And of course death

death is funny…preloading…Bob and Mark, Quit looking at this until it’s done.

Dude, could you please pass the penis?

A view into the mind of Bob Poe:
“Those two guys are on a team together.  They talk about video games all the time.  Maybe they need a logo.  I wonder if they fuck each other…”

Every step causes an excruciating dull pain…

If I were a dick, I’d stay in one place.

I can’t actually imagine what must be like to see things as vividly as Bob does - landscapes, flowers, the shape of a woman’s body, the way my ass will look when I’m 73 - It must be riveting.  Although I’m positive that Chriscock was drawn with the express purpose of insulting me to laughter, I’m not positive it isn’t also a projection of Bob’s excitement for the picture below it.

Anybody else feel a draft?  Because my eye sockets are a little chilly…

If there’s one thing Bob enjoys, it’s killing you.  Or that is to say, the next best thing to killing you, which is to imagine killing you.  But that isn’t really satisfying enough; it’s better if he can show you that he’s imagined killing you, so that you are fully aware of how he would do it, or will eventually do it, or will never actually do it, if only because of the logistics involved in penetrating a human skull with a meat hook of that size.  It’s an exercise in imagination that ultimately serves no purpose.

…Kind of like OJ’s canceled book, but in the future.

“Bring out the gimp.”

“The gimp’s got AIDS.”

“Guess we need to get a new gimp then, don’t we?”

What is tasteless, really?  I mean, it’s funny when people die, right?  And don’t we all think that it’s even funnier when they suffer a lot before they die?   And if they get fired from their jobs for having AIDS, suffer oppression for being gay, get dragged through a long court proceeding only die before being awarded any settlement?  HILARIOUS.

We spend so much of our lives shutting out the thought that we may some day die, and some of us horribly so.  Yet when you’re faced with the idea on paper - a gay joke wrapped in a you’re-gonna-die-some-day joke wrapped in another, more depraved gay joke - mortality actually does seem kinda funny…especially when there are double-ended jelly dongs involved.  Who’s not laughing at that?

It would seem that I’ve somehow managed to bend time and space to be in two places at once as well.  Here I am, riddled with Kaposi’s sarcoma, looking like a shroudless Ghost of Christmas Future, heading toward the light, I.V. bag in tow, and there I am again, smoking a cigarette, sweating, and worrying about whether or not I’m actually dying.  Hmm…Perhaps the mealworm is supposed to be me loving myself…Perhaps for kicks I used to wriggle right up my own ass…I’ll bet we made a cute couple.  What could I have done to deserve this?

Let’s be honest - If God wanted there to be gays, then he wouldn’t give them AIDS.

Meowmaw, I gots wet on my frontbutt.

Nothin’s can separates me from my Cheetos - Not a little pee wet, not my booboo foots, and not my di-BEET-ees.

There’s nothing quite like using a stereotype to insult someone, and what better than a perfectly specific one - the balding-inbred-overweight-redneck-retard, (see X-Files episode, Home, for more info), complete with mesh trucker hat with my name ironed-on it so’s i don’t forget.  And somehow, even with my IQ of 45.2, I still spelled my name right…Eh…Wait…Perhaps my Meowmaw did it…

Also, I look pretty good in suspenders, if I do say so myself.

Chuck Norris doesn’t blah blah blah, he blah blah blahs.

The difference between myth and reality in Bob’s mind is zero.  Regardless of the number of personal embellishments Bob decides to take with any story you tell him, he believes them to be true once he’s repeated the story to himself enough times.

I once told Bob about briefly meeting Chuck Norris.  In my early college years I took karate as an elective, and for awhile, it was all I did.  At a tournament or two, Chuck Norris happened to be walking around.  He must have been paid to be there, because he looked awfully bored, and talking to him, it seemed like he would have rather been sailing (or something…anything, really…).  In the grand scheme of chance celebrity meetings, it was very anticlimactic.  Great story, I know.

The story Bob heard, on the other hand, was about how I met Chuck Norris and we realized we were meant to be best friends!  Then we spent summer afternoons in macramé classes, rode together on a tandem bicycle, and then cuddled together in a hay-made pallet in the bed of a ‘95 Chevy S-10 and slept together under the stars.

…Don’t ask me what Bob thought about the legendary extra fist that lies behind Chuck Norris’ beard.

You’re right, it does look like a Pelican!  Here, let me erase the arms!

Occasionally, Bob has gone through periods of intense animal study.  By intense, I mean lackadaisical, and by study, I mean pot smoking, because to be perfectly honest, a studious man Bob is not.  No, he is in fact capable of missing his mark…

I think we may have been talking about an episode of Family Guy when he drew this.  Particularly, we may have been laughing about the William F. Buckley character that no one can understand, hence the toilet bowl for a bottom jaw.  I thought it looked more like a pelican, so he quickly erased the arms and turned them into wings.

Moral:  When life hands you a lemon of a drawing, simply piss on it, because that sort of looks like lemonade.

It’s like you’re looking at my soul…

He’s creepy.  He’s crawly.  He’s the kind of guy you don’t really want hanging around your house unattended, especially if you have children.  Perhaps the type that might try to have sex with your sister…or your mom.  He’s no better than a common mealworm, about as low as you can go on the food chain.

From time to time, Bob’s Drawings have actually caused him a fair bit of trouble.  He once drew a picture of an executive director as a fat caterpillar.  Needless to say, the picture wasn’t very flattering, and since Bob had quite a bit of time on his hands, it was quite well rendered.  He passed it around to the other snickering 12 people in the room while the subject was standing up talking.  Expectedly, the director finally turned around to see what the laughter was all about.

…and he wasn’t laughing.

Occasionally when these holy-shit-I-might-lose-my-job moments happen, Bob’s drawings always seem to disappear for awhile.  (Believe me, it’s happened way more than once.)  In a meeting a few days after the incident in question, I drew a picture of Bob as a butterfly, with the words, “I’m Gay,” prominently displayed on the wings.  This was the picture he returned to me: the original Mealworm Chris, clearly sketched in about 4 seconds.

Okay, so I have bad hair.  So what?

My hair has always been bad.  I mean, like, my whole life.  And thanks to [adult swim]’s Saul of the Molemen, Bob was able to find the perfect way to articulate just how ridiculous my hair is.  The even more sad reality is which one is cooler, because only one of us has fucked Irina Voronina.

Hint: It isn’t me.