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What’s Going On Here?!
By BoB

**Sometime in the very distant future**

     It is May 25, 2390. The day Bob Goldenarrow, aka Bob the Cook, is to be released from Tai- Tastigon Mental Facility; maximum security ward. After serving out most of his sentence of 400 years for 8 counts of murder in the first, he is finally free.
     The guards came and escorted him out of his cell, through the halls he remembers all to well. Into an elevator and down several levels, and finally out past the shrine to a certain warden.
     "Who put that up?," Bob asked calmly.
     "The staff," the guard replied coldly.
     "What happened to the warden?"
     "Some crazy, psyche-ward patient killed him with a crayon."
     "A crayon!? HAH, that’s original," Bob mused to himself.
     And finally the door to the outside came into view, several of his friends stood there, waiting to see what he might do. The guards opened the door and took off his leg-restraints.
     "Claim your belongings, and hope we never see you again," One of the guards mumbled.
     So he went to the window, "Goldenarrow, Bob. Cell number 0562B."
     "I’m sorry, could you repeat that number," the attendant asked baffled.
     "0562B"
     "That’s what I thought you said," he typed the number into a computer. A generator powered up but nothing materialized. He tried again, it failed.
     "Is there a problem?"
     "Yeah, none of your belongings are materializing… I’m gonna go check the generator," The guard went back to the generator. "Aha! Found your stuff!," The guard brought the steel box up to the counter. Bob blew the dust off it. A small brass plaque was riveted to it. The guard looked closer at it.
     "Dedicated to Bob Goldenarrow, for his dedicated service to the Guild on this day, April 20^th, Sixteen- hundred seventy-two"
     "Very nice isn’t it?"
     "1672?! How long has this been in your family?"
     "Since it was given to me."
     The guard stood there dumbfounded, "Just how long have you been here?"
     "Lemme see," he stroked his chin, "They put me in back in 1996… no 1997. So that would make it just shy of 400 years."
     "Sure buddy, whatever… I think I know why they put you in here."
     So he was escorted to the gates, where was yet another shrine to some guard, the same one he had killed.
     "Wow! I must’ve really impressed a lot of people!"
     "You did that?!"
     "Yeah, I did… Why?"
     "No reason," He took the cuffs off and opened the gate. "I hope I don’t see you anytime soon."
     "Good bye!… I can’t make any promises though," he went to the group of friends outside the gate.
     "I would like to point out that they let him voluntarily this time!"
     "Very funny, Gringito!," Bob said opening his box to reveal a box of crayons and his knives, all of them.
     "Oh no, not more crayons!," Pumbaa yelled.
     "Shaddup! I don’t do that anymore."
     And the three of them went back to the Guild Hall. Bob’s first stop was the kitchen, which had been remodeled to resemble a professional kitchen. Bob passed out muttering "My kitchen…" as he fell to his knees. ******

     When Bob awoke the next day, he was in a bed, nothing like what he’d left.
     "Where am I?"
     "You’re in the Playhouse," Pumbaa replied.
     "OK," he sat up, "Where in the Playhouse am I?"
     "Your room."
     "I had the worst dream! I dreamt that the Guild Hall had a professional kitchen! It was horrid, all stainless steel!"
     "Bob, that wasn’t a dream. When you got put back in the cuckoo nest, we had to find a cook. And all the cooks who applied demanded a real kitchen.
     "Oh, and I’ve got more bad news," Pumbaa answered a ringing virtual-phone. "Sorry Bob, gotta get to the Hall right now! You too!"

     The two transported to the hall. Everyone sat in their chairs, except Bob, who didn’t have a chair anymore. Instead he sat on the table.
     "Bob! I didn’t know you had escaped again!," Jamethiel looked surprised.
     "No, I’m not escaped, my sentence was served and they let me go."
     "Oh," Jamethiel’s face dropped.
     "By the way, Where’s my kitchen?"
     "Uh, down the hall at the end. Same place it’s always been."
     "No, that is NOT my kitchen. That is a stainless steel prison, just like my cell was. I want my kitchen," he started counting on his fingers and pacing up and down the table top, "I want the firepit, the scorched pots, the massive ovens and most importantly my butcher block altar, er, table and refrigerator!"
     "Uhhhh," Lothar started, "that’s not entirely possible."
     "Why not?"
     "Because we kinda had no space to put it all. So we threw it all away…"
     "YOU DID WHAT!?!?," Bob’s face was as red as a rose, "I made that kitchen to my specifications!"
     They all proceeded to sit in their chairs and listen to him rant for hours.
     "… and how am I s’posed to cook in a shiny kitchen? I’ll actually have to see what I’m doing?…" After a few more hours of ranting his voice was gone. He sat on the table and whispered as loud as possible, "I need caffeine."
     In the end, they all decided to send Bob to his room while they deliberated. On his way to his room he saw something so awful, so vile, so flowery wallpapered, that he went screaming (as best one can when one has no voice) to his room. But that was no help either. It had been transformed into a guest room.
     It was pastel, with a bed that had way too many pillows, it smelled funny, and there were live flowers in a vase on the dresser.
     "Oh, You’ve got to be kidding me!," He proceeded searching the walls of his room for the compartment he had carved out. He found it and ripped through the wallpaper to get to it. Inside there was a bottle and a note.
     The note read:
         "Bob, since you’re reading this, you’ve found your room. Nice isn’t it?
     Anyway, this liquid will help you realize that pastels and flowery things are
     good. Please drink it. Save yourself, and us, a lot of pain. -Pyrros"
     Bob jumped down the stairway, but missed the staircase and proceeded to free-fall seven floors down the middle of the stairs, fortunately, there was a chandelier and a vase to break is fall. He landed with quite the crash, got up after a few minutes, brushed himself off and walked to the open doors of the meeting room. The people hadn’t even noticed him.
     "What the HELL is going on here?!," He looked around at the faces.
     They all looked up from their cups of tea and scones.
     "Talking stick please," the Shanir requested politely.
     The gold-capped, ivory stick was passed down to her, taking great care not to hurt any one or destroy anything.
     "Well Bob, see, long about 2030 or so, we decided to give up being trying to be anti-social and turned this place into a social gathering place," she passed the stick.
     "We quit trying to be completely exclusive and…"
     "And instead you’ve become totally and completely exclusive," Bob interjected, "I really hope no changes were made to the Playhouse!," he eyed Pumbaa evilly.
     "No Bob, I didn’t touch a thing in the Playhouse. I’ve had it cleaned periodically, and entertained many a famous and powerful guest."
     Bob looked down at the bottle of liquid that had miraculously survived the crash landing. He gripped it tight and then threw it at the wall. The bottle shattered and the liquid vaporized into the form of a cloud.
     "You…. You broke the bottle!," Jamethiel squealed.
     The vapor formed into the silhouette of Martha Stewart. "HEY! I didn’t get Martha Stewart! I got some stupid senator!," Gringito sounded displeased.
     Bob stared at the vapor, and the vapor stood there like a shadow, waiting to move. "Um, how does this thing work?," Bob started moving around, making the shadow move as well.
     "You breathe it in now. Originally you drink it and it assumes your body. We figured that, that person most fit your new job description, and how we wanted you to act."
     "You want me to act like Martha?! I can’t do that!"
     "Why not?," Ba’al asked.
     "Several reasons, 1. I don’t like using daily objects to make cutsie stuff. 2. I wouldn’t ever cut up credit cards to line a pool! That’s just plain stupid. 3. I don’t look good in pastels. 4. I can’t stand gardening and 5. I can’t fit the figure. I mean geez, I’m not a woman so there goes two rather important pieces and leaves me hanging with one I’ve grown rather attached to." There were now several people in a state of shock, apparently such language was intolerable these days.
     "Oh Bob! Quit whining and breathe in the vapor already."
     Bob thought about it for a moment and then went to the kitchen for awhile. "I’ll be back in awhile."
     When he got to the kitchen. Opened to door and looked around at the stainless steel mecca. He then looked at his shadow.
     "Hmmmmmm…," he started thinking, "I know to get rid of you!," he opened all the shades that covered the picture window, light flooded in and reflected off every surface. The shadow was vanquished and Bob stood there, cooked to medium-well, wishing he’d put on sun-glasses and tanning lotion.

     When the few days were up, Bob returned to the group nicely tanned and asked unusual questions:
     "I have few unusual questions, 1. Can I please have my old kitchen back? I really dislike stainless steel. 2. Who was the last person to drink that crap? I’ve figured out a way to get rid of them. 3. I thought I killed the Lavendar Sparrow…"
     "Lavendar Sparrow? Nah, he came back. In fact, this is all his work."
     Bob stood there in the hallway to the kitchen, sliding his fingers in the grooves of the cold stone wall. "I think I’ve got a task to complete…," Bob went back to the kitchen and locked the large steel door behind him.
     "I wonder what he’s doing…" Gringito looked at the others.
     Loud crashes poured out of the kitchen, banging and cutting filled the silent halls.
     "Bob?!," Bob called from the basement.
     "Yeah, B-Bob, is that you?"
     "Yeah it is. Hey, I’ve got some stuff you might want…"
     "Like what?"
     "Just come down and find out."

     So Bob walked down to the basement and saw all of his old kitchen equipment.
     "My stove! My Table! Bob! Where’d you get this?"
     "It never left the building. They told me to take it all out and I paid the garbage men to say that they had taken it away and thoroughly destroyed it."
     "Bob, you’re a genius! You’re awesome! You…," seeing his refrigerator, "…left it plugged in right?"
     "Yeah."
     Bob raced over to his refrigerator and opened it, revealing most of the caffeine enriched liquid he had left. His eyes were like saucers.
     "I had a few," B-Bob admitted.
     "I don’t care, I’ll consider it a service charge… You saved my kitchen! Do you know where they put the fire pit?"
     "It’s still there, just covered over."
     "Feel like leaving the basement for a few days?"

     So Bob and Bob set to work digging up the fire pit, making new pots out of the new tables and redecorating with the old furniture.
     The two of them ripped down the wallpaper and metal wall coverings to reveal the bloodstone walls he was so familiar with. Both set to work making more equipment from the extra metal.
     They dug up the fire pit and set a blazing inferno in it, hoping everything still worked. It did, so they had a side of beef, and caffeine- enriched liquid for lunch.
     "Well, now that your kitchen is rebuilt, I’ll go back to the basement."
     "Ok, but before you do that, help me put this piece of steel in the front of the door, hopefully, it’ll prevent all those crazies from coming in any old time they want."
     So Bob opened the door for the first time in almost a week. The whole group was standing there, looks of curiosity filled their faces.
     "What are you doing in there?!," Jamethiel shrieked.
     Basement Bob carted the piece of steel out of the kitchen, all of the people jumped back.
     "Who’s that?"
     "Hi, I’m Basement Bob. Remember me?"
     "Bob, why did you let Bob out?," Pumbaa asked.
     " ‘Cause I needed the help," Bob and Bob used duct tape to fasten the piece of steel to the outside frame of the door.
     "Did you make it that extra width?"
     "To cover the hinges and lock? Yes."
     The piece was securely fixed to the door. Bob went back to the basement, and Bob went back to the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
     "Now, for a lock…"

     "What do you think he’s doing?"
     "Making his kitchen, again," Pumbaa answered.
     "But I thought we threw all his stuff away," Lothar wondered.
     "We did… Basement Bob must’ve saved it all. We need to talk to him," they tried to get to the basement, but couldn’t open the door to get there. Then they heard a large clunk and the door opened.
     "What do you need?," Bob poked his head out, "I’m kinda busy making dinner."
     "Just one question," Lothar paused, "Why do I smell burning flesh?"
     "Ummmm, it’s dinner," he slammed the door shut and a large crash was heard.

     The guild (minus Bob) had re-convened at the big table and sat in amazement.
     "What are we gonna do about him? I mean we can’t just one that’s dissimilar, especially not him," Pookie asked.
     "I think we should send him back to TTMI," Jamethiel mumbled.
     "Why would you want to do that?!" Pumbaa yelled.
     "Because Old Bob doesn’t and won’t fit in a New Bob’s world. They would at least keep him busy," Jamethiel replied.
     "There was much discussion and even more yelling. Bob wheeled a large cart out from the kitchen.
     "All right, kwitcherbichin! Dinner’s ready, eat-up."
     "But Bob, we only eat nutritional supplements and vitamin pills, not food like that."
     Bob stood there, his jaw slack and his eyes filled with shock and amazement.
     "WHAT?! You don’t WHAT?!," Bob passed out and lay on the floor. ******
     Bob awoke to the familiar sounds of the hallway doors opening and closing as usual. He felt around himself to try and figure out his surroundings. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that he was still in his rooms at TTMI.
     "Ahhhhh……," He say up and watched the door open.
     "Good morning Bob," the attendant put the food in the cell.
     "Hi Fred, Attendant of Bob, I’ve just have a terrible nightmare," He sat under his crayon drawing of the Guild Hall.
     "Thought you’d escaped again huh?"
     "No! I’d been released. But the Guild Hall had changed. I couldn’t make the same changes. I remember them telling me that they didn’t eat solid foods… and now I’m back here."
     Fred, Attendant of Bob looked at him and smiled, turned around and walked out. "Sure Bob, whatever you say, I’ll have them check the medicine levels again… at last check you still had 387 years worth of sentence to serve anyway."
     The doors started opening and closing with the same rhythmic thunks and clunks. Bob sat back against the wall of his cell and looked out the tiny window he had. Gringito’s face appeared in it.
     He signaled for Bob to move away and take cover. So Bob did. There was a small explosion and then much more sun and fresh air.
     "Gringito!," Bob was amazed, "What are you doing?"
     "Exposing the cover-up, Let’s go!"
     Bob jumped out the hole in the roof, they grabbed the hanglider and and went all the way back to the Guild Hall.
THE END
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