Certain injustices are not meant to be suffered by the human race. For nearly three and a half decades, auto sales king Bob Rohrman has weaseled his way into our homes using our television airways. His car-dealing machine has swallowed cities ranging from Chicago to Fort Wayne.

  Bob has a slat pepper mustache that partially covers a smile, and I assume that if it was ever seen, would turn people into stone. My vendetta against Bob is not anything that he has ever done to me personally – in fact, he was very kind to my father the one time they ended up in the same dealership together. I base my entire hatred of that my purely by the fact that I believe he has a secret agenda to screw over every single one of his customers.

I know this is his plan because I can feel it every time I see his face pop up on my TV screen: the mixed feeling of anxiety and embarrassment I’d assume you’d get right before a colonoscopy.

Some companies have a slogan or a little jingle at the end of their commercials to increase product recall. I don’t mind that, I can handle the simple Meow Mix jingle while walking into class. But Bob Rohrman’s is a horse of a different color. A loud, violent, red-eyed horse of a terribly different color.

My introduction to Bob Rohrman started out innocently enough. I would be sitting in front of the TV coloring Powerpuff Girls or Dexter’s Laboratory in my Cartoon Network coloring book when one of his commercials would come on. Bob would flap his jowls about whatever new car they were selling, and if he was feeling particularly delightful, he would throw a quick bit of propaganda about customer satisfaction. The commercial would start coming to an end, and that was where I start to have a problem.

Bob is replaced by a blank screen with the Chicago skyline in the background. Then, an animation of a lion riding one of Bob’s cars comes into screen. At first I think, oh neat, a lion. I like lions; they are the kings of the jungle. But this thought is interrupted by the sound of this cowardly lion screaming “There’s only one, Bob ROOOOORHRMAN” which can only be described as a deafening roar of pain.

When I hear the stupid pun the first thing that comes to mind is to take the pencil that I used to color one of the Powerpuff Girls, and use it to rupture my eardrums. Realizing that it isn’t the brightest of ideas, I instead, try to erase that commercial from memory; as a form of self preservation.

Bob wanted to run his commercials during every show that I would watch as a child. He would be there at four o’clock during Ben Ten Alien Force, he was on at seven during Hannah Montana, and I would be out of luck if he wasn’t there on Saturday mornings during Scooby-doo. As I got older, and moved away from cartoons onto shows with a bigger adult demographic, Bob was there too. And in greater numbers

A few years back, someone on Bob’s team decided to switch things up to “entice” his audience. His commercials would have a similar start, him standing in front of his cars. Bob then would proceed to open his beak and squawk about one car or another, but then, when I think he reached the bottom of his grab-bag of bogusness, he pulled out the punchline “You owe it to yourself”. Insinuating that his cars would be a treat, and since you worked so hard you deserve to treat yourself to one of his cars.

This idea only furthers the American epidemic of greed. Bob Rohrman doesn’t care about how hard you work, all he cares about is taking the check from your hands and stuffing it in his fat little pockets.

For those who don’t know Bob or haven’t seen any of his commercials, don’t think you’re safe. Bob’s ben-the-customer-over and screw-you philosophy will lead him into your neighborhood soon. He might even buy the house next to yours, and he’s the type that doesn’t trim his hedges.