Mort From Bob's Burgers Novels & Stories

A 'btoom' sound was heard, and Bob was seen kneeling before Lucas. "Lucas, please spare my life. I don't wanna die, I'm begging you." "Pa pa pa!" Bob started to slap himself after speaking, thinking that it might make Lucas change his mind and let him off the hook. Bob had finally managed to become the president of the Anchorage Base City Council, and his interesting life was just about to unfold. Naturally, he did not want to die so soon. Lucas gave a faint smile. 'If getting on your knees and pleading would allow you to be forgiven, what would the purpose of my existence be?'

For the next half hour, she did exactly that. Bone-weary, Bobby pulled his rattling Isuzu into the Quickmart on Haverton, a few miles before the fairgrounds. After paying the electric bill and buying groceries, he’d enough for maybe a Pepsi and a snack before hitting the fair. That should hold him over until he ate the usual fair food—Italian sausage, fries, and a beer or two—a few hours from now. He parked his truck, wincing at the way it shut off with a metallic rattle. Just one more broken thing he could barely afford to fix.

First, they were too runny, then they were too firm. Melinda rotated her ankles while stretching her legs, then walked over to see what he needed. "What's up, Bobby?" Bob's jaw clenched. "As I've told you every day since I began to frequent your establishment, don't call me that. My name is Bob. Not Bobby, or any of the other creative variations you've come up with over the years. Just plain Bob." "What's wrong with your eggs now?" Melinda asked, not bothering to hide her impatience. Only two hours left, and she could flip the 'closed' sign.

Bob expressed his disbelief instantly when he saw Harlan was already in the pink of health after being close to death a moment ago. He looked toward Kayson with admiration, respect, and fear. Bob was still standing there anxiously without the courage to speak when Kayson and Noella left the room. Kayson considered for a moment and asked, “Who are you working for?” “I work for Eden Joy, Mr. Yarde.” Kayson was puzzled. “Eden Joy?” Noella exclaimed, “Eden Joy! Is it that old-school restaurant in Northcity?” Bob nodded and said respectfully, “That’s right, Ms. Whitman.”

The yard is enormous and looks very formal. Also, a death has occurred here recently. The Russian girl had died. Her name was Alice Marylynn Roberto. She has 5 kids. They all sleep in the basement for their protection. Their father is at work. He works at A fast-food restaurant whose menu focuses on vegetarian food, and the food is fairly priced to somewhat overpriced. Recently, it has faced a lawsuit over questionable ingredients in the food. 3 days later, a man shows up at the workplace. The Russian man is sobbing as he hears about the death of his wife.

“What burrito do you want?” I break the silence when it’s our turn to order. “Sausage,” Bobbie mutters, “I want tater tots, too. And an iced coffee.” Caffeine makes her jittery and even more aggressive than normal, so no. “I don’t think they have coffee today. What about a shake?” I offer, she scoffs but agrees, “Wait, let me call your mom.” She grumbles something about me being a slow old man as I struggle to grab my phone and call Sky. She picks up immediately and her alarmed tone makes me think she was expecting something bad to happen.

Lorie's husband stood and ushered his children away from the table and Mom placed a hand on Troy's arm. He ignored it and continued. "Tell me, Bob, how would you survive the winter if you just got let go from your last fast food job because you stuttered so much that you couldn't take an order—and you're down to your last fourteen dollars, it's winter and your choices are A. suck a dick," his mother gasped and covered her ears. "B. Go to a shelter, or C. Go home to Mom and Dad?" Bob didn't answer. "Oh come on Bob, the clock is ticking!" He spat angrily. "Let's hear your great decision making skills!" People in the restaurant were beginning to take notice of them.

Maybe even confused. “Burgers,” she clarified. “Unhealthy, heart-rotting, artery-clogging burgers. This country does them best, because we’re not afraid to die eating something as long as it tastes good. American cattle, special cuts - burgers are iconic here, aren’t they? And this restaurant does them especially well. So I’m sure Ms. Munson would have enjoyed them in her childhood before being whisked off abroad. This isn’t a terrible welcome back to the States, in my opinion...Sir.”

The Copeland was the number restaurant business locally and ever-expanding worldwide. But life will never be the same. The wedding all had been expecting was abruptly called off after a promised business deal went bust! It all started three years ago when the Morton family and the Hubbards had a bad falling out over a business deal. The Hubbards had agreed to sell their new invention to the Morton's Restaurant business. But the Hubbards decided not to sell the design to Morton out of greed; instead, Mr. Hubbard sold it to Morton's number-one competitors.

They typically checked in by now, especially on a Thursday. The silence pressed down on me, so I grabbed the remote and the half-empty bag of popcorn from the kitchen counter. I needed something to entertain myself. The TV flickered to life in the middle of a broadcast. "—BUSINESS MOGUL MAX ASHFORD MORETTI FOUND DEAD IN AN ITALIAN VILLA—" The popcorn bag slipped from my grip. "—SUICIDE NOTE CONFESSES TO DECADES-OLD DOUBLE MURDER." Air caught in my lungs.