This special message brought to you from our sponsors: "Welcome to Taco Bell. May I take your order?" Bob: Man, this place is freaking me out. HWOLTBB: You're telling me. Bob: It's almost like an accountants office. HWOLTBB: It's so filled with nappy sacks, it's unreal... Like, amazing. Incredible. Kelly: Hey, look what I found! Joe: What, where? Under that Sarcophagus? Kelly: Yeah, it's a baby! Joe: Hey, and a baby one at that. Kelly: How did he get here? What decent parent would leave their newborn child alone in filth such as this? Joe: Me? Bob: Don't worry, I know what we have to do. Joe: *YOU* know what we have to do? Bob: Yes. We must remove it's pancreas. Kelly: Bob, you are a twit. Joe: No kidding. Kelly: What the heck are you thinking? Remove it's pancreas. I tell you -- I've never heard of a weirder idea. Joe: Yeah, Bob, what *ARE* you thinking? Bob: It comes from the great text... "Two hewmans -- a wize man and a wize women -- and the duke of the dorx shalt come across a very smal personne who has not yet bean alyve for a long pyriod of time. They wilt care for her and clothe her and fead her all manner of bowntifulle thingies." Joe: You read this where? Bob: Weekly World News. July 15, 1995. Kelly: That wasn't WWN. It didn't even mention Princess Dianna once. (ED's Note: P. Di died early this morning, so I can almost rule out sex with famous cute girls) Joe: Bob, you are making this up off the top of your head, aren't you? Bob: I speak of the bible, and I know whereof I speak. I belive the relevant passage is Earl 3:17. It goes as such, and I quote: "I charge thee with thus, and ye shalt remember my words and follough them as thou sees fit. For men shall ryde on steeming horses, abrest and with forsite (foreskin?) Thay shalt carrie amongst them a gleeming baby with hare of fyre and a fulle set of teath. Thou shalt take that baby and deliver of her the sacred pancreas, using, of course, full antistetic. She will be a leeder of men, and men will folough her." Joe: *OK*, nevermind, then. Bob: You're making fun of me, aren't you? You completely missed the devine reference in that passage didn't you? Kelly: Ok, Bob, we belive you. So what now? I'm not ready for child care. Also, I'm not a surgeon. Joe: I can't breast feed! I'm a guy! I don't have any milk ready. I mean, sure, by a guy's standards, my breasts are too large, but I can't see myself holding them to a baby's hungry mouth. The teeth! Kelly: Oh, come on Joe. Be a man. Joe: I just can't do it. Bob: We won't have to, for is it not spoken as thus: "...and she shallt fead from the treas, from the windose, from the hevins, and the soil shalt be her repast. She will fead from that whitch gives her lyfe. The fishes -- the poisson fromage -- the very breth of life that drives us all. she will take from that the basic esince of the yax, the fungus, even, that whitch..."-- Kelly: Look. That doesn't help. We have to figure out what we are going to do now. Bob: I have a suggestion. It's as Les Thugs says... "...light the fireworks..." Kelly: Light the fireworks? Bob: "...Light the fireworks and run..." Joe: That's it! We light her on fire! Hey, good idea! Kelly: The ASPCA won't go for that you mangy mutt. Joe: Oh. OK. Well... then... We could-- Kelly: This is pointless. She'll never leave Fred and we know it. Bob: Well, think what you like, I love you, and that's that. Period. Joe & Kelly: *WHAT*? Bob: Oh, damn, I didn't mean to say that. I wasn't supposed to say that for at least 12 acts. Joe: Did you just say "I smother you and that's a cat"? Bob: Look, it wasn't supposed to come out in this episode, but, well, I'm in love with you Kelly. Joe: You can't be serious. Kelly: What are you saying? Bob: No, I am saying it. Kelly, I love you. Sure, you're just a small girl with a re-fried beans fixation, but... but... pinto beans that were soaked overnight, boiled for a long time, and then mashed and fried -- they... they don't hold a candle to you. You are the one. The only one for me. Kelly: Oh, bob! Bob: Oh, kelly! Kelly: I can't belive you're saying this! Joe: Oh, give me a break. Bob & Kelly: Smeg off, dogfood face! We're trying to have a serious plot revelation here. Shut the smeg UP! Joe: OK, OK. Well, it looks like I'm superfluous then. I'll just wander off and feed the pengiuns. Author: The penguins? Kelly: Bob... I never knew you felt this way -- Bob: Shhh. I just didn't have the guts to tell you before this, but -- Kelly: Bob -- Bob: Hold on. I wanted to tell you. Really, I did. It's just... It's just I always thought you'd say no. I could just see you saying "I can't love you bob. I'm in love with mohammed." I couldn't take that Kelly. That's why it took five acts to come out. I'm a fish. I'm sorry. Kelly: Wait bob, listen. I... I can't love you. I'm in love with mohammed. Bob: Mohammed? Oh no.... Kelly: He owns an oil well... Bob: ...Oil well? Kelly: ...and has 47 wives... Bob: ...47 wives? Kelly: And 119 cadillacs. Bob: He must be tired. Kelly: Well, you're a pal, and I think you're OK, but... I'm taken. Bob: By mohammed. Kelly: Yeah. Joe: Who's mohammed? Kelly: I went to college with him. Bob: Oh, great. He gave you an orgasm or two, and perhaps a football jacket, maybe a letter. A few cans and a laugh and now you're in love with him. Kelly: It wasn't like... It wasn't like that, he was an english major. Bob: I don't know what to say. Kelly: I'm very touched. Bob: You must think I'm such a jerk. Kelly: No, I just think you have very poor taste. Bob: Oh, what next? This is what I've lived for! I've spent six acts of a play falling in love with a girl and what happens? *NOW* you tell me you're engaged to an oil baron with 47 wives and 119 cadillacs. Kelly & Joe: Bob? Bob: What. Kelly: Bob, the thing you're forgetting... Bob: What thing I'm forgetting? Joe: The thing you have to remember... Bob: *WHAT*!?! Kelly: What the *FUCK* are you going to do with your baby girl? Joe: What am *I* going to do with *MY* baby girl? What makes it *MY* baby girl? Besides, how do you know that this is a girl? Kelly: Well, she has a vagina rather than a penis. Bob: *OH*, and *THAT* makes it girl, does it? Kelly: Mostly... Sort of... Bob: Fine, Einstein... How about what are *WE* going to do with this baby *FUCKING* girl? I mean, come on, here we are lost in the middle of a dungeon on a plant inhabited by hippies who only listen to Big Black *AFTER* we escaped from a space ship powered by olives who blew up the Earth *TWICE*! This isn't exactly a major career move that could be catagorized as belonging in the upwards department... Finding a *STUPID* fucking bald fucking puking fucking baby fucking girl in the middle of a stupid fucking midevil fucking dungeon that is mostly populated by Taco fucking Bell fucking clerks. Joe: Bob... Bob: *DON'T* look at me! It's not *MY* baby girl! Joe & Kelly: Bob... Bob: Just *LOOK* at that nose! Is that my nose? *NO*! There is absolutely *NO* resemblance! And those ears! Look at those ears! Are those my ears? Kelly: Bob... Bob: *SHUT UP*! Stop your foul whining, Mrs.-Baby-Girl-With-A-Vagina-But-Not-A- Penis-Face! I'm laying bare my soul here. I don't want to hear it! I've had enough of dumb baby girls. No more of this baby girl shit! *I* don't have a baby girl. In fact, no one I've ever met has *EVER* had a baby girl. No baby girls! We don't like baby girls 'round here! Kelly: We didn't ask for this, bob. Bob: Hey, *FUCK* you and the baby girl you rode in on. Joe: Bob... Bob: *WHAT*? Didn't you hear what I just said? Joe: Bob... It's just that... Bob: *SHUT UP*! Joe: Um, Bob, you're bleeding out your nose. Bob: Oh, oops. Sorry. "Thank you for your patronage"