Tunnel Bob has made a major impression on the UW campus by being one of the university’s most notorious tall tales. But apparently, thanks to a Badger Herald article going around, Tunnel Bob may be turning into something much more material after all! The Black Sheep brings you the real exclusive with Tunnel Bob, who we saw chilling in Union South one time, giving everyone prolonged eye contact. After a very short conversation, he agreed to meet with The Black Sheep and give us a tour of the steamy tunnels he enjoys strolling through.
On the way to the steamy tunnels, Tunnel Bob told us a bunch of crap about how women are destroying the world and how he’s just misunderstood and how ballin’ radishes are. Upon arrival to the tunnels, we had to wait for Tunnel Bob to sort through the letters in his mailbox (which was just a garbage bag stapled to the cement wall).
Among the letters was a legal-looking one from the CEO of Nickelodeon. Tunnel Bob was to be informed that he would be taken to court for “infringing the copyright of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles through the act of living underground a metropolitan area, saying ‘cowabunga,’ and befriending young news reporters.” Included in the letter was pictorial proof of Tunnel Bob’s legal follies from the best lawyers at Nickelodeon.
Exhibit A- Tunnel Bob
Exhibit B- Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle
“It might be a bit of a stretch,” the Nickelodeon lawyer’s continued in the letter, “but Nickelodeon didn’t become the billion-dollar company it is today by not suing 99 percenters. So you’ve been served.”
Tunnel Bob proceeded to crumple up the letter and stuff a slew of Red Card coupons that was among the letters in his pocket. When asked if his legal trouble worried him, he responded with a calmly delivered “no,” stating how they’ve been after him for years.
“My old mentor, Tunnel Bill, used to take care of all that court mumbo jumbo. But since he moved to the Big Apple to find success within a more urban steam tunnel system, I’ve been left to pick up the pieces. That happened sometime in the late ‘80s. That’s when I got lonely and started inviting the local youths to play hide and seek down here. You’d be surprised how few people have taken me up on that offer,” said a sad, lonely Bobby.
After some sentimental, humanizing chitchat with Tunnel Bob (that we won’t even bother boring you with here), we started the tour. Tunnel Bob showed us the steam room—his name for the steam tunnels that he uses, to add a bit of humor to the tour—underneath the robot uniboob bomb shelter on State St, and even below the capitol itself.
Pointing to a vent above, Tunnel Bob mentioned, “That vent leads to Scotty’s office. You know, the Governor? Sometimes I crawl up through it and have long, intimate conversations with ol’ Scotty boy. Did you know he’s not a monster? He’s just misunderstood.”
The tour came to completion underneath Camp Randall, where above us hung two, giant, concrete balls made up of rocky footballs. When asked what these were, Tunnel Bob explained, “Those are the testicles. For the Football Phallus. You didn’t think it just looked like a penis accidently did you?”
Tunnel Bob gave The Black Sheep with a nifty gift bag, a ritual Tunnel Bob always does upon completion of the steamy tunnel tours. It even included one of these! “I know how much you millennials love semi-old things,” Tunnel Bob said, referencing the neat-o, old-school flashlight.
And with that, we left the company of Tunnel Bob. Is he weird? Is he creepy? Is he a crazy hermit that runs around in extremely hot steam tunnels? Is trying to play the occasional game of hide and seek with the local youths the weirdest thing he does? Maybe. Or maybe he’s just a misunderstood man that wants to share his kooky hobby with a young chap so he’ll have someone to pass the torch to. In the same way that Tunnel Bill taught him.
In the end, isn’t he the most human of us all? Except for his whole “able to withstand 120 degree steam tunnels with even hotter steam emitting from the walls constantly” thing. That’s not human, like, at all.Top of Form