“Spobgbob, no!” I cried, as spongbob takes his hands off of my shaft and grabs a kitchen knife. “It must be done.” He replies, looking at the dead bodies of newborn children surrounding him. His bony spong fingers grasp around the handle of the knife as he hucks it through my chest, leaving physical and emotional scars. My vision of spongbob gets blurry. “For Cummy.” Those were his final words, as he hurls his spongey fat yellow head through the whirling blades of the cieling fan. spongbob has fucking died