I have some bad news… 

The Foob is missing.  I think he may have run away.  Like a little prosthetic hobo, with all his worldly possessions bound up in a bandana and hanging from a stick over his shoulder. 

Oh, Foob!  What have I done to make you want to leave?  Was it because I wouldn’t let you blog on your own, despite the fact that you have no hands with which to type?  Did I not do a good enough job removing all of the orange M&Ms from your dressing room candy dish?  Were your crown and scepter not adequately polished?  Perhaps your latte was too weak.  Or maybe you’re still harboring a grudge about being left home on Christmas Eve.  Sure I’ve got that new foob, but he doesn’t mean anything to me—I swear! 

Come back, Foob.  I promise things will be different this time.