(c) 1992 by Rev. Ivan Stang
To answer in your first question, "Can good "BOB" quit you a job?":
Why HAIOly Shitin' Bob-G'Doglly, or I'll be gobbs a gully goshen! Better 'pute your pete on full-throttle potenteat, elstwise yer wants'll be a'waggin' down on Mammy's hind nanny. `Cause there's a case o' slaves n' slackrobbers out to chop your slobber -- pinks and dinks lickin' the inky-slinky off your tongue just when you're ripened to throw `em the loaf, slap-back `em and bomb at `em. THEY don't wont your bone to be, and ift you got the cleft insteft, Mommy-o, they'll hate your worth eight ways worse!
So... why cantcher peezer pop a squeezer when the gushers're goin' all normalin' antirightlike? Crotcher no geisha sense in your sneezin' chamber? Heistin' an empty platterer in your beanbag, boy? Where's your rollerballs, eh? I cain't grop me no love-gro on these lu-ju mu-ju logo bands! They cut your check-purse and water your creamery comin' AND goin', and the slums o' lovin' won't beat-heat YOUR oven cause the slacky tacks of the grinnin' sinner be their flaw to flee. The odd Dobbs'd do ya, but ya ARRRE lettin' them bang down the barn doors, and your cows arrre gettin' it... and out. You be gonna moon the Man, or folly `em mooin' to the slafterhouse like GOOD babies butter butt, er NOT?!?
Yer gonna have to spreach Engrish, Jake! Get right with your muscle snake, snunk-monkey! Quit spritzin' your plizzerer less'n it's snowin' lite loot juice! Elstwise yer pleetin' bleeder's blowin' hot water! You'll go blind, or please your neither tryin' not too... Either way, you're gettin' up in the wrong side-orbit for this kinda freed, peed-needin' side trade. Whell, wantcher goncher stand there like'r dammie nickel slug, or ye goner puss your plimperer in a righteous hargony?? Peeboy. Got weenie-rivers in your fluder-tubes. Join gumptions with the true and the seed brave... and pee for "BOB," MAN! It's sin your jeans! Buy out the gland-owners with what YOU EARNED with your skinny peeling face of pain!! Lease a piece o' the finast, have a fuzzy big ballock, and strike your heart best soft blow for the left court of the rocket racket... this space-outer belongs to YOUR whord-ship in the crutch of your choice toys. And Ivan bongin' the flush-luginner pee-ers, to let `em STANK you know who's a-comin' -- them kens ain't keen to hob on no bobbie, NO SIR-MAAM! You just ort `n ug `em good... and they'll be some gone bygones, Baby.
This has been your re-annunciator. Thank me.