A Woman Mourns the Loss of Her One and Only True Love, B.O.B.

Hazelwood, MO: 29-year-old Maggie Brown was sitting alone at the Three Rivers Bar and Grill. She was throwing back cosmopolitans and wasn't planning on stopping until she had tied on a sizable buzz.

Her week had started bad and then got much worse. She was in the middle of a bitter divorce. Her estranged husband was doing everything in his power to make her life miserable. Just his existence annoyed her. She had lost her job and had no real prospects on the horizon. She had nothing left but her stunning good looks and a few hundred dollars in the bank.

Throwing back a few cocktails seemed like the only logical thing to do.

With her life seemingly falling apart around her, Maggie could point to one thing that was eating at her more than anything.

"I can't believe my boyfriend is broken.  I mean my real boyfriend of course, the battery operated one," she said to the bartender. "Of all the terrible luck, that might be the worst. I went to use it and the damn thing started smoking. How the hell does that even happen? That's just life shitting all over me. I loved that thing. I even named it. Bob, Battery Operated Boyfriend."

Maggie lit a cigarette and blew a thick cloud of black smoke in the air. The bartender coughed but smiled, obviously taken by her looks.

Maggie continued, "That lifeless piece of plastic is much better to have around than any man I ever met. Men are all nuts. Bob never talked back or told me about his weird 'mommy' issues or some of his demented fetishes. Have you ever watched 'To Catch a Predator?' That's like half the guys you meet in a bar. I'm mad I'm not a lesbian."

The bartender smiled as he poured her another drink. He placed a twisted lime peel on the rim as he grabbed the martini glass by the stem and placed it in front of Maggie.

"Take my soon-to-be ex-husband for example. He was an imbecile. I can't believe I ever married him in the first place. When it comes to smarts, Bob wins hands down.

"The bottom line is that men talk and the Bob does not. Bob wins."

The bartender hung on her every word as he cleaned a few ash trays with a dirty bar rag.  He nodded at every break, where it seemed appropriate.

"Most importantly, Bob could help me in ways my husband never could," she said. "Even if my husband was lucky enough to get it up, he'd rarely last more than 2 minutes. I find that's typical with most men. With a fresh set of batteries the Bob could go for 2 straight days. There's no competition there."

"Why don't you just go buy another one?" Asked the bartender.

Maggie huffed.  "I can't just go out and 'buy another one,'" she said mockingly. "Bob was vintage. I was with Bob for more than a decade. I was attached to him. Men don't understand anything about commitment."

Maggie took another long drag from her mentholated cigarette.

"I think I'm going to do like a Viking funeral or something. Some huge ceremony. It'd make me feel better about losing it if I could at least say goodbye. It's the least I can do for its years of service and dedication."

The bartender cocked his head back and gave her a crooked grin.

He leaned in and said to her, "The problem might be that you just need to find yourself a real man."

Maggie rolled her eyes.  "Just piss off and get me another drink. Holy Christ, give me the strength."

Photo By John Sullivan