Bob, For No Good Reason

Waffles Not Pancakes

               
So one morning Bob & I were passing by a church cook out & saw the fund raising sign, that read,  'Pancakes for Ministry'. Before I could utter a single word, Bob crosses 4 lanes of traffic & makes a u turn to catch the last exit, causing a major pile up on the freeway .  Of course Bob's feelings on the subject was his typical, mine was more terrified yet overjoyed to be alive, all the while remorseful of those who again died at the hands of Bob's senseless selfishness.  What is guilt all about anyway? I mean why feel bad over things that you can't control? When you haven't done anything wrong what so ever? why do we feel bad? What purpose does it serve to feel like crap over things that are outside of your control? As my inner voice argues this out of context thought, I'm shaken back to reality by a very angry women yelling obscenities at me. Apparently I had been starring at her large breasts while I was tuning out. Paying attention is rough on me. But I feel bad again. But I really haven't done anything wrong. Was it my fault that those ginormous tittays were in my line of sight? How can I be at fault for a women's choice in clothing? Oh god those juicy titties swelling her blouse the way a balloon expands then bursts when over inflated. Her large gum drop shaped nipples protrude leaving crudely explicit lumps in her shirt like a shop lifter's pathetic attempt at concealing their crime by stuffing items in their shirt causing irregularly shaped body parts. Yes and there it is. The true source of why we stare. Because its a crime to cage God's creations! Its just morally wrong isn't it? Its down right un-American! How can I be at fault for being a proud American? How could I be wrong for being human? What's the crime in loving what Jesus, in his infinite wisdom, has made? As I drool a little bit staring somewhat harder & more blatantly, more church ladies join in humiliating me verbally. As if being a man makes me inherently wicked & evil. Oh lord, the more mad she gets the more she uses large gestures with her hands! As she yells at me she forces & squeezes those huge mammaries out towards me like a pair of large bulging 3D cartoon characters bursting out of the screen about to slap me in the face. Unable to stop staring, or control my erection, I stand almost In a trance at her ample yet smothering tittays. I hate being a victim to the power of titties! I'm just so weak when it comes to the soft fluffy warmth of their squishy, jiggly goodness! Titties are really the salt of the earth! As I day dream into the abyss of this church ladies' plunging cleavage & gaze helplessly at her thick  mars bar sized nipples, Bob blurts out a loud, 'whoa yeah' as he runs about like an escaped maniac chest bumping the large breasted ladies of the church. I suddenly feel the need to apologize on behalf of Bob, I don't know why? I didn't do anything I'm not a bad person, but something bad happened so I have to apologize I guess right? Its like the rules isn't it? As I contemplate the mysteries of the soft titillating goodness of breasts to the sight and sound of Bob groping & man handling the bossems of the poor defenseless church ladies I hear an awe inspiring sound. The sound captures & overwhelms me like the sound of an angel singing. It was the sound of breasts slapping against other larger breasts. I don't know if these Jesus folks would agree but girl girl is a gift from above! So beautiful! Just so damn beautiful! I wish I had a bottle of baby oil, or at the very least some cooking oil!!Lost in a sea of huge breasts jiggling in my face, I find myself in a catatonic state, as if imprisoned in a mental cage made of titties. Unable, & unwilling to be released from my incarceration, I awake in a crummy dinner across from once more, non other than Bob. Still engrossed in a figment of my imagination , centered in a collage of the most beautiful, large & firmly shaped knockers the minds eye could possibly construct, I slowly become more & more aware & coherent of the events surrounding me. There was Bob once again bludgeoning our waitress' lifeless body right in front of me. All I could hear was Bob yelling in the most authoritative yet perturb tone of voice: "I said waffles, not pancakes!!" Apparently whatever the difference is between bread fried in a pan versus bread fried on a griddle is, it's worth killing over. Yet I muster the strength, the courage to ask in hopes that there is a reason as yet unseen that explains, that justifies these heinous acts of violence. In hopes that there is purpose, meaning behind my tiny insignificant existence, that somehow there is a measure of connection explaining & deriving something more than just eat, shit, sleep, repeat out of life, I ask because I am nearly hopeless! Bob's response? "Eh no good reason".
                           The End