A Clarification, by Rubinman

A guest post, by Rubinman….
OK. I wasn’t going to say anything, because I didn’t really think it was my bizniss, but here’s the thing: Amber tells lies. Yes, she does. I mean, she’s not actually some red haired “blogger” girl, like claims. She’s an old, fat, bald guy from Essex. In fact, her name isn’t even Amber: it’s Clive.

Most of the time, I just let Clive get on with it. I’m like, “Whatevs, dude, yoo just keep on wearin’ the shoos and the ginger wig if it makes yoos happy, and we’ll see how long yoos get away with it.” Like I says, not my bizniss. But then, sometimes Amber Clive goes and MAKES it my bizniss, by writing about me in her “blawg”, and when that happens, well, the Rubinman gets MAD. Yoos won’t like it when the Rubinman is MAD, trust me.

So, just to set the record straight: that ” ooh, Rubin was sooooo scared of Terry’s costume, he ran away and hid like a big scaredy cat !” post? Yeah, like THAT would happen. Seriously, NUTHING scares the Rubinman. NUTHING. And Terry doesn’t scare ANYWUN. I mean, dude’s creepy and all, but he’s no Michael Flately, if you know what I mean, and I think yoos do:

Oh, hai, I'm Michael Flately. Fear me.

When I ran and got onto Clive’s knee that day, I was totally protecting her. Because Clive is a wuss, you know? So I was just like, “Don’t worry, Clive, your trusty woolf is here to save the day!” And what thanks do I get? LIES. That’s whut I get.

Also, the whole “Rubin totally wore a blonde wig this one time” thing? Uh-uh. Let’s just say Photoshop is an amazing thing, OK? Actually, let’s not: let’s just say that was a totally different dog in them piktures. Because it was. In fact, it wasn’t a dog at all, it was a WOOLF. It was this woolf, aktually:

Oh, hai, I'm a woolf. I look just like Rubin, no?

It was in sheep’s clothing at the time. They totally do that sumtimes. I got it to sign a statement, though, saying it was the wun in the wig. Here it is:

“Hello, it’s a big scary woolf here. I’m writing this just to let yoos know it was me in the wig that time, not Rubin. Rubin is too tuff to wear a wig. We woolfs are all scared of him, we wear wigs to disguise ourselves. Also, Clive tells lies.

love,
A Woolf”

So, there yoos go, case closed. Don’t listen to Clive. Rubin is the only wun yoos can trust.

Smell yas,

RUBIN

Oh, Clive. Like you could ever catch the Rubinman…