EPT
I guess I'll introduce myself here. First off, my name isn't really Bob. I don't even have a name. People always used to ask me who I was, and I'd simply say 'blob' because I didn't really know how to answer that question. They always misheard me and thought I said 'Bob' so I just stuck with it, since I figured it was as good a name as any other.
Secondly, I'm a big amorphous blob. Here's a picture of me some gawker took while I was waiting for a bus. Handsome devil, aren't I?
![[image loading]](http://img14.imageshack.us/img14/7262/busblob.png)
Nobody respects a blob's feelings.
Yeah, people tend to stare at me a lot. Nobody has a problem with that fat kid from Lost, but apparently I'm some kind of freak. Whatever. At least I can try and write about stuff in my life and who knows, maybe someday this diary will actually be worth money. People seem to love being fascinated and frightened at the same time. Just look at King Kong or Adam Sandler's acting or those little midgets in tiny clown suits they have at the circus sometimes.
...So, I should probably talk about myself a little. Let's start with the beginning.
I wasn't born in any conventional sense of the word, although I did come out of a bloated woman in a hospital, so at least I have that much in common with everyone else.
I am the product, if you will, of Susan Sarandon's liposuction. Yeah, laugh all you want. I didn't ask for any of this. Apparently, Ms. Sarandon (something doesn't feel quite right about calling her 'mom' seeing as how I never vacationed in her uterus) had let her weight problem go out of control to such an extent that a neural network formed in the impressive mass of fat she had collected throughout the years. Of course, this network started out pretty simple, so when I was first separated from Saranzilla, I was about as dumb as your average baby.
![[image loading]](http://img14.imageshack.us/img14/1852/babyblob.png)
Yup, I was actually born with this hairdo.
The nurses weren't very comfortable with the idea of chucking out something that could stare at them and scream, so they kept me around for a while and sent to me an orphanage after a few months. Ms. Sarandon didn't want to look after me because, and I quote, “the whole point of the operation was to get that damn thing away from me”.
The orphanage was a pretty nice place, from what I remember of it. The other kids weren't as judgemental as most other people. I guess having mommy and daddy croak before you have mastered the art of not constantly soiling yourself makes you less picky about the company you keep. I learned to move by shifting my weight around so I could hang out and play with the rest of the kids. Occasionally I'd disguise myself as a pudding, wait until the old lady running the place moved in with her spoon and then nearly give her a heart attack by squealing like a pig. Good times.
Sadly though, all good things must come to an end. When I was about four years old, they sent me off to a boarding school. Can't be a big amorphous blob without an education and all that. Unfortunately, my peers in this place had reached that certain age where one feels that everything outside the norm should be ridiculed constantly and mercilessly. And boy, was I ever outside the norm. Nobody even bothered hassling the fat kid with the twitchy eye, or the pimply kid with the speech impediment. I functioned as a lightning rod for all the playground abuse. So, I did what any kid would do when it's made fun of every day and pushed to the very edge of sanity. That's right, I turned emo.
![[image loading]](http://img14.imageshack.us/img14/8941/emoblob.png)
You don't understand my pain, man. Nobody does.
Well, for about two weeks, anyway. That's how long it took before the other emos ousted me from their little club because I did not have wrists. According to them, having wrists to cut is about as fundamental to emoship as being old, rich and white is to being a Republican. Yeah, I got rejected by the rejects. Ouch.
After that, I pretty much stopped caring about belonging to any social groups and decided I'd just tough it out by myself until I got my HS diploma. I graduated with excellent grades because I had no life whatsoever and I would usually study out of sheer boredom. With no intention of spending another four years in college just to sit by and watch everyone else have fun, I did what every big amorphous blob with a basic education would do: I got a job at a call center.
![[image loading]](http://img11.imageshack.us/img11/8732/callblobg.png)
Hi, my name is Bob and I'm a regular human being, just like yourself. How can I help you today?
I still work there because it suits me so well. No need to move around a lot, no need for face-to-face contact and the subsequent explanation I have to give about myself to completely horrified people, all you need is the ability to speak understandable English. We even have an eloquent goat working here. He just got promoted to assistent manager.
So life was treating me pretty well at this point, especially compared to the horrific teabagging it had given me every day throughout HS. I got a few hobbies, like skydiving without a parachute (commonly known as “falling out of a plane”) and floating around in rivers just to see where I'd end up. It goes to show that not having any bones does have its advantages.
However, I still wasn't fully satisfied. I was happy, but I always got this profoundly depressed feeling whenever I'd see a couple holding hands and laughing and kissing and watching the two hour brainrape that is Spanglish and still coming out smiling because at least they saw it together. I needed a girl in my life. This however, much like any action more complex than whistling, was easier said than done.
Now, while I had been on a couple of dates in my life, saying that I wasn’t a huge success with the ladies was about as big an understatement as saying that the atomic bomb they dropped on Hiroshima was pretty loud. The girls I had dated either had some bizarre fetish about using me as a blanket and making baby sounds or did it as some sort of joke so they could giggle about it later with their friends. I almost smothered one of them to death when I heard her snickering the phrase “I guess I’m just looking for a guy with a little more backbone” like I hadn’t heard it a hundred times before. Bitch.
So, after spending a few fruitless weeks on various dating sites trying to find a girl who was about as desperate as me, only to be shot down every time they scrolled down to my picture, I had pretty much talked myself into thinking a life of loneliness wasn’t that bad. I was sort of like a samurai: honorably lonely, rather than pathetically lonely.
And then, just like that, I met the woman of my life. I was in a big store somewhere trying to find a nice looking hat because I figured it would be nice to own at least some sort of clothing, when the announcement lady kindly told every customer to fuck off because they had a special VIP entering the place. I rolled towards the exit particularly slowly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the celebrity that was important enough to deny me my hat. As she wobbled into the store, our eyes met and I knew right then and there that she was the one for me. This was the first time I had seen anyone as big and amorphous and blobby as me. She must have felt the same, because she halted her march towards the lingerie department and oozed over to me. We made some small talk, arranged to have dinner later that night. Apparently she was some big shot hip-hop artist and had done some acting and she was royalty or something. She seemed almost insulted I’d never heard of her. Anyway, we hit it off perfectly and we’ve been together ever since. Truly, I am a blessed blob.
![[image loading]](http://img14.imageshack.us/img14/9018/latifahblob.png)
Me and my baby Latifah!
Well, these are basically all the highlights of my life to date. I hope you folks enjoyed reading about me and my wonderous existence. Now I just need to wait until someone thinks I’m interesting enough to have this stuff published and I’ll be well on my way to making millions, if not billions.
Adieu!
All the stories I read as a kid had the same kind of surreal feeling as I got from this, that "oh well I was born with a valve growing out of my eye but it's OK because in the end I saved the city's water main" kinda deal you know?
