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.