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It's very possible that Moviebob's fat because he genuinely believed that we'd have cyborgs by now that he could download his brain into (which he would be given first access to because his movie review show makes him a member of the intellectual elite), so why not enjoy the pleasures of eating that second entire wedding cake when his body will be replaced by immortal steel later?
Then, when that impossible future inevitably didn't happen he blames the republicans for "holding science back".
This almost seems like a joke, but he's too sincerely angry about it.
No, it's not a joke, this is definitely his honest position, as can be evidenced by this tweet:
We can always count on intellectually stimulating conversations with Chu-chu:
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Bob is
deathly afraid of his eventual demise, pun intended. He simply cannot fathom a world without him in it, continually amazing the masses with his impeccable wit and brilliant insights into the latest pop culture ephemera. He wants to continue to exist solely so he can say he does, especially as a sort of "fuck you" to everyone he hates, hoping that he outlasts them all.
This next part is not meant to be a knock on those here who are atheists; I'm Christian myself, but I respect others' beliefs or lack thereof (my best friend is an atheist, though thankfully not the fedora-tipping kind). But one thing that most belief systems have that atheism does not is the assurance of an afterlife, a belief that this world isn't the true end and that there is more to come after we shuffle off this mortal coil. I doubt Bob is all that uncommon among atheists who dread the thought that one day their bodies will stop working, their minds will shut down, and that'll be the end of their stories. I see a lot of overlap with transhumanists as well.
Bob is 41 years old today, squarely in middle age. Given his health issues and general financial situation, I would not expect him to live a long life; even if he somehow makes it to the average age of American males of 79 years, that still means he's burned through over half his life already. Every day serves up constant reminders of how he's nowhere near as fit as he used to be, and he never was all that much to begin with. A pain he didn't have before, more of his hair falling out, not being able to eat and drink like he used to without consequence: he's getting old, and he knows it, and it
hurts him.
He's long passed the point where he could have made some better life choices to increase his lifespan. If he'd put down the fork more often in his youth, quit drinking until he passed out in Chinatown, and got some exercise, he'd be in a much better position now and could have lived a long, healthy life. Instead, he ate and drank and ate and drank, comforting himself with the belief that he'd be uploading his consciousness to an immortal robot body within years and wouldn't have to worry about pesky things like personal responsibility and good health habits. And even now that it's clear that that was a pipe dream at best, he
still deludes himself into thinking that he'd have his immortality if not for [insert random object of hatred here].
If this is Bob in his 40s, imagine how unhinged he'll be in his 50s. If he makes it that long.
Fitting that I write about this today as it's Bob's birthday. One year older, one year closer to the grave that awaits us all. Happy birthday, fatass.
