It's quite eerie actually, it's almost like the ghost of Bob's work and legacy as a father and provider. It is now being sold, the shards of his once tidy suburban dream, sold by his layabout tranny son, arguably the opposite of the homophobic, working man that Bob was. I'm sure he's weeping quietly, wherever he is now. All his work, all is love and hard earned money that was so tenderly showered upon young Christopher and his wife, was all pointless in the end. He died knowing his son was a failure. Perhaps he languishes in the void now knowing that it will only get worse. I heard that Bob liked to take care for the garden, perhaps he and young Chrissy enjoyed the crisp chill of lemonade after a hard day of outdoor work, perhaps they rode around on the very same tractor that has been dragged out of whatever decaying recess of the Branchland Court jungle it was left to rot in, perhaps Bob looked into Christopher's eyes with the same hope his own father shown for him, as they idled the summer's day away on the back of a red tractor. Maybe there was a time when the rusted shell of this lawnmower meant more than just money for plastic transformers toys, but I doubt Barb or Chris would remember that.