He bought her a White Mocha and the two of them took in the sites of Hot Monkey Love - including the Hanging Gardens of Ultratrim IV, the Colossus of Bill, the Golden Scimitar of Marzipan, and the various statues of false gods. BOB noticed these latter sites and took special note of them, especially when he and his companion came to the temple of BOB in the center of town. By Bobist philosophy, the temple should be empty anyway. It merely stood as a symbol of his great power. In this case, however, the temple was a mess. Worst still, angry graffiti covered the walls. BOB became enraged.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked his beautiful companion.

“Nobody believes in BOB anymore.” She replied, her hand massaging his oh-so-incredible ass.

“But I am BOB!” he shouted.

“Oh, relax. Isn’t it just a bore to be the Supreme Being?” she breathed.

“No…”

“So what anyway? If the people want to worship some screwy god, why not let them?”

“Because I am their creator.”

The brunette pursed her lips, “But we have free will, right?”

“That’s not the point!” BOB shouted. “I’m sorry I ever mentioned that. I have your loyalty, right?”

Another small crowd was gathering around BOB and she glanced around nervously. “Unfortunately, O BOB,” she replied slowly, “I was a believer until I saw you. I used to go with the blind clockmaker theory.”

“And all these people?” BOB asked.

“They share similar views, and probably a general disregard for your power.” She turned to him and put her hands on his chest, “Look, baby, it’s natural. People grow up. They become logical…cynical.”

“I will talk to them,” BOB whispered.

“Oh,” the brunette looked a little frightened, “How about we go somewhere and relax, we could – “

he was too late. BOB stepped forward and raised his arms, “I am your lord and creator, I am BOB.”

There was a long silence. Then someone in the crowd asked, “If you are BOB, then why do you allow us to suffer? Why do you allow evil? Why do you allow SIDS and hunchbacked babies? Why do you allow cancer, war, plague...?”

Another bystander piped up, “Yeah, and what’s with the yuppie-look, Retro-boy?”

BOB pointed his finger at the second speaker, a young, strong-looking man. “I don’t look like a yuppie.”

“Okay khaki-boy,”

BOB clenched both fists and moved aggressively towards the speaker, “Everybody wears khakis!” he shouted.

“Khaki, leather jacket, the little GQ button-down.” The second bystander rolled his eyes and shook his hands in front of his face in mock fear.

The first bystander stepped forward, “Look, I had a serious question. Why all the pain and suffering?”

BOB turned on him, “All these things happen to you because you’re fuck-ups.”