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Sitting alone at my steaming computer at midnight slamming keys like the Hell on Wheels crew with sledgehammers against railroad spikes in the 1880s. I was pissed, when the phone rang and a gravely voice from far away started to drill questions into me.

“Where’s Atomic Bob?” the voice coughed.

“How the hell would I know?” I said and sipped whiskey. “Who the hell is this?”

“This is detective Rancid Dung,” he said. “Where’s Bob?”

I hung up as if it was another Chinese telemarketing team disturbing my Wa at all hours trying to give me a free trip to Vegas, if I spent my lifesavings on a monthly carpet cleaning contract.

Atomic Bob sizzled in a hot prison cell in the Lorain Correctional Institute in Ohio. Convicted of robbing a chain of pet stores of miniature poodles for the love of his life, Bob spent almost a year behind bars, initially. But the sentence was extended.

Read the rest of the story on Atomic Bob here on