The Story of Bob

As promised in my last bark, today I will give you the story of the Bitter Old Bitch I not so affectionately refer to as Bob.  Maybe I should take it easy on her, because if I was her, I'd be bitter and bitchy, too.  She's about five-foot-nothing, weighs around 200 pounds, and wears ugly, orange foundation makeup - a thick, heavy coat spackled on.  She looks like a goddamned oompa loompa.  Bear in mind that I'm not a superficial person and tend to look for the inner beauty; however, there is none to be found here. 

Bob is from New York City.  She is the living embodiment and epitome of each and every stereotype that anyone from the south ever had about folks from the north.  Prior to the internet and social networks, most of us from the southern US didn't have a lot of contact with people north of the Mason-Dixon line.  We tend to not travel much, and when we do, we either go to California or stay south of the Mason-Dixon.  Our contact with people from north of the Mason-Dixon line - yankees, if you will - was when they moved here.  We called them goddamned yankees.  The reason for this is that as a general rule, the minute their feet hit southern soil, they immediately proceeded to start bossing us around, tell us all about what we have wrong with us, what's wrong with our culture, our ways of life, our weather (as if mere mortal man controls that), and our speech.  Their voices all sound like Kyle's mother from Southpark.  Social networks, starting with the old MSN groups, has been a breath of fresh air to those of us with an open mind, as we can see first-hand that not everyone from the north is a rude asshole.

Now that you've had a bit of a background on why we southerners had a stereotype of what northerners are all about, let's get back to Bob.  Bob moved here at the age of 50-something.  She said she had to because her parents moved here.  What the fuck?  It would have been different if she'd been 15 and her parents moved here, but 50?  Her voice does indeed sound like Kyle's mom from Southpark.  In fact, every time she opense her mouth I want to sing the Kyle's mom is a bitch song.  She is bossy, nosey, sneaky and two-faced, and those are her good qualities.  If her lips are moving, she's either lying about something or complaining about something, or putting someone down.  She makes fun of the way I talk, oblivious to the fact that in this area, I don't "talk funny," she does.  I wish the oompa loompa bitch would get a boil directly on her asshole.  Then she could have a pain in the ass in addition to being a pain in the ass.  Partner in crime and I have almost decided to each pee in a cup and then pour it into the carpet under Bob's desk.  That'd give her something to bitch about. 

Now that I've vented my spleen about how bad I hate Bob, I'll move on to something interesting.  I've said before that Arkansas is not the buckle of the bible belt; we're the name tooled on the back of the belt.  However, the southern US doesn't have the market cornered on religious nut jobs.  Bob is a more whacked-out fundy than my grandmother.  That there is a mighty powerful statement.  The thing is, it's a brand of whacked-out fundamentalism that I've never seen.  She's xtian, but she's heavy-duty into all things Jewish.  It would be understandable if she was a Jewish person who converted to xtianity but held onto the Jewish customs, but she's not Jewish/Semitic.  Granted, my knowledge of Judaism is very limited.  I know that it is the father of the Abrahamic beliefs and it's two bastard children (xtianity and islam) are little motherfuckers.   I know there are dietary rules, but I don't know what they are.  Bob wears all sorts of jewelry with xtian and Jewish emblems, has nattered something about prayer shawls, and her bumper is polluted with jebus fish and all sorts of stickers about the buybull says support Israel.  I wouldn't give two hoots in hell what she believes except for the fact that she wants to convert everyone.  She believes Benny Hinn.  She agrees with Fred Phelps about America being "doomed" because we're becoming tolerant of gay people.  And she's convinced our building is haunted.  She says she can smell the spirits.  I think she's just trying to blame after she let out a silent but deadly. 

Whenever I comment that the bad behavior of fundies amazes me, I have to stop and ask myself why it amazes me.  After all, skydaddy is one sorry fucker and apples don't fall far from the tree.  Bob is no exception.  The golden rule is a one-way street to her.  She believes others should treat her as they would want to be treated, but she is under no obligation to reciprocate.  And that is what started the shennanigans with me and Partner in Crime.  Bob just couldn't leave it alone.  She just couldn't mind her fucking business and do her fucking job.  Nope.  She had to mouth off about the collection box for cans to be recycled, the fact that we've had the same fax number for as long as we've been in business, bitched about the coffee pot, follows partner in crime around just staring at her (very weird), and then, the last straw, squawking about my chair AFTER hearing me mention that I needed a can of WD-40 to fix the squeeky wheel.  I've about decided that Bob is a squeeky wheel, and a hunk of limburger cheese dropped down behind her filing cabinet might be good grease.