Bob Bobbington III was born to Bob Bobbington II who was the son to Bob Bobbington I in 1876 in some old barn house in Canada.
He grew up on the Bobbington farm estate helping out with chores and shit, such as milking the cow and horse who were appropriately named Cow Bobbington I and Horse Bobbington I. When Bob Bobbington III turned 20.440 days old he decided it was time to make love to Horse Bobbington I and create horse-human hybrids, the attempt was successful and Bob Bobbington III is now farther to seventy-six children. There names are as follows: Horse Bobbington II, Horse Bobbington III, Horse Bobbington IV, Horse Bobbington V, Horse Bobbington VI... you get the picture. Unfortunately, Bob Bobbington III and his family ate most of them for dinner.
During his childhood, Bob Bobbington III was molested on the regular by his distant half-cousin Steve Steveington IV and this left Bob Bobbington III emotionally scarred for indeterminate periods, usually between six to three-hundred and fifty-nine hours at a time although there were exceptions. It was because of this emotional torment that Bob Bobbington III was attached to Horse Bobbington I.
Bob Bobbington III never did very well in school, that's because he was homeschooled by his great-grand uncle Jim Jimmington XIV who knew shit all about the mathematics and what-not.
Once Bob Bobbington III graduated from great-grand uncle Jim Jimmington XIV's school, he found a career suited perfectly for him, packed full of adventure, excitement and love; a postman. All these qualites were attributed to the fact that Bob Bobbington III got to replicate all actions done to him by Steve Steveington IV onto all the lovely men, women and children he met at the houses.
Bob Bobbington lived this life until 1939 when he was sent to war against some right-wing lunatics in a far off land, commonly known as Germany. It was at the battle of Juno Beach, during the D-Day invasions which were created out of thin air by Wizard-General Eisenhower (and only him, no other credit should be given to any of the other bois), that Bob Bobbington III was shot and killed by some prick before he even got off the boat. Luckily, his body was reclaimed and his remains were sent back to the old barn house somewhere in Canada and prepared for burial.
Fortunately, Bob Bobbington III had prayed to Muhammad on the day of the battle and some old glowing fucker came down and resurrected Bob Bobbington III. He awoke, confused and out of breath, but realising where he was and not wanting to experience several more years of torture, Bob Bobbington III ran as fast as he could to freedom.
The experience of running through the Canadian meadows, which were filled with fuck loads of mud, was absolutely disgusting but so liberating at the same time. So, Bob Bobbington III kept on running and running until he experienced a slight discomfort in the cranial region. Some fucking badger was clinging onto Bob Bobbington III's head with a mandible-like grip, shredding Bob Bobbington III's scalp to pieces. The blood was too much and caused Bob Bobbington III to stumble, his vision fading to black.
Bob Bobbington III awoke a few hours later, to the sound of some wooden cart wheels on a stone path. His vision still hazy, Bob Bobbington III could only just make out the words being spoken by the man next to him "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
Turns out Bob Bobbington III had just been on a massive fucking drug trip this entire time and was currently sat on the kerb, in Los Santos, fondling his nuts. He was unemployed as fuck and spent most of his time and money on his drug addiction and any old skank on the street corner. Either way Bob Bobbington III as you have known him for the duration of this story (his real name being Kev Spreadcheeks) was happy.
End
Here are a few photos from Kev's drug trip and of Kev himself:
