Reply
Mon 6 Sep, 2004 08:58 pm
This is the story of Bob....the rules are....one sentence only and you have to add another part to create bob...sort of like that novel of the man who never was but about bob....who was.....
here we go....
"Bob was a man with many qualities, one of it being fishing...."
now you guys continue
"He loved to see the fish struggling for air at the end of a hook."
Yes, Bob was a cruel bastard at times, but he had some soft spots...
"Like the one on his head from where his 2nd grade teacher Mrs. Scalabrini thwacked him with an iron during a visit to the Women's Work Museum of America."
Bob didnt know why he remembered that event, because usually, when he fishes, as he is now doing,his mind is transported to another place, a separate universe composed entirely of cool clear connected springs populated with irridescent rainbow trout.
But today something was different, today there was a strange feel to his would be normal Saturday afternoon.
What was different this Saturday was that the date was the 14th of the month, and the bad luck that was missing from the day before had finally arrived.
Or maybe it was the fact he was wearing Molly Sanders' check underwear.
But as a weathered old fisherman approached the bank where Bob was fishing, Bob felt a chill of recognition.
Old Mr. Thatcher came up and gave an eerie wink at Bob as if he were up to some thing.
it was with a silent dread that Bob heard the now familiar hail from old Mr thatcher, who, walking close to the bank, and carrying his fine new Orvis gear with the collection of gamecock flies specially made for such a day, said
'ketchin anythin?"
In quite a shock Bob jumped and slowly turned towards old Mr. Thatcher and under his breath said: "Nuthang yet suh, but tryin'"
Bob wondered if Mr. Thatcher could sense Molly Sanders's perfume, as he (Bob, not Mr. Thatcher) had dabbed a little in an intimate area before heading out fishing that morning.
Feeling this strange sensation of being discovered, he slowly started packing his stuff in order to leave the presence of this old and stuck-up man.
Mr Thatcher raised a tufted eyebrow and said, "I recollect, Bob, when you caught something a might more dangerous than fish."
Bob's confused face just gave Mr. Thatcher enough spark his anger and he began to rant on and on.
"What's that I smell?! Is it Chanel Number Five?!" thundered Mr. Thatcher.
All time stood still in that instant, Bob could feel the silent stare of MR. Thatcher like a lion stares his prey.
naw'
said bob, who, knowing this to be a lie , for, just this morning, he had applied Chanel no 5 on the intersticies of the fibers that made up his silk , Cabelas outdoor , underwear.
Out of the blue Bob gets a strange idea into his head, turns and speaks: "Mr....Mr. Thatcher, can I date your daughter?"
Stumble It!
Tweet This
Bookmark on Delicious
Share on Facebook
Share on MySpace