>I was only 9 years old
>I loved Bob Ross so much, I had all the paintings and merchandise.
>I pray to Bob Ross every night before bed, thanking him for the life I've been given.
>"Bob Ross is love" I say; "Bob Ross is life"
>My dad hears me and calls me a liberal arts major
>I know he was just jealous of my efficent painting methods
>I call him a tryhard
>He slaps me with his brush and sends me to go to sleep
>I'm crying now, and my face hurts
>I lay in bed and it's really cold >Suddenly, a warmth is moving towards me
>It's Bob Ross
>I am so happy. He whispers into my ear "This is my canvas."
>He grabs me with his powerful painting hands and puts me down onto my hands and knees
>I'm ready
>I spread my canvas for Bob
>He penetrates my paint thinner
>It hurts so much but I do it for Bob
>I can feel my canvas tearing as I yell "RUINED"
>I push against his force
>I want to please Bob
>He roars in a mighty roar as he fills my paint with his titanium white
>My dad walks in
>Bob Ross looks him straight in the eyes and says "No mistakes, only happy accidents."
>Bob Ross leaves through my window >Bob Ross is love. Bob Ross is life.
