BadBob CoolPants

Episode I: Haulin' Ass

Narrator: Ah, Goo Lagoon. A place wher-*gets ran over*

The hot rod that ran him over was being driven by BadBob CoolPants, the mst cherry sponge you ever did seen. Riding shotgun was Riptrack, the baddest, pinkest starfish in Bikini Bottom who wishes he were he and not BadBob.

Riptrack: Haha! Way to leave a patch on that Hodad, cool cat!

BadBob: See any skirts we can cop up a feel

Riptrack: Im seein' nothin but skuzzes and sweat hogs.

BadBob: Where's all the motherfuckin foxes at when you need em?!

BadBob and Riptrack proceeded to run over a few more hodads before parking the hot rod on some random and unfortunate sun bather. They proceeded to bop past a few surfer dudes, wasting them all using their surfboards against them, before knocking down a little kid's sand castle. They made their way back to the juice bar.

BadBob: Aaaahhh, shouldve know they were fuckin wimps.

Riptrack: They got wiped out flat. Haha!

They both took a seat at the juice bar.

BadBob: A couple of brewskis, Buddha Head.

Riptrack: On the rocks! *scowls at the barkeep, scaring him off* Haha!

BadBob: Been thinkin bout inciting a lil submarine race later on, if you catch my drift.

Riptrack: good luck with dat, my brother.

They both downed their beers and left without paying.

Barkeep: Hey! What about the money you owe?

BadBob: FOR WHAT?! *throws the beer bottle at the barkeep*

Riptrack: Haha! *throws his bottle too*

They proceeded to make their way back to their ride but were stop in their tracks by Larry Da Lobster and his gang of beach bums.

Larry Da Lobster: Alright, grease monkies. Which one of you wasted Scooter and my bois?

BadBob: Cant you see that he's tryin to kick your asses?! *points at Old Man Jenkins*

Old Man Jenkins: I love the young peeps!

Larry Da Lobster: So you like kickin our asses on OUR beach, do ya?! We'll show you, old fart!

The beach bums proceeded to mob the old man.

Riptrack: Haha! That went slicker than grease.

BadBob: Fuckin' A. Let's peel outta here.

Riptrack: *stops BadBob and sniffs the air* Hold up! I smell bacon. Lots of it!

BadBob: We best skip dis scene.

They both get back in their hot rod just as the police start rolling in the beach.

BadBob: Ah shit! The Fuzz!

Riptrack: Tiem to haul ass! And step on it!

They peeled off in a hurry, trying to stay out of the cops' sights but seeing as they're driving in the only car on the beach, that would be difficult to pull off. The cops began to catch up and stayed on their tailfins.

Riptrack: Barnacles! What we gonna do now?!

BadBob: Check underneath your seat, Daddy-O.

Riptrack: *pulls out a sawn-off shotgun* Haha!

Riptrack proceeded to lay a few caps in the bacon before finally making their escape through Muscle Beach.

Riptrack: Ah, so much for the submarine races.

BadBob: Relax, mah brother. We got all the time in the sea.

They put on their aviator sunglasses as the sped off towards the bright lights, glitz, and glamour of Bikini Bottom.

Riptrack: Lets go git blitzed or somethin.

BadBob: Sounds cherry.

Episode II: Need Help

Narrator: Ah, The Krusty Krab. Home of the world famous, Krabby Pat-*is hit by a chair*

The person who threw was BadBob CoolPants, the coldest barnacle in Bikini Bottom. He kicked the glass doors in and casually strutted his way inside with a toothpick in his mouth. He took off his aviator glasses, grabbed a comb from his left buttcheek pocket and proceeded to comb it back with grease from the Krusty Krab kitchen. He took a spat in some person's drink before heading to the register. The cashier was Squidward Tentacles, the bitchiest cat in town.

Squidward: Oh God, what the hell are YOU doing here BadBob?! No babies to steal candy from today?

BadBob: No foxes to make babies wit so their mommas could give them candy that I can take. Ask yo's.

Squidward: Just what the hell do you think you're doing here, then?! You know old man Krabs would kill you if he sees you here again. In fact, go ahead. Just stay here.

BadBob: That old fart? Psh fuck him. He can go drown in a bathtub of his own money fo all I care.

The jukebox konks out.

Squidward: Did that piece of crap break down again?

Mr. Krabs came out of the stalls with a trail of toilet paper running along from his pants.

Krabs: Mr. Squidward!

Squidward: Yes, Mr. Krabs.

Krabs: Fix that piece of crap jukebox AT ONCE! I don't want all me payin customers going home without boogiein all night long. You know the jukebox attracts all the young people!

BadBob: Dont get yo granny panties in a twist, Eugene.

Krabs: BadBob?! What in Neptune's name are you doin here, boi?!?! I'm still paying off all the damages from the last time you rolled in here! And you rolled in here with your car!

BadBob leans against the jukebox and gives it a light pound, starting it up again.

Krabs: AND-wait a damn darn second. Did you just fix that jukebox?

BadBob: Fuckin A.

Krabs: mr. Squidward, will ye lookie that?! He fixed that piece of crap up like cardboard!

Squidward: Uh, Mr. Krabs-

Krabs: BadBob, me boy, I want you to become the newest membr of the Krusty Krew! Ar

BadBob: I don't know. I'm not cheap.

Krabs: I'll give ye a free glass of water!

BabdBob walks out.

Krabs: A dozen free glasses of watah! *pounces BadBob from behind* No come back! NooooeNoooeze! *iz kicked in the groin*

Squidward: Phew. Well that's a relie-

Krabz: I gotta git BadBob back!

Squidward: *napalms*

Riptrack: *rolls in on a Harley* Good morning, Krusty bitches!

Episode III: Where's Hollywood?


Narrator: Ah, Jellyfish Fields. Home of the radiant Jellyfis-*is shot off screen*

The person who shot him was BadBob CoolPants, the most cherry sponge in all the sea floor. Accompanying him was Riptrack, the baddest, pinkest starfish in Bikini Bottom.

Riptrack: Haha! Way to give that spaz some lead poisoning!

BadBob: *reloads his Pump Handle Shotgun* Fuckin square had it coming. Who the fuck tails us everywhere we fuckin go?! Seriously.

Riptrack: Theres a flock of dem bitches 200 yards that way, bro.

BadBob: Come on, sweethearts. *aims his gun at the flock of jellyfish* Daddy-O needs a new pair of aviators.

He fires at the flock twice, taking down quite a few.

BadBob: Riptrack, bag em and gag em. We GPRS ourselves some fuckin bread.

Riptrack: Fuckin A! Haha!

Meanwhile, at Goo Lagoon.

Larry: Who the hell do those hodads tink they are boppin pass Scooter and playin us like goddamn record players?! Alright, dudes and dudettes! Clean the wax out yo ears and let me lay this down hard. I want em! I want BadBob and Riptrack! I want em alive if possible, but if not, WASTED! Spread da word!

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Tentacle Acres. BadBob and Riptrack were cruising around in their Chevy Impala with their catch of the day.

Riptrack: The clams should be rolling in with this delivery.

BadBob: Fuckin A, mang. Probably buy mahself a Nustang or some shit. Real cherry from what I be hearin. Where we doin dis deal anyway?

Riptrack: The buyer said to hit em up behind the Krusty Krab.

BadBob: Sounds like a blast.

Before they reach the Krusty Krab, their path is intercepted by a Rolls Royce, being driven by a rich-looking squid. The driver turns out to be Squilliam Fancyson III, heir apparent of the Fancyson fortune. He wad accompanied by three other snobby squids.

Squilliam: Good evening, boys! I'm sure you know by bow that there's a toll here.

BadBob: You can take that pole and just shove it up where da sun don't shine.

Squilliam: I said toll, you idiot. Oh, that's right I always seem to forget that there are those not fortunate enough to attain the benefits of attending a mediocre public school:

Snobby Squids: Aha! Aha! Aha! Ahaa!!

Riptrack: Why don't you say dat to mah face, you Harvard rejects?! Afraid I'll just flush you trust fund turds out?!

Squilliam: Do you even have any working toilets in your trailer? I can barely imagine.

BadBob: Hows about I clean yo gutters? Free of charge!

Squilliam: Puhuhlease! and risk having bloodstains on my new silk coat?

BadBob: Yeah, all that blood gushin outta that big nose of yours could leave quite da mark.

Squilliam: Not as much as the blood that'll come pouring out when I knock those big choppers of your's down your throat.

Riptrack: You like beef or what?'

Squilliam: No chicken. I just love it when people know their place in life.

BadBob: Youre just cruisin for a bruisin, aren't ya?!

Squilliam: How's about we just skip the formalities and get straight to the point. Unless you've been living under a rock, which I'n sure one of you do.

Riptrack: Fuck off.

Squilliam: Theres this big race coming up. Some mean machines are a guaranteed coming. I just thought I'd be charitable for once and hand you an invitation.

BadBob: Whats up with the act?

Squilliam: No act at all. I just want you to show your faces so that everybody can see Squilliam Fancyson III shut you both out flatter than a pancake. It would be such a huge honor if you had the balls to show up.

BadBob: When is it?

Squilliam: Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! At high noon, boys! *revs up his Rolls Royce* Be there or be square, greasebags! And try not to leave any oil slicks lying around.

Squilliam starts to circle around the Impala as his cronies laugh with him. He speeds off before popping a wheelie.

BadBob: Those inbreds will get there's. We better get rollin to the meet.

BadBob peels off towards the Krustu Krab. They make it there about 15 minutes later and park up out back of the restaurant. They exit the vehicle and takes along their catch. They are greeted by a familiar figure.

Karbs: Glad to see ye boys made it. Arr. Now onto- BadBob?!

BadBob: Mr. K?

Krabs: Praise Neptune I found you! *goes to kiss his feet*

Riptrack: Isnt dis dat sweaty guy you used to work for?

BadBob: Unfortunately. *kicks Eugene in the crotch* What the hell mang?!

Krabs: BadBob, I need you back at the Krusty Krab! Me and Mr. Squidward can't figure out that piece of shit jukebox withououout you!

BadBob: I told you. Not interested. Now about this deal-

Krabs: What if I gave a free glass of water. A DOZEN free glasses of water?!?

BadBob: Lay off da propane, Eugene! The jellyfish! How much ya got for em?!

Karbs: Yes! How about I take those strands off ye hands! How much ye want for em?! Arr.

BadBob: A million clams.

Krabs: SOLD!! *writes a check* Report to Krusty Krab at the crack of dawn, me lad.

BadBob: *bites the check to make sure it's legit* Ya sure whatevah.

They leave The Krusty Krab, but unbeknownst to them, they are being watched by a figure off in the distance, using a telescope to spy on them from the Cum Bucket.

Plankton: BadBob, you'll soon be mine! Muahahahaha-

Karen: Coming to bed, honey?

Plankton: Yes, dear.

Meanwhile, at the KRUV Radio Station.

Disc Jockey: We have just received a message from the Oceanside Rip Thighs. They have this message that goes especially out to BadBob CoolPants and Riptrack Star. They're those two rea live cats from Bikini Bottom. Here's a song with them in mind.

"Bad Company" by Bad Company starts to play on the radio as the screen fades out to black.

Episode IV: Hot For Teacher

Narrator: Ah, Mrs. Puff's Boating SchooOOOOOO-*is ran over by BadBob on the driving track*

BadBob: Fuckin spazzes these days, standing right in da middle of da road, eh Mrs. P?

Puff: WAAAHH!! BadBob, brake! BRAEK!! *pulls hairs*

BadBob: Come on, Puff Bubba. Take the cherry topper out yo vajay and live a lil. *swerves into the school*

Puff: Well BadBob, it appears you FAIL. Again.

BadBob: Aw, come on Puff Bubba! Surely there must be *strokes Puff's hair* some way I can pass. Perhaps some...extracurricular activities. Some...*pulls her in closer* sexual activity?

Puff: Oho my, but I'm your teacher BadBob. That would just be wrong in every sense of the word!

BadBob: but if it's wrong, then I don't wanna be right, Mrs. P.

Puff: NO!

Narrator: 15 minutes later.

We are shown the closed door of Mrs. Puff's classroom, the light from inside showing their sihlouettes.

Puff: EXTRA CREDEEEEEEEEEEET!! *inflates* Ah. Yes, BadBob. YEEEEESSS.

BadBob exits the class with his newly attained driver's license. Riptrack greet him at the entrance.

Riptrack: How'd it go mang?

BadBob: Slicker than grease. That cherry got popped if ya catch mah drift.

Riptrack: Choice! Wish me luck.

BadBob: Bust a nut.

Narrator: 10 minutes later.

Puff: EXTRA CREDEEEEEEEEET!!

Meanwhile, at Goo Lagoon.

Scooter: Dude, we don't have leads yet! Ahahahahahahaa!

Larry: Give it time. The tide will be high soon enough.

Scooter: Wanna liek, wax our woods or something.

Larry: Dude! That sounds fuckin righteous.

Scooter: Ahallriiiiight!

Meanwhile, at the Cum Bucket.

Karen: It appears BadBob has finally attained his license, sugar dumplings.

Plankton: Wonderful...Muahahahahaha-

Karen: Wanna cut out coupons?

Plankton: Coupons?! Hot Dog!

Episode V: Coffee At The Treedome


New Narrator: The last narrator died of his wounds, so they had to hire a new one.

The scene opens up to BadBob cruising around the outskirts of town in his got rod. He took a spat at the wind that never got blown back. The wind blew through his greased up hair. He heard a female grunting sound coming from the distance.

BadBob: Holy shit. Sounds intense.

He proceeded to race towards the direction of the implied sex scene, but was disappointed when he only saw a strange creature getting harrassed by a giant oyster.

Oyster: Neptune dammit girl! You best back on yo corner and start makin Daddy his money!

Creature: You're not my Pa!

Oyster: Bitch, I never smuggled yo hairy ass down here fo no dice!

Creature: Well I never came down here to be just some cheap slut!

Oyster: *bitch slaps her* Dammit bitch, I told you. Time to show you how shit works down. *goes in for the raep*

BadBob was thinking about just watching it go down, but thought about the benefits of saving this hot piece of tail.

BadBob: *leaps into action* I'LL SAVE YOU, MARY JANE

Oyster: Nukka wut?! *is pounced on and bopped*

BadBob gave the Oyster a few right hands before dealing it a heavy left jab. The oyster got wasted like a drunk after a hard days night.

BadBob: *looks at the creature and winks* How you doin?

Creature: Oh my! How... Chivalrous.

BadBob: Well, ya know what they say-

Just then, the oyster shot back up into the air to wipe the floor with the sponge but was interruted by the cat-like reflexes of the squirrel, who pounced into the air and bopped the oyster back to Kingdom Cum. BadBob was impressed.

BadBob: *pops a boner* I gotta have ya in mah life. What's yo name?

Creature: Candy, Candy Lips.

BadBob: Sounds cherry.

Candy: Wanna go back to my Treedome for some coffee?

BadBob: Hot coffee, me hopes.

Candy: Aw, you done made my day, you craw dad, you.

Narrator: 23 minutes later.

Candy: Uh, you okay lil square dude?

BadBob: *dried up* Yeeeees, I'm okay!

Meanwhile, at the Goo Lagoon.

Scooter: Duuude, we found like, a possible lead!

Larry: Bring em here.

Scooter: Wanna, like, wax our woods again.

Larry: Dude! You really gotta ask?

Scooter: Ahallriiiight!

Meanwhile, at the Krusty Krab.

Krabs: I loves money! Money! Money Dis! Money! Money Dat! Lookie they make me wallet fat!

Unbeknownst to Krabs, his restaurant was being staked out by a Rip Thigh mob, armed with wax and surboarfs, rolling around in their station wagons.

Meanwhile, at the Cum Bucket.

Karen: Sheldon, dear! Looks like someone tool the"H" off the sign again.

Plankton: The young people nowadays have no self control. I'll have to get up there and fix it again.

Riptrack: *running away with the H* Haha!

Meanwhile, at Tentacle Acres.

Squilliam: *on the phone* Yes. Yes, old man Krabs. He should know exactly where BadBob and Riptrack are. Yeah, take care. *hangs up* Fucking beach bums took it like a junkie taking his next fix.

Squidward: Does this mean I can roll with you guys now?

Snobby Squids: Aha! Aha! Aha! Ahaa!

Squilliam: Thats absolutely preposterous!

They proceed to give Squidward some lickens.