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Frank and Bobby Escape By Camaro

I've lived next to the guy for five years now and let me tell you, it's been no picnic. You would think living next door to a genius would have some advantages. I don't know, maybe he could tell you how to find the loopholes in doing your taxes to get more money back each year, or how to make your vegetable garden grow basketball sized tomatoes or something. Maybe if I ever landed a spot on Millionaire, I could use him for the phone-a-friend question. Stuff like that.

Living next to Bobby Whitaker was anything but advantageous. He often woke me in the middle of the night, working on his inventions. As much as Bobby knew about things I couldn't even pronounce, you would think he'd take a little time to speed read a book or two on how to have common sense; maybe even a book on correct social behavior. Oh no, not Bobby. People like that were far too busy to be bothered by the smaller things, you know, the stuff most people like you and I have to deal with.

They are fun to mess with though. Every now and then old Bobby would get all excited about his latest gadget and catch me as I was just getting home. Man, I hated that. Bobby would talk over my head a thousand miles a minute and I often wished I could spontaneously combust during those instances. I did like watching him have mental meltdowns when I told him jokes that he couldn't figure out. One time I asked him, "Hey Bobby, what rhymes with orange?"

I swear, he's still thinking about that one.

Anyway, that no-so-smart genius did the one thing you don't ever do, he woke me up on Sunday morning. He came right over to my house and started banging away on my front door like there was no tomorrow. I was still trying to decide which method of torture I was going to use on that egghead, when he picked the lock on my front door and stormed on in.

I was still getting over my immediate shock when he started running at the mouth about trajectories and quantum whatchamacallits with fancy mathematical equations bursting from his mouth like a breach in the Hoover Dam.

My head was pounding from some bad mathematical equations involving a whiskey bottle and a shot glass just several hours earlier. As calmly as I could muster, I held up my hand and said, "Bobby, shut up!"

That was when I witnessed a miracle. Bobby's mouth was still. I said, "What the hell are you doing standing in my living room at five in the morning? Your answer better be a good one, Mr. Wizard, or I'm going to kick

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