Bob Is Driving Me Crazy

I am a simple man with an interest in guns. In my free time, I like to head over to the
shooting range with my AR-15 and unload a couple of boxes of 5.56 on some steel targets. I
bring my target that is held up by rebar and swivels back and forth when shot. I especially like to
bring my friend Bob Lippencott to the range with me. He’s also a gun enthusiast like me and
likes to bring his SCAR-L.

We met back in college and have done this cycle for about 5 years now, meeting up at the
shooting range most weekends, but plans took a turn this fateful Saturday. I grab my gun and
ammunition, jump in my truck, and head over to Bob’s house. We usually meet up at the range,
but this time around I had to pick up Bob because his car broke down and isn’t back from the
mechanic yet. My truck wasn’t in good condition either, it was a vehicle passed down by my
mom and is falling apart. The engine was old and always needed maintenance like a new belt or
a new u-joint.

I park my truck in Bob’s driveway and wait about 20 minutes for him to come out of the
house with no luck. I honk my horn a few times to alert him of my presence before he finally
shows up at his doorstep with a handful of equipment, his face bright red with a bit of sweat
trickling down by the side of his eyebrow. “Hurry up!” I shout from impatience. He begins to run
to the truck and throws his stuff into the back.

“What took you so long, and why are you sweating?” I say with a confused look.

“I couldn’t find my eye protection or my earplugs and was running back and forth trying
to find them.” He says while panting. I shrug it off and quickly make our way to the range
because the sun was already past mid-afternoon. The wind was blowing which meant we will
have to calculate wind velocity when we are shooting.

“Hey Bill, what do you call a dragon with heartburn?” Bob says.

I break out of my train of thought and glance over at Bob with a concerned look on my
face. “What was that?” I question him.

“I said, ‘what do you call a dragon with heartburn.’” Bob repeats.

I reluctantly respond because I already know the answer, “What?” He immediately

responds with, “Bad news for the nearest village!” He begins smiling and chuckles a little while I
begin to groan. One key detail about Bob and is his jokes, Bob likes to tell the same jokes that he
thinks are always funny. I give off a fake smile and again think about my gun. I can already see
myself loading the rifle with a magazine of ammo, pulling the hammer back, flipping the safety
off, and aiming down range at my target. I get super focused, I put my finger on the trigger,
and…

“Hey Bill, did you hear about the T-Rex that sells guns?” Bob says. Again, I break out of
my train of thought and look at Bob, “Really?” I say with a blank face.
 “Yeah, he’s a small arms dealer!” Bob blurts out laughing. I just sit in my seat in
disbelief. This guy thought that was the best joke ever, but it wasn’t even close. I continue to
drive without laughing.

“Oh come on, that was a perfect joke,” Bob says out of his own disbelief. I didn’t know
what to say, I just wanted him to be quiet for the rest of the ride or at least break out into
conversation about something else, anything. I just sat there for a second before saying, “You
told me that joke once before, it was funny the first time but not so much the 10 other times you
told me it.” He looked almost disappointed. For a minute, it was silent, and I thought he had
given up on the jokes, but then he looks at me and says, “Well then I’ll have to come up with a
better joke, even funnier than that one.”

I was in shock, I thought he would have gotten my hint, I didn’t want to hear another
joke. Without any hesitation, he looks at me and says, “Two guys walk into a bar. The third guy
ducked!”

At this point, I was straight-up irritated with his jokes. I didn’t laugh one bit and all I
wanted him to do was stop talking. Two more minutes went by, and we finally arrived. I was so
antsy that I jumped out of my truck, immediately noticing the smell of gunpowder in the air and
the sound of gunshots. This calmed me, and I was ready to start shooting.

“I got one more joke for you. What concert costs just 45 cents? 50 Cent featuring
Nickelback!” Says Bob with a big smile.

After hearing that sentence come from his mouth, my body began to clench from rage, and a
want for revenge. That’s when I came up with a perfect plan. I had some firecrackers in my
jacket from the recent Fourth of July. While he wasn’t looking, I put one of the firecrackers in
his back pocket, with the fuse sticking out. My plan was set, and I say, “Crap, my hammer is
stuck.”

“Did you try wiggling it?” Bob asks while getting his equipment ready.

“I don’t think so, let me give it a try” I respond back. This was the perfect moment. I grab
my lighter, light the fuse, and say, “Hey, I think it’s working, let me give it a few smacks and…”

BOOM! The firecracker goes off and makes Bob fall to the ground screaming.

“YOU SHOT ME! I CAN’T FEEL MY BUTT!” Bob yells out. Simultaneously, I break
down laughing, barely able to breathe, and doubled over like a double-barrel shotgun being
reloaded.

“WHAT’S SO FUNNY!?” Bob says with an angry expression growing bigger the longer
I laugh. After I begin to calm down, I look at him, waiving my lighter in the air, and say, “It was
just a firecracker in your back pocket!” His concerned demeanor instantly turned to deep
laughter as he said, “Now that was a good joke!”