This chapter is dedicated to my friend Jude, who is a pretzel, and thought that Riff Raff was a dog and Mark Cohen was the dude that played Roger. I do not own Roger or Mark, Elsie, Caroline, La Vie Boheme, Bob, the name Riff Raff, the copy of Seventeen magazine, or the two Italian men. I do own myself, the ketchup bottle, and co-own Food Town.

Chapter Two

The Death of Bob

It was a day like any other day. At the restaurant, I was cleaning up a table which had had a tragic accident involving peanut butter, a copy of Seventeen magazine (August issue of 1998) and two Italian men. Just then, a little dog entered. His name, we have learned, was Riff Raff.

'Hey,' I greeted him.

'Hey,' he responded.

'I see you're a dog,' I said conversationally.

He looked at himself in a mirror that just happened to be beside him. 'So I am,' he said. 'So, um, anyway, I came here to tell you that Bob died.'

I stared at him. '…'

'…'

'…'

'…'

'Bob's… DEAD! How could this happen? What did we do to deserve this? Why am I only informed now? MY LIFE HAS NO PURPOSE!' And with that, I stabbed myself with a ketchup bottle, falling to the ground.

Riff Raff poked me. 'You okay?' he inquired.

'No, I'm dead!'

He walked out. A minute later, Roger walked in. He looked around. 'Um… hello?' he called.

I attempted to attracted attention to myself by clearing my throat loudly. 'We're closed,' I informed him. 'On account of me being dead.'

'I see,' he nodded sagely. 'You going to have a funeral?'

'Sure, why not? Will you conduct it? I asked him.

'Sure,' he answered. Then he began to sing. 'Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes. Here she lies! No one-'

'Hold it!' I sat up, interrupting him. 'You cannot sing that song, because Mark sings that song. I know my La Vie Boheme, mein herr!'

He shifted his eyes. 'How do you know I'm not Mark?

'Because you're Roger,' I answered.

'How do you know I'm not…' he paused. 'Roger being played by Mark.'

I sighed. 'Because Adam Pascal plays Roger.'

'I think you're making way too much sense for someone who just stabbed herself with a ketchup bottle?'

'How do you know I'm not the ketchup bottle?' I asked him.

Roger/Mark regarded me. 'You're not a ketchup bottle,' he responded flatly. 'You're just in denial because Bob died.'

My eyes swelled up with tears at the mere mention of his name. Beloved Bob, precious Bob! What I wouldn't give to bring him back! With that last thought, I took a mustard bottle and plunged it into my chest. Roger sighed and walked out of Food Town, leaving me on the floor.

The funny thing was, I had no idea who Bob was.