wine and peeled grapes and ruling with a brutal autocratic fist. Well, he expanded the army 100 fold and sent them out on “peacekeeping” missions in neighboring city-states which, later, became part of his empire. And now it was time for him to put his thoughts down on paper, so his people wouldn’t encounter tragedy and disaster after this death. That part always got eyes rolling between the Chief Scribe and the Chief Eunuch, as they were amongst the 720 contenders for the throne.
Sock settled back in the throne and sighed, “How about I just say whatever’s on my mind? Just blurt it out? Then you can edit it into something beautiful.”
“I’m a scribe, not an editor.” said the Chief Scribe, spitting on the floor.
“Well, then…take care of it later on. Find someone else.”
The Chief Scribe sighed, looked sideways, then shrugged, “Yeah, whatever. Let’s roll, then.”
Sock nodded. He put on the sacred purple-reflective sunglasses and took a deep breath. “Why the hell am I here? I, son of Dil, king of all the Hebos, say that men should appreciate what has come out of our race. That all wisdom heals wounds caused by less wisdom than all the wisdom of the wise.”
The Chief Eunuch flashed one of his looks at the Chief Scribe, then crossed his eyes comically. The Chief Scribe bent his head closer to the paper.
“See, I can say things like that. I’m enlightened. I’m the king! I’m the boss of you! None of that Adonis shit will happen to me, I’ll live forever! So I can be as philosophical as I want.”
The Chief Scribe cleared his throat and Sock jumped, “Sorry.”
“No, no, I’ll just take it out.”
“I’ll go on.”
“Okay, boss.”
“What it means is that 100 grains of sand is hardly the US RDA. Behold, for BOB brought you here to teach you one thing: love and happiness. Those are the two reasons that BOB brought you here for, and always remember those. For if thou no longer keep in mind the love and overall studliness of BOB, your parties will no longer be fun. For, without BOB, all the little ladies that come to your party will be tighter than a stale doughnut.” Sock looked down at his Chief Scribe, who was staring right back up at him. “Did you get that?”
The Scribe bit his lower lip, “Um…yeah. This is the wisdom for your people, right?”
“That’s what I said!” Sock snapped.
The Chief Scribe jumped slightly, “Good, good, no, I got it, sorry.”
“I truly doubt that those women would shave above the knees – “
“Which women?” The Scribe asked.
“The tight ones at the party.” Sock replied.
The Eunuch raised his index finger, “But aren’t tight women desirable?”
The Scribe shook his head, “Not tight as in tight, but tight,”
“As in tight,” Sock said.
“What?”
The Scribe narrowed his eyes, “As in uptight.”
“Ah…”
“Okay, okay,” Sock said, “This here’s me. Okay? Continues: As all BOB followers should do. Shave above the knees, I mean. A true woman puts out…none of these games. Shit. But if you reject BOB’s ways, you know what’s in store for you sunshine? You will be cursed with Freshmen, who shall plague your parties like cold sores and drive away your upper-class friends. Without BOB, all that you know will be forgotten. You who follow the path of evil, you shall never be forgiven in the eyes of BOB. Instead, you shall be hung from a ceiling fan by your very own pubic hair. You shall be forced to remove every fuse in the fuse box while soaking wet. Behold, for our BOB is always with us.
“Vengeance is mine, sayeth BOB, so fuck you.”
The Scribe started laughing, but then clammed up with Sock stared at him.
“I’m BOBdamned serious, cunt!”