Oooooooh boy! Valentine’s Day? More like Christmas in February!
A lot of people think Thanksgiving would be my favorite holiday, but no, you would be mistaken. Some would then assume it would have to be Halloween, but nope! You can keep your miniature sized candies, and your judgy eyes as my voluptuous body squeezes into some Superman tights. Forget your disgusting turkeys, and your deplorable yams. No, I want heart shaped boxes filled with chocolatey goodness, little witty cards expressing how much I’m loved, and flowers that don’t taste as good as they smell.
I hear Valentine’s was Lee’s favorite holiday, too! #97 Red baby. RIP you old blind, bastard.
Love is in the air, and I for one am excited! Sure we’re less than a week away, But if you’re smart you can ask for the Valentine’s Special while avoiding the Valentine’s price tag, if you know what I mean.
I am a romantic at heart, but I’m still technically unemployed, so I’m all about saving that dollar.
“Welcome to the Melting Pot,” the waiter announces his arrival, but falters a moment as he takes a second to actually look at the happy romantic couple he’s scheduled to wait on for the evening. “Uhm, my, name is, uhm, Leonard, and I’ll, uhm, be your, waiter? Tonight.”
Smiling happily, I peel my eyes off of my beautiful date for the evening and look at the confused waiter. “Hello Leonard, I once worked for a Leonard, oh maybe you two are related!?”
“Uhm, what?” he asks, unable to tear his eyes from my date. I couldn’t blame him, she was a looker.
“Nevermind,” I say, waving away my curiosity. Picking up the two menus on the table, I quickly usher them over to his lackadaisical hands, and announce, “My lovely and I would like to order the Valentine’s Day special, please.”
“Uhm, the special isn’t available until this weekend, sir.” he says trying to deter me, as he still cannot tear his probing eyes from my date.
“Could you maybe put the order in, and then simply run my card Saturday when the special goes into effect?” I ask, completely reasonable. “It’s kind of an important night for my date and I. You see, it’s our first date. We kind of got off on the wrong foot, but hopefully by the end of the night…” I trail off, smiling widely while raising and lowering my eyebrows suggestively.
“Uhm, and what would you two like to drink?” Leonard asks, looking around the room as if he were searching for something unseen.
“We’ll take two large glasses of chocolate milk, please.” I answer, ordering for the both of us. Leonard turns around and heads back towards the kitchen, finally leaving me alone with my date.
“I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me,” I say as I find myself getting lost in her eyes.
A few minutes pass as my date sits across from me listening to me ramble on and on about myself. If there is one topic I can carry a conversation with, it’s definitely a conversation about little ole Bobby Dean. But sadly, our “me” time is cut short as Leonard appears with a tray of food.
“Tonight we’ll be starting off with the Wisconsin Trio cheese fondue. With the fondue you have before you various breads, broccoli, cauliflower, baby pickles, and a charcuterie board of processed meats. Like salami, prosciutto, pepperoni, etc.” My mouth is watering as he continues.
“After the cheese fondue, I’ll be serving you filet mignon, lobster tails, and succulent duck, which you will be cooking in our coq au vin.” As Leonard names off meat after meat, the napkin in my lap begins to rise noticeably. “Finally we’ll be finishing our evening with a white chocolate fondue, joined with Oreo crusted marshmallows, brownie bites, and various fruits like strawberries and pineapples.
“I hope you… both enjoy.” Leonard finishes, shaking his head as he walks away.
“Shall we?” I ask, as I quickly set to work skewering a combination of prosciutto, salami, and baby pickle, sandwiched between two cubes of sourdough. Feeling like a master chef I quickly shove the business end of the skewer into the piping hot cheese fondue, coated my masterpiece fully before shoving the entire thing into my mouth.
“AHHHhhhhH!” I scream out, steam billowing out from my open mouth. My date looks on with concern.
We’re halfway through our main course. The food has been delicious, the conversation riveting. The only problem I have seen is that people keep staring at us, as we enjoy our romantic dinner. “It’s odd, the number of weird looks we’ve been getting. It’s like they’ve never seen an interacial couple before!”
“It’s kind of funny,” I begin, thinking aloud, “when the eGG Queen left HOW, she left behind this gaping hole that needed to be filled. And suddenly here you come, like one big massive tampon. Ready to fill that hole and attempt to soak up all that excellence LT left in her wake.”
She simply looks at me, smiling at the greatest compliment I could offer her.
“This has truly been the best date of my life!” I proudly announce, “Uhm, you’ve hardly touched your food, would you mind if I…” I take her silence as affirmation and quickly reach over replacing her full plate with my empty one. “Best. Date. Ever!”
The chocolate fondue has been consumed. The plates have been whisked away, the crumbs swept to the floor at my feet. My date looks stuffed, my belly is struggling to break free of the pesky elastic waistband of my gray sweatpants. And here comes Leonard with a forced smile on his face, and a leather bound billfold holding tonight’s check.
“Sir, I just have to ask,” Leonard begins while putting the check on the table before me. “You do realize your date is made of cardboard, right?”
I look across the table to the cardboard cutout of Bobbinette Carey, smiling seductively. “I do. And she’s never looked more beautiful, sitting there, looking all sexy, unable to speak. Rawr.” I offer a sexy growl her way.
You really would be surprised at how easy it is, I mean, you could literally cardboardize anyone, if you wanted!
“What do you mean, I’m cardboard!?” a familiar voice calls out from the strategically duct taped Amazon Echo from behind CBBC’s cardboard face. “I’m Allllll woman, buster!”
The voice sounds very similar to that of a certain T-Shades wearing son of a gun, if said son of a gun happened to accidentally sit on his testicles for a prolonged period of time. It’s an octave or two higher than normal, and sounds very strained.
“Oh Bobbinette.” I say smiling as Leonard is once again looking around frantically. Swearing to himself that he has to be on a hidden camera show right now. He continues looking as he makes his way back to the kitchen, questioning life, and if this is real.
“Uh, CBBC, I uh, may have forgotten my wallet…” I say, not even bothering with the charade of reaching back for the nonexistent wallet.
“Quick, let’s make a run for it!” if the meat and the chocolate hadn’t already excited me sexually, a woman willing to dine and dash sure would have done it for me!
With a quick look around I get up and casually stroll through the restaurant and out the door, leaving my date, and the $80 echo strapped to the back of her head, behind. Leonard quickly makes his way to the table, as the front door opens.
“Don’t worry, he left his wallet in the car.” *Bobbinette* calls out, her voice a lot deeper now that the date has concluded. “He really is a sweetheart, ain’t he?”
The battle of the Bobby’s is upon us!
Forget Darkwing, forget Jiles. It’s all about you and me. Bobby vs. the “Other” Bobby(nette.)
You know, I’ve been waiting for this day since the moment you signed up with HOW. You remember that time, don’t you? That month-long of “I’m not coming back” bullshit, where everyone knew that not only were you in fact coming back, but that whatever hype you were trying to build was not going to pan out the way you hoped. Sure enough, you arrived and it came out like a wet fart in church. But hey, A for effort!
It’s funny, I’ve been thinking of all the mean things I could say about you, and trust me, I have A LOT I could say, but now that I’m finally facing you, I’m actually worried about saying them. Not because I’m afraid of drawing your ire, no, you’re like a mosquito in that regard. Pesky, annoying, and easy to ignore. No, I’m more afraid of all the cop outs you’ll come up with in your rebuttal.
“Bobby is a chauvinistic pig.”
“Bobby is body shaming me.”
“Bobby is white, therefore he’s racist.”
“Bobby is wah wah wah.”
It’s like the teacher in a Charlie Brown story. Every time I see you open your mouth it just comes out as “Wah wah wah wah.” But like, 100x more wah’s, because you don’t know how to be concise, or get straight to the point.
So, allow me to get straight to the point.
You’re the only person in HOW that I actually *want* to beat.
I’ll job to Zion, Hollywood, or even that milkmaid Harrison. Albeit reluctantly, but I’ll job to them without complaint nonetheless. I’ll put over Solex, Byrd, or Mike Best any day of the week, and do it with a smile on my fat cherubic face, because I actually like them, nevermind the fact that they’re a thousand times more talented than I am. Heck, I’d even lie down for ole JPD and while the referee is counting Uno, Dos, Tres, I can ask him if he’s got any leads on some new OnlyFans accounts.
But you? You Bobinette, I would have to seriously take a minute or two to reconsider my life’s vocation if I lose to you. And don’t get it twisted, it’s not because of your skin tone. Not because of your lack of a penis. It’s not even because you’re a trash wrestler. It’s simply because if I lose to you I’ll have to listen to your insufferable gloating. If I thought your condescending, better than thou attitude was bad now, I can just imagine what it would be like after you beat me…
I have this sick, perverse thought filling my head, that if I win, you will be so outraged, that you will pack your ball and go home. The shock of losing to someone like me, someone of my caliber, should fill you with soul-encompassing dismay. *Poof!* Suddenly Carey is gone, and the one true Bobby remains. Oooooooh, I have to admit, I’m getting a bit of a boner right now, just thinking about it!.
You’re like that cheap unwanted single ply toilet paper you find in the crappier public bathrooms around the world. You know the kind that is rough to the touch, but yet brittle enough it breaks apart with the mildest of pressure. The stuff that isn’t exactly wide enough to wipe anything other than maybe a nostril. You, you are like this atrocious toilet paper, because like this crap, you cause discomfort, irritation, and you make my anus bleed.
Why can’t you be nicer? Like the thick double ply that Lindsay Troy was? Please, can we trade you for LT, I really miss her.
Darkwing, I like you a great deal! In fact, I’m a HUGE fan! Your work with Lunchpad McQuack flying around in the Thunderquack, going after Taurus Bulba. Oh man, goosebumps buddy, pure goosebumps!