What's Wrong With Bob?

The note was simple: "Dear God, you're a dick. Love, Bob"

Standing on a chair of his dinette set, noose firmly around his neck, the Worst Possible Thing then happened. The alarm went off. Time for work.

Reaching up, Bob cut the rope and headed for the morning subway, noose still snug around his neck. His fellow commuters were not amused. "Creep!" "Weirdo!" "Get normal!" "Go ahead and kill yourself!" This didn't bother Bob. He just figured they were talking to themselves.

Immediately, the cry went up when Bob entered the office: "What's wrong with Bob!"

Sensitive Susan swooped in first. "Oh, Bob! How can I help? Did I tell you God wants you to be happy? We all do! Please, let me know if there's anything I can do."

"I've got a bad case of butt acne I can't get rid of. Think you could rub some peroxide over it with a cotton ball?"

Susan was not happy, despite God's desire for it. "God will get you for that! Fuck you, Bob!"

Ted the Twat was not so sensitive, but rather amused. "Hey, Bob! Need me to find a chair for you? Haha! Mind if I yank on the noose?"

"Mind if I masturbate in your coffee?"

Twatty Ted was not amused. "You can't talk to me like that! I'm the number one salesman here! Fuck you, Bob!"

Sycophant Cindy snaked her way over. "My, what an impressive noose! You do that all by yourself? I could never make a knot like that!" Then she started to lick it.

"I brought some rat poison for lunch. Wanna lick that too?"

There's no fury like a sycophant scorned. "I just lied for you! Where's your gratitude? Fuck you, Bob!"

Tension in the office rose like rising flood waters. Get that damn Bob out before it's too late! Asshole Andy wasn't going to take it anymore.

"Bob, we're sick of your shit! SICK OF IT! SICK OF IT! All you care about is your own selfish shit not giving a damn how the rest of us feel. Hang yourself on your own fucking time and stop wasting ours!"

"Keep talking and you're going to miss quota."

"Shit! See what you made me do?" screamed Andy as he ran back to his cubicle. "Fuck you, Bob!"

Stymied by Bob, an angry muttering bubbled to the surface across the office. Frustrated faces popped over cubicle walls to glance at the nauseating noose. Everyone was angry but no one knew exactly why. "Let's go ahead and kill the fucker! Look at him, just sitting there working like everything's OK. The nerve of it! He's so obviously living a lie!"

Talk of torches and pitchforks circulated like wildfire. At last a reason had been found for the all that was wrong: Bob. Sensing the hate, the Psychotic CEO burst into the room feeding off the glorious rage that made him so rich in a game rigged for unholy endeavors. He cut right to the chase.

"Fuck you, Bob! You're not being a good child. You have to realize what's important in this world: me! You're making me look bad!"

"You could always make a sign and protest."

"I'm no hooligan! All my theft is legal! I've got a company to run!"

"Go away, you're messing with my profits."

A person possessed, the CEO could not argue with his own god, storming back to his office slamming the door shut. With no recourse left, the lynch mob gathered around the heretic Bob.

"Damn you, Bob! You've ruined everything! Our lies were perfect and now we're so angry we can't see straight! We can't stand it! Take off that noose!"

"Why?"

"Why?? Because... because it's...well...you know why!"

"Could it be it triggers your own suppressed disbelief in a suicidal system that rewards you but because you sold your soul you dare not realize the ultimate doom of that decision for both you and the world and therefore my honesty burns you with the same frenzied rage that crucified Jesus?"

Silence dropped like a rock. No one moved. The world was theirs after all. A tear hit the floor. Then, quietly, a voice spoke from the crowd almost unaware of the presence of others.

"But I'm Jesus..."

The floodgates opened. "I'm Jesus!" "I'm Jesus!" "I'm Jesus!" "I'm Jesus!" "I'm Jesus!" "I'm Jesus!"

Bob smiled. "If we're all Jesus what are you so pissed about?"

***

It was a different story on the subway the next morning. Cheers and wild applause greeted Bob as he stepped aboard. Nooses, cyanide bottles around the neck, guns cocked toward the temple, all sorts of devices of death were attached to every commuter. The day of dishonesty was over.

"We're glad as hell and we're not going to fake it anymore!"

Panicked CEOs ran from their own shadows. "It's happened at last! They're not taking our bribes or shit anymore! We'll be killed for what we've done!" Many, if not most, jumped out their high office windows to their ultimate doom. CEOs who chose to live were forced to clean up the mess. But with hope finally on the horizon no one complained.