Good-bye, mission control. Thanks for trying.

Good-bye, mission control. Thanks for trying.

"Howard show me the projections again." Bob chewed on his pipe. "There must be a way to get our astronaut back." (hmmm.) What about... STATIC ELECTRICITY? (it just might work.)

"You mean his dead dismembered body is scattered around in outer space?" Howard cried out. "Of course he's dead. Stop being so dramatic." Bob replied, using the balloon's static

to charge his communications unit. Unfortunately, the balloon popped and Bob was no longer able to exert his calming influence over the rest of the panicked astronauts.

The only influence he had left to exert was gravity, and that wasn't doing much, because nobody understood how heavily the situation was weighing on them. As Bob drifted out to spa

-ce, Margaret put on a pot of coffee and set the coordinates for a return to Earth. She would miss Bob, but frankly he was standing in the way of her dreams, which involved gravity

sticking around for her to raise their kids. Margaret knew gravity was a sore point with Bob but it was what it was. She needed to restart a life for herself. Bob was a distraction

And a distraction she could no longer afford. So Margaret made a plan, she would pack her bags and her kids and leave Bob without another thought. It was for the best

that that wrinkly old racist would die alone. Oh, and did Margaret mention, she took the batteries out of all his devices and hid all the tin openers, just to drive him extra crazy