Fobby, Fobby Night

It would appear that I, Edgy K. Bunny, get to start the narration of this evening's fobbery. This is somewhat appropriate in that I was kinda the first person here, assuming you don't count editorgirl (Tolkers would put a sic here, but I don't adhere to said conventions) or Melyngoch, who was being domestic in the kitchen, baking a cake in honor of the Marchioness's pending anniversary of her birth.

Anyway, moving right along, wrapping myself in my own narration because I think I'm lost in the discussion not understanding why exactly it is that Agnes is Death but not Death, since I was actually on time for a change, which means much earlier than many others, I joined editorgirl in watching So You Think You Can Dance, watching to see [hmm . . . apparently Melyngoch and editorgirl are going to be all sorts of sexy together tomorrow night . . . I'm lost] who would get booted this week. (Fortunately, it was Ivan and Natalie, who deserved to go, leaving the door wide open for Travis, who can actually dance, and Benji, who is limited in his dancing but can perform and thereby fool the average American audience, to battle for America's favorite dancer. May Heidi win.)

Umm . . . I'm really lost now.

Eventually fobbery started. The Marchioness got to begin it with an intermediate novel that is alphabetical in nature with a princess who has too many names that may prove difficult for the target audience.

Then we moved on to Melyngoch's opaque (her word) story with cultural references above my head and not enough speaker tags for me to keep up (but I'm slow that way). But I should just throw in a note that Mely is brilliant, even if I don't get it without an explanation.

Now we're on to editorgirl, which just demonstrates how slow I am when it comes to narration, which is why you should be fully understanding of the delay in the progress of the Foblog Novel. Poetry is cool.

Fobby and Tolkers are fighting now. And editorgirl is threatening arson. Such a violent evening. It's likely because Tolkers will be abandoning us within a week. Jerk.

Happy flower moments are grossly overrated. Whatever workshop suggested this to editorgirl must have issues.

Tolkers isn't quite so good at the jive talk. It leads to much amusement.

And how did you get mono?

Oops. I just confused Tolkers's "Good Riddance to You" song with the Marchioness's "Happy Birthday to You" song. How embarrassing.

Marriage = Death. Just so you know.

If trees are the answer, what is the question?

It is demoralizing for the great white eagle to be raped by robins and pigeons. (Don't ask, because from what we can tell, the moral of the story is to napalm the children.)

Last week, we solicited artists for the Fob. We would like to be more specific at this time and clarify that we would like a straight black guy. Apparently there is also an offer on the table to trade one gay guy for five straight guys, two of whom will be black.

Reviewing Fobby's novel's characters can be a bit confusing, especially when the conversation detours to He-Man and his hairy speedo.

Please join us in the mantra, "Fobby, nothing is happening. Fobby, nothing is happening." Thank you.

Fobby's writing produces a visceral reaction--toe jam . . . yum. And Tolkers's tongue retracts.

Fobby also writes such that he gets to sing to us.

Read Jane Austen in Boca. The Marchioness says so. Apparently it's Pride and Prejudice with seventy-year-old Jewish women.

Extranational Romanian adoption, anyone?

There is narfing going on, and Fobby and I are lost.

The Marchioness would like our straight black guy to also be tall and noncommittal.

Tolkers is thinking about Fobby's raspy oobs.

Please excuse the intermission wherein Edgy visits the necessary room. Editorgirl's necessary room is like walking into a whole new season.

Fobby gives editorgirl pity points. And we listen to cool covers of standards, namely "Over the Rainbow/Wonderful World," by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole as featured at the end of Finding Forrester.

Apparently I missed the eighth grade, because I'm not understanding why the first line of Tolkers's writing tonight is so funny.

And Tolkers doesn't know why his own characters have watches. We're not supposed to talk about that.

Have any of you ever heard delicate or refined snorting? If so, please send a description to the comments.

Tolkers's story left Fobby cold and unfeeling, sucked dry by a blackhole, as it were.

There is no such thing as too much fun, but there is such a thing as too much alliteration. Especially if it brings a country song to the Marchioness's head.

Discussion has ensued as to how to appropriately spell law archaically. Your options are: a) lawe b) lau c) lavve. Possibly more.

And now the fobbery is over. It's late, and Edgy must return to Salt Lake. Mely must acquire a ride home, preferably to her own. Fun and food was had by all.

Wish the Marchioness Happy Birthdays on Monday.

Oh, and I'm having a housewarming party a week from Saturday. Details will be forthcoming.

So that's all. Good night, and good luck.


As a note, you may be wondering why this entire post was written by me--Edgy--but it was posted under editorgirl's login. In theory, we were going to all contribute to the foblog as be normal; however, I just got going, and then Fobby noted that this is the most I've blogged in weeks (nearly two weeks, if not more, to be honest), so I just ended up narrating the entire evening. Be upset if you want, but I don't care. Neener neener neener.