Thursday, July 7

In Which Dr. Rob Wibbles his last

Dr Rob saves the fluffy bunnies Posted by Picasa

……’and Dr. Rob ran again and again into the burning building saving baby animals, kittens and fluffy bunnies by the armful’.

‘He disregarded the imploring requests not to do it by the rough tough firemen who were too scared, shrugging off their well meaning hands that grasped at him and once more diving into the inferno’.

‘Suddenly with a huge roar the 96 story building collapsed upon itself in a whoosh of sparks and squeaks. The crowd held its breath, they knew of Dr. Robs special powers and his remarkable ability to bounce back from any disaster’.

‘But they held their breath until they were purple in the face and hundreds of them lay gasping on the floor like beached fish’.

‘Dr. Rob didn’t come out….’

The Narrator looked up from the leather bound book he was reading from; tears were coursing from his eyes. The circle of children in front of him were crying and wailing too. They were all crying harder than Winnona Hackenridge (aged 13 ¾) had cried when she had won the world crying championships in Hayridge, Arkinsas by crying for 1 year, 6 months, 2 weeks, 3 days, 16 hours and 25 minutes before inadvertently stopping to watch Brad Pitt saunter past which caused puberty to suddenly kick in. She got her, tits, periods and attitude in the course of the 15 seconds it took for Brad to meander past! And like of course like crying just wasn’t like cool when maybe Brad would like look at you and like want to like marry you! Duh!

The Narrator, who looked a bit like BB, only more handsome and in a purple quilted smoking jacket and matching cravat, continued reading.

‘After the building had cooled down and nothing was found of Dr. Rob, except for a strangely shaped stainless steel bucket, and a long pulsating shaft of some sort of strange fleshy toned alloy which was immediately confiscated by the Head Scientist at Laboratoire Ann Summers Research inc, a huge shout went up from the public mouthpiece’.

‘What we fecking need is a fecking memorial to fecking Dr. Rob for his selfless devotion to the wibble’ yelled Bob Gandalf almost none stop until eventually all the stocks of ear plugs had sold out at Boots and Super Drug and people had to listen, even Tony Blair said the narrator in an awestruck voice, because Tony never ever ever listened.

The children sat open mouthed at the narrator’s feet in awe at hearing ‘fecking’ for the first time and three times at that, they had been sheltered in their young lives.

‘Eventually Nelsons column was knocked down and one twice as big was built to honour the great man’.

It had to be that big, explained the narrator to the rapt kids, so they could write all the stuff he had done in his short but wonderful life.

‘Tell us again what he did’ said one of the charming and beautiful kids.

‘Well by the time he was 4 he had been the first child in space, at 6 he had written 20 symphonies all better than Mozart, Beethoven and MnM put together’ said the Narrator.

‘At 8 he had written a ring tone more irritating than the Crazy Frog and at 10 had found a fungus in his underpants which had cured all the known diseases in the world except for Gingeritis’. The children gasped.

Of course as a grown up he had been give 20 Doctorates simultaneously by the most prodigious Universities around the world for his thesis which unlocked that most ancient of mysteries, but that’s still a secret so I can’t tell you – yet. The narrator paused.

‘But his greatest secret is this….’ he looked almost kindly at the children who were his charges:

Mean Mike who would grow up to be a great commentator

Vit, constantly covered in charcoal dust and always in trouble for scrawling on the wallpaper, but who smelled, ever so slightly of sardines.

Miss Mish, almost anally forever checking her attire, the narrator mentally ticked off the need to get her checked for constant repetitive syndrome later when the psychiatrist visited again

The Girl, sitting there with that faraway look in her eyes and her hands, as ever, shoved down her knickers.

JonnyB, the funny one who seemed to have come from a parallel universe, perhaps he did

NML who constantly ran her fingers through her hair and wanted to be a pole dancer when she grew up, but wasn’t that good at learning Polish.

Zoe, who would one day be the President of Belgium and in one fell swoop would ban the world production of sprouts.

The other Alan, trying to be grown up, was sat there painting on a beard with a burnt bit of cork and practising tying a bowline with his left hand

Clair, the practical one, was thanking her lucky stars that she hadn’t been named Tracy and was sharpening her bow saw, for later on in the day, when she was allowed back into the shed after the last debacle.

‘Children, he said softly, its time for you to know…’

‘Dr Rob was your Father…..’

He softly closed the book. His work was done……The children hugged each other in glee or wet their pants at the very thought (the other Alan)

High above Trafalgar Square, if one could look closely that high up, one would see the stainless steel fingers of the statue of Dr. Rob twitch slightly, as if playing softly over a keyboard and if one could decipher the message it would be this –

Bloggers Unite you have nothing to lose but your Bandwidth’

Role Credits…….

Pink. Nominated for the best commentator and for being there from the beginning

Lost for consistently not voting for me

Mean Mike for giving me another chance when all was lost, but not the lost just mentioned above

Vit for being a hot pencil slinger even though she’s from North Devon, I’ll miss you Monkey Girl. – have a sardine on me!

All those that didn’t vote for me, you people of taste, culture, insight, who would all have beautiful babies should you get it on together, who recognise good wibble when you read it

To those who did vote for me YAH BOO WIBBLE!

Muisc : The Outer Mongolian Nose Flute Orchestra Ulan Bator.

Original Ideaerator: Dr Rob.

All characters in the work of Dr. Rob are totally fictitious and no animals, not even a dodo or aardvark were harmed during the writing of the blog. But I’ll probably be slashing my arms with a razor blade for the next week now I’ve been voted out the house.

Happy Now?

The real end


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