On the day the kitchen caught fire, the fire fighters found Bob sitting on the sofa, watching TV. “Your house is burning down,” said one fire fighter.
“Later,” said Bob. “I have to see if Gilligan’s going to get off the island.”
On the day the power went out, Bob’s mom told him he should go outside and play, where it was light.
“Later,” said Bob. “The TV might come back on while I’m gone, and I have to find out who wins in Final Jeopardy.”
On the day Bob’s parents planned to leave on their family vacation to the beach, Bob sat on the sofa watching TV. “You need to pack, Bob,” his mom said.
“Later,” said Bob. “I want to see how white Minto-dent with Special Formula K will get my teeth.”
His mom packed his bag for him. His dad loaded the car. His dad honked the horn. His mom grabbed him and tried to pull him off the couch.
Bob held tight. “Later,” he said. “Martha Stewart’s about to show me how to make a bouquet of roses from things we have in our bathroom cupboard.” His mom pulled. Bob held on. His dad helped pull. Bob held on.
Finally they gave up and unloaded the car.
What to do. What to do. Bob’s parents were baffled, confounded, puzzled, stumped. They had to get Bob off that couch. They had to get him away from that TV.
And then, one day, they had an idea.
They bought Bob a pony.
“You can play cowboy!” said Bob’s dad.
“Later,” said Bob.
“We paid good money for that pony. Now go outside and ride him right now!” said his mother.
“Later,” said Bob.
Bob’s parents brought the pony in the house. They sat the pony down on the couch right next to Bob.
Bob ignored the pony and kept watching TV.
“Enough is enough,” said Bob’s Mom and Dad.
Bob’s mom threw the TV into the street where a truck ran over it.
And Bob’s dad tied one end of a rope around the pony, and one end around Bob’s leg, then hit the pony on the rear end.
The pony reared up and raced out the door, dragging Bob off the couch and out into the open air.
“Whoa!” said Bob. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”
Bob’s dad grabbed hold of the pony, and brought him to a halt. Then he untied the rope from the pony and from Bob, picked up his stunned son and set him on the pony.
“There you go, son! Have fun.”
“I was having fun watching TV,” who had never ridden a pony before, and had never wanted to ride a pony. In fact, he was afraid of ponies. Couches he understood. TVs he understood. Ponies he didn’t understand. Except for the ponies on TV.
Bob’s dad whacked the pony on the rear end.
Off galloped the pony, down the street, sharp right, and into the woods. Bob held on tight and closed his eyes and screamed. “Ahhhhhhhhh! I’m going to die! I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE!”
“Okay,” said the pony. And Bob and the pony disappeared.