kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"Bob_2.0"

words

The_Continuing_Adventures_of_Bob





_Blue sky, blue sky, wherefore art thou blue sky?

tile'd walls and ceilings too

my gaze it seems must fall on you._





Bob sat in a corner of a long white hallway. He was thinking. This at face value was a good thing for he had not been doing much of it lately, and it was best to use such muscles as he had before they atrophied completely. The problem lay in well, exactly WHAT he was thinking. He couldn't seem to get the thought of Buttermilk out of his mind. Two hours passed with Bob's face still set in a maniacal grin, some spittle slowly flowing down his shirt, his entire mind wholly concentrating on Buttermilk. Now one might at this point be marveling at how wondrous this magnificent scientist must truly be to be able to put himself at one's mental level at whim. And one would be right. Bob is as Bob does, and well, Bob is Bob.

Across the country in a little box, a timer ticked the time away, slowly, synchronously, and slowly Bob's mind centered more and more on Buttermilk. Aliens were plotting to overthrow Bob's mind and steal him away with the other esteemed scientists. They wished to perform cruel and inhuman psychological warfare on the human populace and they were testing their brainwashing on those strongest of mind. But none can help but succumb to the hideous SITCOM WARS! And so... Bob, humanity's one last hope... sat in the corner and drooled, thinking of Buttermilk.

The corridor went on down for roughly twenty meters before becoming a T intersection going left, wrong, and reality. A large sign hung on the entrance to reality stating "Beware the Fnords. A slight misread Could Put You In Fear Of Mickey Mouse" And Bob drooled on. Underneath Bob was three feet of thick cement, which in turn was on top of many electrical, gas, and water pipes, which was in turn on top of three feet of thick cement, roughly ten feet of air, and so on, roughly twenty iterations. Bob drooled on this as well. The password was Buttermilk.





_Blue sky, blue sky, wherefore art thou blue sky?

Buttermilk, Buttermilk, Buttermilk, But?

tile'd walls and ceilings too

Buttermilk Buttermilk But

my gaze it seems must fall on you.

Buttermilk Buttermilk Butter._





A light shone atop a doorway, and its metallic maw moaned open. A tall man in a deep lavender synthetic leather trench-coat stepped into the doorway. Slowly, sensuously, Fred's twin Frank stepped out of the door, winked invitingly at Bob, and swayed rhythmically down the corridor. The Buttermilk was no longer... milk. A neuron in Bob's head fired. Another one quit, demanding that it had quit before the other had fired. Yet despite this dissension, or perhaps because of it, Bob had a thought.

The doorway, the doorway! It must be the key! Walk through the doorway and become changed, entranced, molded into a new, bigger, better, faster, more... erm... different you. Bob attempted to raise himself to his full height, and brushed off his name tag.

It was then that he realized the true scope and horror of the aliens' plot. His nametag was spelled boB. They had reversed it in an effort to syran-wrap his plans of saving the world! But Bob would not lose heart, for he was Bob, and Bob is as Bob does, and well... Bob is Bob.

He stood up to the door and pounded upon its cold metal surface.

"Nurse! Nurse! Some madman's trying to break the elevator again! And he's stolen one of the lab coats!"

Bob thanked the screamer for the confusion she had caused, although he pitied the poor specimen that would inevitably be caught and punished for such little insanities as that. A man rushed at him, seemingly losing his balance, and nudged Bob roughly. Bob politely excused himself, and attempted to help the man to his feet. However, the other man had found much peace with his lower center of gravity and sought to teach Bob his great findings.

Bob, his one weakness being the burning desire to quest for knowledge, nearly let this draw him away from the door completely. But, he rationalized, one must put ones wishes after those of the planet. Compromising, he took out his axe to decimate the doors. Something about Bob's command of the situation calmed the man down immensely. Bob felt heartwarmed that this complete stranger understood his mission to the point of feeling safe one it was known that he would not stray from his mission.

A bell binged loudly from behind the door, and Bob jumped back, startled. Noticing that the room was small and rather extraterrestrial in design, Bob motioned for the nameless man to enter before him and thus save Bob's great intellect in case of a trap.

During this time, Bob attempted to open up conversation.

"Buttermilk.", he said, asking the man where he was from. He received no reply.

"Buttermilk. Butter? Buttermilk." He tried to calm the man down and get him to behave rationally. That was the number one thing to do in cases such as this one: Job Description number two hundred and thirty six for the savior scientist: in case of an alien invasion, calm everyone, tell them exactly how they are going to die, and then save their lives. This still received no answer from the man.

"Buttermilk!" Bob demanded.

Comprehension flickered in the man's eyes and he answered, stutteringly, "Yes, I suppose I like it as well... It... it.... it does go well with pies.. er... I mean... that is... panjacks... er... flapcakes... er... I do like them with breakfast meals as well." The man paused, looking at Bob for some sense of conversational aptitude.

"Buttermilk?" Bob couldn't understand a word the man had said. He had been speaking pure gibberish.

"Yes, that was exactly what I was just... avowing... I really do like it. It's an excellent thing."

Bob was becoming worried. If the man's mental state had diminished this early was he perhaps too late to save the world? Was he the last sentient being on the face of the earth? "Buttermilk! Butt. err. milk. Milk? Butter, Butt Butt Butter Milk."

The man began to show slight strains of anxiety. Bob wondered whether that perhaps meant that the conditioning was merely a temporary job, and that the man was coming back around to rationality.... Just then the man began to scream. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I HATE BUTTERMILK! I HATE BUTTERMILK! I SWEAR! JUST DON'T KILL ME PLEASE! I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT!"

A large gong ended the man's screaming. Bob and the man fell out onto a wide open concrete expanse, below which lay a vast and buzzing electric-light abyss. Bob understood perfectly now. The aliens were not from another planet... they were from another dimension, an INVERTED dimension. Thus the world after leaving the door was exactly the inverse to that as the one you walked into the door from. Bob looked around him in fascination, and something inside his mind truly fell in place.

Bob dropped his axe on the ground, all but forgotten, and pulled out a shiny black revolver. The man closed his eyes in prayer, hoping for the world's salvation in Bob. Bob began talking quietly and calmly to the man, trying to get him to understand what was going to happen.

"Yes, I realize life isn't fair. Most things aren't fair. I understand that this isn't your choice, you'd never wish such a sacrifice on yourself... not saying that you're shallow, oh no. Simply that you're not a scientist. You simply wouldn't understand such things. It's in both of our best interests, I think, if it happens this way. I hope you're not upset at me." The man's jaw slacked: he couldn't believe what he was hearing... He had simply wanted to walk from the room on the left to the room on the right, and then had tried to... what was the use? Eyes still closed, he nodded his head slowly, and braced for the *BANG*

A feeling of unreality washed over him. He stood up and saw without seeing. Something touched him profoundly where it really hurts. In the liver. He swatted the mosquito and looked and saw and really saw this time. He shook his head incredulously, and laughed and laughed and laughed ‘til the world could laugh no more. He looked squarely at the remains of Bob, collected himself, and commented sadly, "Buttermilk."