3 Days to Maaahhh.....

Chapter 1

          On an ordinary Tuesday, because Tuesdays are oridinary, a man by the name Bobert, Bobert Bobson, sat on an old, rusty chair at a small crate in what was assumed to be his kitchen, and it was. It even had nice appliances and kitchenware, but you wouldn't have thought that that was Bobert's kitchen because, man, Bobert was frugal.

          Atop the small crate was a paper plate. What was on that paper plate? French Toast flavored Poptarts. Bobert considered this to be all that he could affored: Breakfast food flavored Breakfast food.

          Bobert tore one Poptart in half and licked off part of the frosting stuff before taking a nibble off a corner of the pastry. Eating slowly would help him get full faster. he knew it would.

          As Bobert Bobson went in for another nibble, something surprising happened. His eyes widened and his Poptart fell to the plate. Bobert realized something, a disturbance in the force, if you will. Bobert realized that.....he wasn't wearing pants. His jaw dropped as he looked down and saw all the Poptart crumbs on his hairy, squirrel thighs.

          Bobert quickly stood and brushed off every darn crumb there was. He then made haste and hauled ass to his bedroom for pants, but not just any pants.....Fresh Pants.

          Mr. Bobson returned just as quickly as he had left. He managed to do everything fast except eat.

          Bobert had just gotten comfy in his nice, old, rusty chair when suddenly his two story house in Aurora, Colorado shook. This caused Bobert's beloved Breakfast food flavored Breakfast food to go flying off of his paper plate and he screamed. He had done the one thing he had sworn he'd never do. Bobert. Wasted. Food. That Poptart was expensive, the box of 5 packs had cost him $4.00.

          In rage, Bobert stood up and attempted to kick over the crate with his small, stubby, man feet. Not knowing how bad it would hurt, he recoiled in pain.

          "Damn crate!" Bobert yelled, and naturally, as a crate woulld do in this situation, it said nothing.

          With this, Bobert suddenly remembered the shaking that had taken place only a few seconds ago. He made his way to the front door (limping, of course), and opened it, taking a few cautious steps out. There was nothing. Now all Bobert had to do was check the back yard.

          As Bobert opened the back door (limping over to it, of course), smoke flooded in. He couldn't see very well, so as any smart Bobert would do, he began flailing.

          Magically, the flailing worked, and what laid before Bobert made him need a new pair of Fresh pants.