It's Just Bobby

When Bobby tells a joke, you’re always wondering if he’s going to take it just a little too far. He’s got this image of himself as outrageous and controversial, when in reality, he’s kind of just a dick.

At Great-Aunt Ida’s eighty-seventh birthday party, he dressed up as the Grim Reaper and almost gave her a heart attack. At Christmas, he got up early to steal all of your son’s presents, plus his stocking, and the ribs marinating in the fridge in an effort to recreate How the Grinch Stole Christmas. You should have warned your wife not to lend him one of the spare house keys.

You don’t want to spend any time dwelling on what Bobby did last Easter. At best, his “joke” was sacrilegious. At worst, it might have been an actual crime.

Everyone in the family knows how Bobby is, and yet, someone still let slip the date and location of the family reunion. He showed up at the lakeside park and made it all the way to the pavilion where the food and punch is being served. He chose that moment to very dramatically collapse.

You poke his arm with your foot. “Come on, man. No one thinks this is funny.”

Committed to the bit, Bobby doesn’t respond.

When some concerned beachgoers come to check on him, your family waves them away. It’s just Bobby, they say.

When the EMTs arrive, you roll your eyes. This is really taking things too far.

At the hospital, you can’t believe that he somehow convinced the nurses and doctors to play along. So unprofessional.

You and your cousins chip in to pay for the funeral, vowing to sue Bobby into oblivion when he pops out of his very expensive casket.

As said casket is lowered into the ground, you shake your head. You won’t be the one to help him when he winds up trapped six feet underground.