Mr. Bob

The personification of imagination. He - or it? - takes the basic form of simplicity. Limits are nonexistent.

The personification of imagination. He is pure good, and has limitless capabilities, (whatever you can imagine.) Mr. Bob is the first thing in his universe, besides the Holy Paper Clip.

a name you give to your cat after suffering a mental illness, you may also say this to your best friends kitty after killing his auntie.

Mid- to Late-90s sketch comedy, aired late nights on HBO. Created by Bob Odenkirk and David Cross, who began collaborating while working on <i>The Ben Stiller Show</i>. Part pre-taped show, part live performance, <i>Mr. Show</i> was praised for its willingness to break with conventions and follow its own twisted muse, launching the careers of Odenkirk, Cross, Jack Black, Tom "Spongebob Squarepants" Kinney, and other alternative comedians.

The greatest, most genius TV show ever known. It's cast and writers are heroes to the world of comedy. Not enough good things can be said about it's 4 seasons and 30 episodes. I was lucky enough to see the live version of this show when it came to Vancouver, and I was also lucky enough to get their autographs.

In Moulmein, in lower Burma, I was hated by large numbers of people – the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me. I was sub-divisional police officer of the town, and in an aimless, petty kind of way anti-European feeling was very bitter. No one had the guts to raise a riot, but if a European woman went through the bazaars alone somebody would probably spit betel juice over her dress. As a police officer I was an obvious target and was baited whenever it seemed safe to do so. When a nimble Burman tripped me up on the football field and the referee (another Burman) looked the other way, the crowd yelled with hideous laughter. This happened more than once. In the end the sneering yellow faces of young men that met me everywhere, the insults hooted after me when I was at a safe distance, got badly on my nerves. The young Buddhist priests were the worst of all. There were several thousands of them in the town and none of them seemed to have anything to do except stand on street corners and jeer at Europeans.

In Moulmein, in lower Burma, I was hated by large numbers of people – the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me. I was sub-divisional police officer of the town, and in an aimless, petty kind of way anti-European feeling was very bitter. No one had the guts to raise a riot, but if a European woman went through the bazaars alone somebody would probably spit betel juice over her dress. As a police officer I was an obvious target and was baited whenever it seemed safe to do so. When a nimble Burman tripped me up on the football field and the referee (another Burman) looked the other way, the crowd yelled with hideous laughter. This happened more than once. In the end the sneering yellow faces of young men that met me everywhere, the insults hooted after me when I was at a safe distance, got badly on my nerves. The young Buddhist priests were the worst of all. There were several thousands of them in the town and none of them seemed to have anything to do except stand on street corners and jeer at Europeans.