Author’s Note: Sexual assault isn’t funny. And if Bob Rodgers were to ever “Bob Rodgers” the wrong person, he could conceivably get in sexual assault-ish legal trouble for doing so. I’m not a lawyer. But my friend is. And he just happened to be there the night Bob Rodgers “Bob Rodgersed” my pregnant wife, an event that forever changed our vocabulary, the types of photos we text or email one another, and turned a random guy’s name into a verb and a noun. The names in this post have been changed to protect the innocent. And the guilty.
I spent my high school years living on a quaint little street at the bottom of a steep hill with a cul-de-sac on both ends.
It was quiet other than the occasional train roaring by on some nearby tracks. My parents (my mom and stepdad) were conservative and fairly strict. Nothing wild EVER happened at that house.
So, when my wife and I rolled up to my old house where my stepdad lived alone less than a year after my mom left and filed for divorce, and about 10 years after I’d moved out, I almost shit myself.
Hip-hop music was BLARING from the garage via professional DJ equipment.
People were everywhere, laughing and having a good time.
Are we back in college?
This was a bona fide keg party my stepdad (who I met on my 5th birthday) was throwing while trying to reclaim his life after the divorce.
Before long, I was drinking shots with friends and neighbors and relatives standing around the kitchen table where we prayed before every meal and where I’d never before drank alcohol.
I was bumming cigarettes to my uncle’s girlfriend who was trying to hide it from him.
I was laughing it up with friends and family all of who shared my awe of the surreal scene: What planet are we on right now? Can you believe this is happening here?
It was the second-most surreal and awesome thing that would happen that night.
One of the neighbors is a guy named Bob Rodgers. A guy in between my age and my parents’ age.
He was always nice to me.
“Hey Bob! Good to see you, sir! Want to drink a shot with us?”
Damn right, he did.
All night, we were filling up plastic cups from the kegs, and drinking occasional shots from my stepdad’s neglected liquor cabinet. This was a man that drank ONE light beer, once a month with dinner. Maybe.
It was a great party.
My lawyer friend isn’t just my lawyer friend. He’s my childhood best friend who happens to be an attorney also.
He and I were standing in the backyard admiring the sights and sounds of the summer-night party when my pregnant wife walked up to us.
“So, I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but who’s that guy over there?” she said.
“That’s Bob Rodgers. He lives right over there. Why?” I said.
“He just totally put his hands down my pants,” she said.
I didn’t love when guys did that, but I was drinking a lot and am harder to upset under such conditions.
“What do you mean? Like the front? Like, he tried to touch you down there?”
“No. In the back. Between my jeans and underwear,” she said while sort of demonstrating how it went down.
My friend and I looked at each other, half-disturbed, half-amused. My top priority was making sure my wife wasn’t upset. She wasn’t, and we all started to lighten up.
“Wait. On top of your underwear? Like, he went for your ass, but checked himself before going full skin?”
“He used both hands? God, his wife is standing right there! I wonder if she saw that. How far down did he go?” I said.
She showed us again. About down to where your thumb connects to your hand.
Maybe it was all the drinking. But things were getting funnier.
My uncle’s girlfriend came over to bum another covert cigarette.
I excused myself from the Bob Rodgers conversation and went to smoke with her. She leaned in close to my ear. “Do you know that guy over there?”
“Hell yeah, I do. That’s Bob Rodgers. He just stuck his hands down my wife’s pants!”
“No way!” she said. “That’s what I was going to tell you!”
“You saw him do it!? I totally missed it.”
“No, he did it to me too! Just now when I was over there. He pulled me in for a hug and put his hands down the back of my pants!” she said.
“This guy is unbelievable!” I said. “Important question that I’m sorry for asking: Did he put them between your pants and your underwear? I mean, did he stay above your underwear?”
“Yes. Exactly,” she said.
“Holy shit. Bob Rodgers is Bob Rodgersing everybody!”
I drug my uncle’s girlfriend over to where my wife and friends were standing. By now, more of them had been brought up to speed on the Bob Rodgers incident.
“Guys! Lisa got Bob Rodgersed, too!” I said, probably too excitedly.
Lisa and my wife compared notes and it became official: Getting “Bob Rodgersed” was now a Thing, and it had just happened to both of them.
We spent the rest of the night sharing the story with people and inventing new ways to Bob Rodgers someone. My lawyer friend’s wife’s cousin (seriously) lived down the street and she already knew about Bob Rodgers and his inappropriate groping.
This was apparently what he did all the time. He’d get super-wasted at bars or parties, then would Bob Rodgers (the verb) every woman he could. Then he’d pass out and have to be carried home.
The rumor was his wife knew about Bob Rodgers’ nasty habit of Bob Rodgersing everyone.
My stepdad was pissed when he found out my wife and at least one other borderline family member was groped by his drunk neighbor during his party. We assured him all was well, but that it might be wise to keep an eye out for this sort of thing in the future.
(I have a young sister. When she was still in high school, Bob Rodgers would make very Bob Rodgersy comments to her. He’s probably a ticking time bomb.)
How to Bob Rodgers Someone
As I do not, and will never, condone uninvited touching of other people, especially in areas covered by underwear, I want to clearly state in no uncertain terms that you should only be Bob Rodgersing people who you are allowed to Bob Rodgers (the verb).
That said, here are some basic Bob Rodgersing techniques you can use at home. (I apologize for the lack of illustrations with directional arrows.)
The Original Bob Rodgers
In a classic front-facing hugging position, stick both hands down the back of his/her pants, inside the pants, but outside the underwear.
The Reverse Bob Rodgers
Basically, this is your classic courtesy reach-around while standing behind him/her, except you must leave your hands atop his/her underwear.
The Double Bob Rodgers
Best accomplished from the side, the Double requires you to put one hand down the front and the other down the back (on top of the underwear!) simultaneously.
The Bent-Over One-Handed Bob Rodgers
A common maneuver in Turkish oil wrestling, when he/she is on hands and knees, you put one hand down the back of the pants. Counting to 10 is optional.
The Double Reverse with a Twist Bob Rodgers
This is tricky shit, and is virtually impossible to pull off when belts or tight-fitting pants are involved. In a front-facing position (like the Original), you slide BOTH hands down the front of his or her pants (above the underwear), but then giving a little twisting finger motion at the end to let them know you mean business.
These are your entry-level, super-basic Bob Rodgersing techniques to get you started.
There are no limits, so please let your imagination run wild.
If you have Bob Rodgersing tips, stories, or new entries to the How to Bob Rodgers Someone Library, I hope you’ll share them in the comments.
From the Bob Rodgers Training Facility, over and out.
Another Author’s Note: There are more than likely MANY guys named Bob Rodgers out there. I want to reiterate that Bob Rodgers is a totally made-up name and is NOT the actual name of the guy doing all the Bob Rodgersing in this story. If your name is Bob Rodgers or you know one and like him, I’m really sorry.