Dresden Files Bob Quotes

We have now left Reason and Sanity Junction. Next stop, Looneyville.

Harry," Bob drawled, his eye lights flickering smugly, "what you know about women, I could juggle.

I have nightmares about hell, where all I do is add up numbers and try to have conversations with people like you.

There was a sound like a human yawn, and then the skull turned slightly toward me and asked, "What's up, boss?" "Evil's afoot." "Well, sure," Bob said, "because it refuses to learn the metric system. Otherwise it'd be up to a meter by now.

So?" Bob said. "Hat up, go kill her. Problem solved." "Bob," I said. "You can't just go around killing people." "I know. That's why you should do it." "No, no. I can't go around killing people, either.

No rest for the wicked, Bob, and that means that we can't slack off either, or they'll outwork us.

I was seducing shepherdesses when you weren't a twinkle in your great-grandcestor's eyes. I think I know what I'm doing.

All right. Tell me what I'm looking at." From the improvised Rolling Stones T-shirt bag tied to my sash, Bob the Skull said, in his most caustic voice, "A giant pair of cartoon lips." I muttered a curse and fumbled with the shirt until one of the skull's glowing orange eye sockets was visible. A big goofy magic nerd!" Bob said.

My laboratory,' I said, experimentally, drawing out each syllable. 'Why is it that saying it like that always makes me want to follow it with 'mwoo-hah-hah-hahhhhh'? ' 'You were overexposed to Hammer Films as a child?' - Harry Dresden & Bob the Skull, Changes, Jim Butcher

Harry?" Bob asked. "Are your feet wet? And can you see the pyramids?" I blinked. "What?" "Earth to Dresden," Bob said. "You are standing knee-deep in de Nile.

Bob, would you be willing to take on Evil Bob?" Bob's eyes darted nervously. "I'd . . . prefer not to. I'd really, really prefer not to. You have no idea. That me was crazy. And buff. He worked out.

As in 'The Three Billy Goats Gruff'?" The skull howled with laughter. "You just got your ass handed to you by a nursery tale?" "I wouldn't say they handed me my ass," I said. Bob was nearly strangling on his laughter, and given that he had no lungs it seemed gratuitous somehow. "That's because you can't see yourself," he choked out. "Your nose is all swollen up and you've got two black eyes. You look like a raccoon. Holding a dislocated ass.

Epic sex?" I sputtered. "By what standards, precisely, is sex judged to be epic?" "And tons and tons of mortal simps like you used as pawns." Bob sighed happily, ignoring my question. "There are no words. It was like the Lord of the Rings and All My Children made a baby with the Macho Man Randy Savage and a Whac-A-Mole machine.

Well. We’ll just have to hope that this wasn’t a loup-garou, I guess.” “If it was a louper, you’d know,” Bob said wisely. “In the middle of this town, you’d have a dozen people dead every time the full moon came around. What’s going on?” “A dozen people are dying every time the full moon comes around.

Bob," I said over my shoulder. "Tell her it's me." "Can't," Bob said in a dreamy tone. "Boobs.

Here there be monster." Bob whispered, half hysterically. "Run! Run already!

Bob wasn't precisely a friend to me but... I was used to him. In a way he was family, the mouthy, annoying, irritable cousin who was always insulting you but who was definitely at Thanksgiving dinner. I had never considered the possibility that one day he might be something else.

Rip her dress off!” Bob shouted. Bob the Skull takes paperback romances very seriously. The next page turned so quickly that he tore the paper a little. Bob is even harder on books than I am. “That’s what I’m talking about!” Bob hollered, as more pages turned.

Dismembering monsters with a chain saw is one thing. People are another.” “Yeah. People are easier.” “Bob,” I growled. “They’re people.

Damn. Bob was kind of awesome.

I was sitting in my lab, my hand spread open on the table, while the skull examined my palm. I'd worn a mark there for years--an unblemished patch of skin amidst all the burn scars, in the perfect shape of the angelic sigil that was Lasciel's name. The mark was gone. In its place was just an irregular patch of unburned skin. "It looks like there's no mark there anymore," Bob said. I sighed. "Thank you, Bob," I said. "It's good to have a professional opinion." "Well, what did you expect?" Bob said. The skull swiveled around on the table and tilted up to look at my face. "Hmmmmm. And you say the entity isn't responding to you anymore?" "No. And she's always jumped every time I said frog." "Interesting," Bob said. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Well, from what you told me, this psychic attack the entity blocked for you was quite severe." I shivered, remembering. "Yeah." "And the process she used to accelerate your brain and shield you was traumatic as well." "Right. She said it could cause me brain damage." "Uh-huh," Bob said. "I think it did." "Huh?" "See what I mean?" Bob asked cheerfully. "You're thicker already." "Harry get hammer," I said. "Smash stupid talky skull.

That's so typical. You won't steal a baby, but you're too lazy to conjugate.

You're supposed to be a spirit of intellect. I don't understand why you're obsessed with sex." Bob's voice got defensive. "It's an academic interest, Harry." "Oh yeah? Well maybe I don't think it's fair to let your academia go peeping in other people's houses." "Wait a minute. My academia doesn't just peep -" I held up a hand. "Save it. I don't want to hear it." He grunted. "You're trivializing what getting out for a bit means to me, Harry. You're insulting my masculinity." "Bob," I said, "you're a skull . You don't have any masculinity to insult." "Oh yeah?" Bob challenged me. "Pot kettle black, Harry! Have you gotten a date yet? Huh? Most men have something better to do in the middle of the night than play with their chemistry sets.

Back to my apartment? The FBI is there just waiting to slap handcuffs on me." "Well then I guess you shouldn't have decided to become a terrorist, Harry!" "Hey, I never--" Bob raised his voice and shouted toward the centipedes, "I'm not with him!

You’ve never been a peasant in medieval France, Harry,” Bob said. “Life was hard for those people. Never enough food, shelter, medicine. If you could give yourself a fur coat and the ability to go out and hunt your own meat, you would have jumped at the chance, too.

Evil’s afoot.” “Well, sure,” Bob said, “because it refuses to learn the metric system. Otherwise it’d be up to a meter by now.

Wow,” Bob said, in a perfectly calm, matter-of-fact, conversational tone. “That is incredibly unfair.

Dead before the sun rises, I said. Stars, Bob, why don't you just go over the melodramatic edge and tell me that I'm going to be sleeping with the fishes?

She is not a cookie. Neither is she a biscuit, a PopTart, Sweet TART, apple tart, or any other kind of pastry. She is my apprentice.

Bob,” I asked. “What is all my stuff doing here?” “Oh,” Bob said. “That. Well. Bianca got the idea, somewhere, that your stuff might explode if anyone messed around with it.” I heard the wryness in my voice, though I didn’t feel it. “She did, did she.” “I can’t imagine how.” “I’m doubling your pay.

I'm getting my ass kicked by tiny faeries!" I shouted back, fumbling to start the car. "They've got my freaking number!" "Run away!" Bob giggled. "Run away! Tiny faeries!" growled in frustration and popped the Redcap's hat down over Bob. "Stop being a jerk. This is serious." Bob's voice was only barely muffled. It sounded like he couldn't breathe. "Serious! Tiny! Faeries! The m-m- mighty wizard Dresden!

Hat up, go kill her. Problem solved.” “Bob,” I said. “You can’t just go around killing people.” “I know. That’s why you should do it.” “No, no. I can’t go around killing people, either.” “Why not? You’ve done it before. And you’ve got a new gun and everything.

Harry,” Bob said. “Stars and skies, you’re all right!” He hesitated for a second, and then said, “And looking grim. Even dressed in boxers with yellow duckies on them.” I glanced down, and did my best to picture a vampire wearing boxers with yellow duckies. Or a wizard wearing yellow duckies, for that matter.

Bob,” I said, louder. “Are you saying it… it ate my magic?” Bob got a defensive look on his face. “Not all of it. I woke you up as quick as I could. Harry, don’t worry about it, you’ll heal. Sure, you might be down for a couple of months. Or, um, years. Well, decades, possibly, but that’s only a very outside chance—” I cut him off with a slash of my hand. “He ate part of my power,” I said. “Does that mean that the Nightmare is stronger?” “Well, naturally, Harry. You are what you eat.” “Dammit,” I snarled, pressing one hand against my forehead. “Okay, okay. We’ve really got to find this thing now.” I started pacing back and forth. “If it’s using my power, it makes me responsible for what it does with it.” Bob scoffed. “Harry, that’s irrational.” I shot him a look. “That doesn’t make it any less true,” I snapped. “Okay,” Bob said, meekly. “We have now left Reason and Sanity Junction. Next stop, Looneyville.

Mathematically, maybe,” I said. “But trust isn’t one of those things that lends itself well to math.” “Sure it does,” Bob said. “You trust somebody, they betray you, you get a negative value. You never trust, they can never disappoint you, you break even.

How bad is it?” “They drafted me,” I said. “That’s bad, all right,” Bob said cheerfully.

Andi's eyes widened. "Bob. . .is it really him?" "Yes, but he works for the bad guys now," Bob said. "It's probably safest to shoot him.

The Wardens put on their own epic production of Fahrenheit 451," Bob said. "They spent about twenty years finding and destroying copies.

If at first you don’t succeed,” Bob said cheerfully, “you probably needed a better plan to begin with.

Werewolf, werewolf.” “There wolf,” Bob replied solemnly, his voice seething with a hokey accent. “There castle.

So?” Bob said. “Hat up, go kill her. Problem solved.” “Bob,” I said. “You can’t just go around killing people.” “I know. That’s why you should do it.” “No, no. I can’t go around killing people, either.

It’s boring.” “Oh,” I said. I rubbed at my jaw. “You think I should have gone four-color?” Bob stared at me for a second and said, “I have nightmares about Hell, where all I do is add up numbers and try to have conversations with people like you.” I glowered up at the skull and nodded. “Okay, fine. You think it needs more drama.” “More anything. Drama would do. Or breasts.” I sighed and saw where that line of thought was going. “I am not going to hire a leggy secretary, Bob. Get over it.” “I didn’t say anything about legs. But as long as we’re on the subject . . .

He grunted. “You’re trivializing what getting out for a bit means to me, Harry. You’re insulting my masculinity.” “Bob,” I said, “you’re a skull. You don’t have any masculinity to insult.

After all, Bob himself was, essentially, a spiritual creature created from the energy of thought. The characters within a book were, from a certain point of view, identical on some fundamental level--there weren't any images of them, no physical tangibility whatsoever. They were pictures In the reader's head, constructs of imagination and ideas, given shape by the writer's work and skill and the reader's imagination. Parents, of a sort.

Right. Looks like Mavra and her scourge are in town. One of them came pretty close to punching my ticket tonight.” Bob’s eyelights flickered with interest. “Neat. So the usual drill? Wait for them to try again so you can backtrack the attackers to Mavra?” “Not this time. I’m going to find them first, kick down their door, and kill them all in their sleep.” “Wow. That’s an atypically vicious plan, Harry.” “Yeah. I liked it too.

Entirely confidential, check,” Bob said. “And it would take a lot more than one night working with you to build up enough momentum to spin off a whole new me. I have to actually learn things to make that happen.

I think that you’re dealing with a deity, or at least a demigod.” “Jesus,” I said. “No, this guy is Finnish, not Jewish,” Bob said seriously.

What’s up, boss?” “Evil’s afoot.” “Well, sure,” Bob said, “because it refuses to learn the metric system. Otherwise it’d be up to a meter by now.

Bob wasn’t precisely a friend to me but…I was used to him. In a way he was family, the mouthy, annoying, irritable cousin who was always insulting you but who was definitely at Thanksgiving dinner. I had never considered the possibility that one day he might be something else.

Bob,” I said. “We’re going to bind a Titan.” “Fuck that!” the skull sputtered. “I’m going to Utah!

This has to do with your feud with Mab?” “Not a feud,” Bob says. “In a feud, both sides fight. This is more like me screaming and running away before she rips me apart.

We’ll just have to hope that this wasn’t a loup-garou, I guess.” “If it was a louper, you’d know,” Bob said wisely. “In the middle of this town, you’d have a dozen people dead every time the full moon came around. What’s going on?” “A dozen people are dying every time the full moon comes around.

Bob stared at me for a second and said, ‘I have nightmares about Hell, where all I do is add up numbers and try to have conversations with people like you.

You know what, Harry, I don't think this is a garden at all!" "Genius.

Bob’s knowledge and skills had let me save lives. Mostly my own, maybe, but a lot of other lives, too.

Bob,” I said. “You can’t just go around killing people.” “I know. That’s why you should do it.” “No, no. I can’t go around killing people, either.” “Why not? You’ve done it before. And you’ve got a new gun and everything.

Harry" Bob muttered at me, "Stop trying to piss it off!

Bob somehow waggled his eyebrow ridges. “Hey, you never went out with Charybdis. What’s the plan?

Bob was a spirit being, a spirit of intellect from one of the more surreal corners of the Nevernever. He wasn’t evil as much as he was magnificently innocent of any kind of morality,