kalpurna

Guess what I've been doing with my evening! If you guessed "Stats homework," you guessed incorrectly, my friend. Oh, no. Instead, I've been reveling in the AMAZINGNESS that is Bob motherfucking Bryar.

Me: I love how awful Bob is at interacting with cameras
Me: I *love it*
shoemaster: he turns AWAY
Me: at 2:49 on the second part of that interview you just linked me to, the camera swings back, and Bob is kind of smirking and nodding at someone outside the camera's range
Me: and like, that is SO BOB
Me: he doesn't REALLY understand being in front of a camera, performing that way
shoemaster: *nod* comparing Gerard who's SO GOOD at interviews and BOB
shoemaster: oh BOB
Me: he's always part of a full, three-dimensional world, and he doesn't get how to ignore the people who aren't on camera, AND I LOVE IT
Me: I LOVE HIM.
shoemaster: <333
Me: and his smirk is kind of shy, because he's on camera
Me: BOB OF MY HEART.
Me: I'M ON FIRE FOR BOB BRYAR.

Also, in the first section of that same interview, there is a part where they are talking about babies, and Gerard says he's never really thought much about having kids (BECAUSE HE'S GAY), and Bob says he thinks everyone in the band will end up with children. Awwww! I approve so much, Bob! Thanks for doing your part for kidfic! And he gives Gerard this adorkably manly shoulder-patting thank you for giving him the opportunity to join the band. Oh my God. Bob Bryar. Why are you so great? Don't you ever get bored with being amazing?

Evidence would suggest you do not! Let's explore the facts, shall we?



Bob is a hotass.



He plays the drums.



Which, as we know, is totally fucking hot.



Sometimes, he wears his sunglasses at night.



Because the sun never sets...



on being badass.



Work those stunna shades, baby.



He somehow manages to be a P.I.M.P.,



and a total fucking dork, both at the same time.



It is beyond me.



See? Argyle sweater vest –



and yet, stone cold fox.



Jesus Christ, Bob, turn that down before you hurt somebody.



Gerard will try and protect us from the incandescent rays of Bob's hotness.



There, that's a little better. Half his face is obscured, I can breathe.



Meanwhile, let's watch the Bob and Frankie Comedy Hour.



I'll be honest with you: if this were a TV show, I would watch it eight times a day. Frank is a little bitch!



But don't worry: Bob doesn't take shit from anybody.



Which can get exhausting.



But Bob's a trooper.



I mean, seriously a trooper; he's got an icepack in his mouth here so that the staph infection he has after getting his leg burned while making the Famous Last Words video doesn't travel to his brain and kill him. Oh, Bob.



OH MY GOD, BOB. Thanks, shoemaster, for sending me half of those pictures, and melting my freaking BRAIN. Anyway, BOB BRYAR, you guys. More people should write fic where he gets spectacularly laid y/y?