I’ll never be Bob Dylan. He’s the master.
Bob, would you be willing to take on Evil Bob?”Bob’s eyes darted nervously. “I’d . . . prefer not to. I’d really, really prefer not to. You have no idea. That me was crazy. And...
I define nothing. Not beauty, not patriotism. I take each thing as it is, without prior rules about what it should be.
You’re supposed to be a spirit of intellect. I don’t understand why you’re obsessed with sex.”Bob’s voice got defensive. “It’s an academic interest, Harry.””Oh yeah? Well maybe I don’t think it’s fair to let your...
Bob Dylan impresses me about as much as… well, I was gonna say a slug but I like slugs.
Bob Dylan’s not a hype and a haircut: he’s the real thing.
I want to be the Bob DeNiro of the Jurassic.
I loved working with Bob Dylan.
Twelve minutes. I can give you that.
Here’s a haiku/palindrome I wrote called, “Obsession.”Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob,Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob,Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob
Bob says hello.
I have a fear of palindromes. Maybe because the only person to ever beat the hell out of me was a man named Bob.
With a palindrome of a name, like Bob, I’d be both right thinking and dyslexic. Would you love me more as a Bob, or as a Bob?
My hair– bob it!
Together kabobs make the world better than all the Bobs combined. Well, at least ever since Bob Ross moved on to the land of the happy trees.
Dad.” (By the way, Bob is NOT my dad).
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