I came back from class to be greeted by an empty room. Bobby was nowhere to be found. I looked all over my C: drive, but there were no traces of him anywhere. I sat by my computer all day, waiting patiently for my best friend to return. Bobby finally staggered onto the screen around midnight.
Drunk and abusive, Bobby began to vomit all over the desktop.
"Where have you been?" I screamed, my heart on the verge of breaking.
"Well, if yous was a cute cartoon ahnimul and knew where you, where your roommate kept hish money, where would you fucking go?"
It seemed so obvious now. Pub closing time...
"What the fuck? What's your problem? You're going to pay me back, understand?"
"Looksh like you need the money more than me, Freak."
"Huh?" I was taken aback by his response.
"To pay off Dr. Sbaitso. He's gonna love this, yes - some jerk kid talking to a fucking cartoon. Haahaaha, freak!" Bobby drunkenly chuckled.
I was mad. I didn't need a psychiatrist to solve this problem, all I needed was an uninstaller. Although now that I look back on it, I realize should have deleted Bobby at this point, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I still had hope he would change.
Next morning, my day off, the monitor buzzed on. Bobby was in the corner, looking worse for wear.
Bobby was hungover and cranky, ready to go off at the slightest provocation.
"You're pathetic," I said offhand, disgusted at his appearance.
"Pathetic? PATHETIC? This coming from the moron who doesn't feed me for 36 hours STRAIGHT. Oh sure, I'm REAL pathetic."
"Christ, get over it, I said I was sorry."
"Ahh fuck you. I'm going out for some coffee and aspirin."
He tumbled offscreen. I later noticed that all the money in my wallet was missing.
Two hours later he appeared again, in the worst condition I had ever seen him.
Bobby was messed up that night, cut badly in a knife fight.
"My God, Bobby, what happened? Are you ok?" I shouted while doing a search on my harddrive for Norton Disk Repair.
"What does it look like?" He screamed back. "The bitch jumped me!"
"Why Bobby? What did you do?"
"I don't fucking know. Why should I fuckin' know? Bitch stole my shit! If I knew the bitch was gonna jump me, I wouldn't have gone fuckin out!" Bobby's blood began to clog my system tray.
"What did he take?"
"Your money an' stuff," Bobby replied callously.
I was shocked. "How did this happen Bobby?"
Bobby ignored me and started licking his wounds. He did this for five uncomfortable minutes during which he was totally unresponsive.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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