User:Erastus/The One True Bob
The One True Bob
Bob sat listening to Bob drone on. The speaker at least looked interesting, even if his voice didn't stray much from a monotone. He was a humanoid tiger. As Bob sat there, he wondered why he couldn't be so lucky. He was a dog. Again. The breed may vary, but every night the fur appeared, the tail grew, the muzzle lengthened, the bones twisted. It was getting to be boring. Which was better than terrifying as it had been at the start.
Bob was glad to be able to attend this convention of Bobs. At least he might learn to be able to live with being a dog while some hack author liked to fantasize about being a dog and used him as the surrogate.
Up at the microphone, Bob was talking about self-actualization, or some nonsense like that. Bob twisted in the metal folding chair, trying to get comfortable, and let out a sigh. It had been a long battle. Should he try to sit up as a human would, or should he give in and lay down on the seat. As he wiggled, he realized there was now someone new sitting next to him. Bob glanced over and was surprised at what he saw.
The guy was wearing a maroon vest over a maroon and white striped shirt with a cute little pink bowtie, slacks of a material that didn't quite look like corduroy, shiny black shoes with spats, and a black porkpie hat complete with a feather and worn at a rakish angle. The blend of colors, the interplay of materials, the cut of the clothes produced an ensemble that wasn't anything like what Bob had seen before. The effect was of pronounced individuality. "What a character!" thought Bob.
Bob noticed one more thing. The guy was human. Completely human. Regular human face, regular human hair (what could be seen under the hat), regular ears, fingers, legs, and feet. No tail, no fur, no muzzle, and no claws. Why would such a guy be at this convention?
"What are you doing here?" exclaimed Bob. Bob had almost asked the very stupid question of, "Who are you?" He was Bob, of course.
The other guy responded, "I'm known as The One True Bob." The guy extended his hand. Bob stuck his paw into it and they shook. "I was wandering by, enjoying the sunset, when I saw the sign for "The Bob Convention" and decided to see what's going on. It didn't take me long to realize that though you all look different, this is a rather bland group."
Though The One True Bob wasn't talking very loudly there were a lot of faces now turned in his direction. It didn't take much to draw interest away from Bob at the microphone.
Bob said, "But how did you avoid being changed?"
"Changed?" said TOTBob.
"Yeah," said Bob. "It seems everyone here is cursed to be a stooge for a bunch of hack authors that meet through the Internet to share stories. This particular bunch of authors seems to have a fetish for transformations. Somehow all of us Bobs have to serve as stand-ins for their uninspired little fantasies. Every night we change into what our assigned author is fantasizing about at the moment."
Bob sighed. "My author fantasizes about being a dog. He can't seem to decide on a breed. I've been a Great Dane, German shepherd, English sheepdog, collie, shar-pei, Lab, poodle, whippet, bulldog, dachshund, rottweiler, greyhound, St. Bernard, spaniel, chihuahua, basset hound, and dozens of others I can't remember. There were even a few mutts.
"Bob, over there," Bob pointed, "always becomes an otter, sometimes a full otter, sometimes humanoid. That Bob," he pointed again, "becomes a horse or donkey. And Bob over by the wall is something different each night. His author has got to be one strange dude.
"So why don't you change?" Bob said again.
By this time, even Bob at the microphone had stopped talking. Most of the Bobs had gathered closer, though Bob still leaned up against the wall holding his lion tail in one hand and stroking it with the other while staring at Bob the otter with an expression that made the otter nervous.
TOTBob pondered this for a long moment. "Tell me," he finally said. "What do you do with your life?"
The question caught Bob off guard. "I'm not sure how to answer that. I guess I do typical life. I work. I have a family. I watch TV. You know. Stuff."
TOTBob looked around the room. "Did he just describe you?" Everyone in the room was soon nodding, though a few looked a little guilty or ashamed while they nodded.
"I think I know why I'm not affected by your curse," said TOTBob. Everyone leaned in closer to catch every word. "I have a life," he sneered. There was a roomful of puzzled expressions.
TOTBob went on. "As I said a few moments ago, I was out enjoying the sunset. I volunteer at a soup kitchen and wonder why poverty is so persistent. I go to plays and concerts and ponder what makes Shakespeare and Beethoven great. I go to art galleries and try to understand why the modern artist does what he does. I attempt to do some writing, painting, and composing of my own even though the results aren't worth anything. I go sit on mountaintops. I photograph waterfalls. I make sure those I love have memories of fun times we have together, even if it is just a silly game after dinner. I write to my senator. I write letters to the editor. I give money to charities, and not just a token dollar. I try to understand what it means to be human and what it means to be me."
The room fell quiet. The only face that didn't have a puzzled expression was The One True Bob's.
TOTBob studied the faces around him. Though the faces looked like dogs, cats, deer, horses, sheep, raccoons, lizards, bears, birds, otters, and kangaroos -- and an occasional female human -- it was still possible to see the human emotions in them. The only emotions TOTBob found were confusion and apathy.
"None of you do any of those things, do you," he sneered. "The whole lot of you are so lazy you only do what you must. You only want to get through the day, not get what you can out of it. You are only waiting to die.
"It's no wonder those Internet authors have latched on to you. You're only cardboard. None of you has any personality," he sneered again. "The bunch of you are so one dimensional that it's a piece of cake to pull you into their stories when they want a cardboard character, when they are being as lazy as you are." TOTBob shook his head.
Bob the dog said, "So what do we do about it?"
TOTBob said, "Get a life!"
A few moments later outside the building The One True Bob turned his face skyward and said, "How'd I do?"
The voice of his author came out of the air around him. "Very good, though you overdid the sneer."
Clouds had covered over the moon and stars. Rain started to fall. "You better hurry up and get in your car," the author's voice said again. "You wouldn't want that cardboard hat to fall apart. I do need to protect my props."
