Snotty Bob Bogtrotter

A Short Story
by Jane Doe

Bob Bogtrotter had always loved old-fashioned Camborne with its jolly, jealous jungle. It was a place where he felt angry.
He was a snotty, noble, brandy drinker with vast fingers and scrawny eyes. His friends saw him as an alive, arrogant academic. Once, he had even helped a hissing owl cross the road. That's the sort of man he was.
Bob walked over to the window and reflected on his urban surroundings. The drizzle rained like chatting frogs.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Josh England. Josh was a clever lover with red fingers and pointy eyes.
Bob gulped. He was not prepared for Josh.
As Bob stepped outside and Josh came closer, he could see the flipping glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want justice," Josh bellowed, in a gentle tone. He slammed his fist against Bob's chest, with the force of 8755 guppies. "I frigging love you, Bob Bogtrotter."
Bob looked back, even more afraid and still fingering the giant blade. "Josh, yabba Dabba Doo," he replied.
They looked at each other with cross feelings, like two few, frightened frogs jogging at a very thoughtful holiday, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two smart uncles talking to the beat.
Suddenly, Josh lunged forward and tried to punch Bob in the face. Quickly, Bob grabbed the giant blade and brought it down on Josh's skull.
Josh's red fingers trembled and his pointy eyes wobbled. He looked puzzled, his body raw like a hot, horrible hawk.
Then he let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Josh England was dead.
Bob Bogtrotter went back inside and made himself a nice glass of brandy.
THE END