Solving Problems with Bobby Intelligence

      I got to Rob's around 11AM, and though I will probably sit there in that same fucking room for about six hours watching him ‘get his guitar hero on,’ it’s rather rewarding after my 8AM English class where I derive far more satisfaction out of the impatient scrutiny of my severely bitten cuticles than any of the insignificant redundancies that spew out of my professor’s run-amuck mouth.
            What's the beauty of Rob's house? Well...absolutely nothing actually, but it holds a youthful quality I find hard to let go of. Rob, very simply put, is a lazy, self-righteous bastard, who, despite carrying such an abrasive depiction, prefers to be called Bobby Intelligence. I don’t know exactly what it is, but Bobby has something about him, some sort of undeniable magnetism, that facilitates his lazy lifestyle. For some awkward reason, everyone around him feels the need to give him priority; buying him cigarettes and alcohol and all the vices that probably will lead to his future destruction.
            Maybe it’s out of sympathy for the fact that he comes from a broken household. His mother died when he was only six years old while his father struggles through the grief of her loss by nursing a 12-pack of Miller Light long-necks every night after work. I suppose the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree because Rob certainly enjoys a good eleven beers before he passes out.
            Anyways, that’s really beside any point I am trying to make, but as I enter Bobby Intelligence’s house on this particular day, I am still reeling from the bitter aftertaste of a pointless class I already had figured out from the first ten minutes of week one and continue to suffer through merely for the sake of my GPA. So, with my head in all sorts of irritable conditions, it’s a nice reprieve to be at Rob’s eccentric sanctuary, silently able to vent over a perfectly table-rolled juicy-ass blunt, and contribute to far more interesting conversation.
        Well, maybe not interesting, but it’s definitely more entertaining…
         “Robyn,” I say coolly as I navigate the several empty beer cans that accessorize his discolored carpet, “What’s good?”
         Rob is sitting on the donated couch on the other side of his room, he is packing his Grafix bong on the beer pong table in front of him, and he only looks up for a second, “Sup Ho-sten [he gave me the name...the name stuck quick].”
         “Chillin,” I reply and collapse on the old-car seat that’s propped up against the wall perpendicular from the couch, “you’re room looks like shit.”
         “Yeah I know…” Rob starts getting antsy as he searches for a lighter amidst the catastrophe, “got a little too fresh last night.”
        Oh yes, his language is somewhat indecipherable if you don’t know Bobby, but I’ve gotten accustomed to it. Hell, I’ve even adopted the language of Bobby Intelligence myself. The little bastard
         I open my backpack and retrieve my brand-new lighter as Rob’s face grows in disappointed without a source of fire. And though I know better than to ‘lend’ him mine, I do it anyway. I throw it across the room, and Bobby squeals euphorically as he lights his bong, savors all the glory of his THC fix, and exhales a cloud of sheer contentment across the room. Of course, he instantly pockets my brand-new lighter and murmurs, “D-Block.”
         “Yeah Rob, I know.” It’s probably the 120th lighter he’s taken from me. It’s typical. It’s expected.
         We sit in silence for a little bit as Rob enjoys his reefer, and I start looking at the high-times magazine he has on his floor. He let’s me hit his Grafix twice after he’s pleasantly blazed, and after I join him and achieve a perfectly-ripped-status, he smiles, “Yooooo…”
         My eyes sluggishly meet his, “Yo.”
         “So like,” he begins to collect his thoughts, “Why are all you bitches on some other shit?”
         “Uh-oh!" is my baked reaction, "what did you do last night?"
         “Some crazy bitch!” Rob's candor is a bit abrasive.
        “Ahhhh, I see," I'm laughing at his 'staggering' predicament, "… Bobby’s got drama?”
         “I guess…" Rob shifed in his seat and immediately began to pout, "I like, drank a couple beers..."
        "No, NO!" I interject, "A mere 'couple' of beers?"
        "Like 8 or 9?"
        "That's a couple couples, Bobby..."
        His eyes narrow and he dismisses my clarification, "Fuck it...I was drinking beer, in whatever quantitiy I see fit.."
        I chuckle again as he continues...
        "...and I was trying to have a good time, and after every one left last night, I sure as fuck did! But this morning all you bitches start hating each other and getting mad, and worrying about some fuckin’ wacky shit….You’re all wacked.”
         I lean back into the car seat and reveal a lethargic, smug grin. I know that Rob must have hooked up with someone last night, and seeming as there was drama involved, it was probably one of our friends from our 'crew.’
         “Ho-sten, I told you we needed to get some new outside bitches, all you crew girls start hating on each other, and like…fuckin…I don’t know…all getting your jealousy on or some shit.”

         I open my mouth about to get the details about Rob’s dilemma when I hear the electronic bitch on his phone… “call from seven-three-two…eight-five-..”
         Rob grabs his phone and diverts his attention to the caller.
        He picks up his cell, “Ahllo?”
         
        I start reading the high-times magazine again, while he’s on the phone.

         “Ahllo?” Rob repeats as I wonder who it might be. I guess it’s either Billy or Kate considering how early it was, and I will probably figure it out as the conversation progresses.
         Rob leans back against the couch and speaks into the receiver, devilishly grinning, “Yo, you’re a little punk-ass-bitch.”
         I roll my eyes and instantly know he’s talking to Billy. Rob loves to fuck with Billy, and I love to listen as he does it, their conversation always runs along similar lines:
         
“Sitting at my house and shittttt with Ho-sten.”
         ….
“Nah man, I don’t want your bitchass here.”
         ….
“Cuz you’re on some pussy shit.”
         ….
“Yo, Bill, if you come here, I’m gonna slap the mother-fuckin shit outta you.”
         ….
“Yo I don’t give a fuck how hard you throw down, when I hit you with a bat you are NOT getting up…pussy…”
         ….
“You hear about last night, son?”
         ….
“Yeah yo, and now the bitches are all on some psycho-shit.”
         ….
“Yo Bill, if you come over here, can you stop at Cumbo-Wumbo and grab me a Hoo-hah and we’ll chill on an L?”
         ….
“Alright man, but I’m still gonna slap the mother-fuckin shit outta you, you just wait til I see your little pussy-ass, bitch-ass…dumbfuckin ass.”
         ….
“True. Alright Peace out little bitch.”

         Bobby puts down his phone and looks back up at me, “So yeah you bitches are crazy.”
         “You hooked up with Lyndsey last night right?” I question.
         “Man, ALL you bitches like to talk. I knew you probably heard. But like…I don’t know it just kinda happened and we were all wasted and like, it’s the first time I’ve hooked up with anyone since Jen.”
         Jen was Rob’s alcoholic girlfriend who almost killed him one night when she drove into a tree completely wasted off her ass. I hate that bitch when I think about it…
         “Yeah I know, Rob. So what’s the problem?”
         “I don’t know. Apparently I caused some drama with your little Italian partner in crime because of it.”
         My little Italian partner in crime is Michele Coletti, and I already figured it had to do with her. Michele’s had a thing for Rob for a quite awhile, although she’s the type of respectable girl who would never let him know. However, Michele and Lyndsay were best friends, and of course, as usual, the kiss-and-tell shit Lyndsay pulled probably dissolved their friendship instantly, and poor Rob was smack dab in the middle of it all. He probably never had a situation like this happen, but since he was the determining factor in their big melodrama, it seemed to be causing him some grief. Rob hates when shit gets all twisted.
         “Rob, this really isn’t about you, ya know? It’s a betrayal thing between girls. Michele probably confided in Lyndsay about you because you gotta know she’s got something for you, and then she hooked up with you. They’ll get over it, but it’s not all gonna be straight for a while.”
         “Yo that’s some bullshit. They gotta just be friends again, I feel like such an asshole cuz these two bitches got their drama thing going on.”
         I find the comment funny because Rob is an asshole, of a different breed than he’s referring to of course, but still, he is the dictionary definition of a crazy little bastard.
         “Bobby,” I lean forward and throw him a cigarette as we both light up under the heat of the gossip, “Listen…bitches are crazy when it comes to this shit. They aren’t gonna ‘just-be-friends’ cuz you want them to be. It doesn’t really work like that. Michele got her feelings hurt because you two hooked up, and even though she really doesn’t have a real right to be, it’s just the way it is. In her eyes, Lyndsay betrayed their friendship by doing it. It really has nothing to do with you.”
         “But like…” Rob seems a little bit melancholy, he’s not used to his ‘girl’ friends fighting over him, “it’s all like not straight anymore because of it, and I didn’t do anything wrong. Lyndsay and I…I don’t know what’s going on between us…but like…I really don’t give a fuck, it’s shit that happens…and we were all drunk and Michele’s all like freaking out and not coming around if the other bitch is here. It’s all fucked up and pissing me off.”
         “It’s the way it is with shit like this. They’ll either figure their shit out or not, but Michele’s kinda proud, ya know? So it might take some time.”
         “Pussy shit. Why can’t you bitches like just solve things the easy way?”
         Oh God, here comes Rob’s brilliant logic, “How so?”
         “Like, ok, if a guy pulls some shit like that you fuckin just know that’s the way it goes and move on. Either that or you just punch them in the face for being a big douchebag and then you’re straight again. You bitches gotta draw shit out, and make it this huge deal, and all like, not talk for months at a time and be on some shady shit. Fuckin crazy.”
         “Bitches are crazy, and they’ll solve their issues in crazy ways.”
         Rob starts shaking his head and starts looking in the bong’s slide for more resin to be smoked, “Fuckin crazy.”
         “You’re a hot commodity now Rob,” I joke, “you’re ruining friendships and shit now.”
         “Right?” he replies in disbelief, “Yo everyone should just smoke a fuckin blunt and chill the fuck out.”
         I reach in my purse again at the remark and pull out a twenty, “You wanna do just that and hook me up with a satchel?”
         Instantly he forgets about his plight and responds with his infamous squeal, “Hell yeah! And Billy the puss is coming over here with a Dutch, and we’ll roll up the goods.”
         “We’ll do the damn thing, eh?”
         “Yeah, he’ll be here in like fifteen so that gives me some time to get my guitar-hero-on.”
         Ah yes, just as I expected, Rob will consume himself in video games until Billy arrives, and all the drama he was so worried about instantly disappears until he decides to resurface it later. That’s what I really love about the little fuck.
As Rob jams out to Danzig, I relax and realize how much I enjoy his simple company. I know that it won’t be long before I’ll have to give up this kind of lifestyle and move on, probably leaving Rob behind in the stagnant state he’ll never stray from. Sometimes, I find myself sad thinking about it, but it’s a cold hard truth I will accept when the time comes. Until then I will enjoy my time with Rob and listen to all his candid philosophies and intellectual conversations, it’s far better than all the dull and mentally incapacitating bullshit from my 8AM English Research Class, I’ll tell you that much…it’s definitely far, far better.