Wronged, but not angry

Though it is nothing new, I would like to point out that I, Robert Robus, have been wronged again. Keep in mind, dear readers, both that, as an American cybercomedian (under the constitution of this great country), I have a right to free speech; and equally, that you, dear readers, are free either to read my column, or completely disregard it, as suits your fancy. All I have been doing is proclaiming my interest for a certain young woman (who still remains nameless in this column); more to the point, I have not issued threats to either her safety or well-being, and have also ceased to contact her directly. And yet she still accuses me of a crime. This would be despicable if she were a man. But since she isn't, I am not even angry with her. I want to seek her hand all the more.

Undoubtedly frightened by what she sees as weakness in me--the forces of death are always terrified of what they perceive as weakness--she wants to test me, and see if I can withstand a legal barrage of threatened consequences. And I can. She needs to test my strength to determine if I am strong enough to be a suitable candidate for a husband. That is perfectly understandable, even without recourse to the label "evil"--though technically, it is an evil act to falsely accuse someone of a crime. (But I will not prosecute.) You are so cute, my darling, when you falsely accuse me of crimes! It is so adorable!

You put up thick barriers: I've already mentioned this. After what you've now done, can anyone say I was wrong??

I am also right that you take an interest in me. Of course, any offer of either dating or marriage can be refused by you: no one is ever going to force you to date me, marry me, or even have further electronic contact with me. It is all up to you, m'lady. But don't you want me to penetrate your defenses? When I touch you, darling, you will also be allowed to touch me. It must always be a two-way street, and it would be completely alien to who I am to force you to do anything that is against your will. I will simply continue to tell the truth, and wait patiently for you to wake up to my charms--that is, if you haven't started to already!

With love

Robert Robus

Thoughts on my future bride

What's the good in trying to convince a young woman's family that I am a suitable husband, when the young woman herself shows no interest in me? To be sure, I, Robert Robus, am no stranger to criticizing the legitimacy of others' lack of desire for me (even if I ordinarily do so only in my mind); but I am much too sensible--and much too proud--to push myself on someone who gives every appearance of wanting nothing to do with me.

Nevertheless, I will certainly not give up just yet. Sometimes, dear readers, I happen to know people better than they know themselves; and to a man as clever as I, there is no mistaking the signs.

This young woman wants me; but she will have to be granted time to come to terms with this desire. And I will wait. She will have plenty of time to turn over the possibility in her mind, and uncover the depths of her yearning for the male sex (and me in particular)--the which has been denied by the oppressions and perversions of feminism. I am the only one who can unfreeze her heart; it only takes a little time. I've seen signs of the impending thaw already. She will belong to me--and I to her--if we are given time.

Robert Robus waxes homesick

I, Robert Robus, did not have the luxury of spending Thanksgiving at home this year. Although regrettable, this state of affairs couldn't be avoided: for I, Robert Robus, am fleeing a tyrant. (I can't seem to place exactly which of the many tyrants with whom I am acquainted I am fleeing; but it's surely one of them.) And I miss my girlfriend (who is not my girlfriend), and my family, greatly.

At this juncture, let it be known that I, Robert Robus, hold the act of suicide in low esteem--even if, at times, the difficulties of my life have made said act appear a rather pleasant possibility, in contrast to my harried and oftentimes stormy existence. But I cannot give in to the forces of death; for, even if my life seems treacherous now, who knows what can happen in the future, with a little wisdom, knowledge, love (hard to come by) and trust in God. But perhaps I grow quixotic.

Am I mad at life for treating me this way? I, Robert Robus, would be lying if I said no. And, though I at times lose faith in the God of my ancestors (and at times grow angry at Him, too), I cannot give in. I've seen too much, dear readers, not to believe; and, though the classic conflict between science and religion continues to torture my mind, I always seem to side with religion--admittedly reasonable-seeming anti-religious arguments to the contrary. I sometimes wonder if religion and science are mutually exclusive (especially given the high emphasis on science in Nazi Germany); but surely this is an oversimplification of a complex issue. (Plus, didn't Allied forces need a high level of technology to defeat the Axis powers?)

I'm left with a trust in God that stands against reason, with my mind as a helpful tool to aid me in promoting, in any way I can, what I know to be right. The scientists always seem somehow to be wrong about the ultimate nature of the world, and in their estimation of mankind; whereas those whose highest allegiance is to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob seem to reach conclusions that strike me as the only ones which are truly "reasonable."

It is a choice for me to trust in God; it's also brought me much strife. If I remained faithless, as I was through much of my youth, chances are I'd wish to perish rather than face the rest of my life.

I do not.

I miss my family of origin and my future wife, and wish to return home. Only the threat of tyrants and injustice keeps me in exile. For, were I confident that I, Robert Robus, would need face no charges (by, say, an assurance--in writing--from the governor of my home state that all charges have been dropped, and will never be revived), I, Robert Robus, would return home IMMEDIATELY.

Don't underestimate my determination to remain away, however--and to continue to fight, from a distance, the forces that threaten my livelihood--as long as the peril to myself and my livelihood remains in its current state.

With love
and great homesickness

Robert Robus

In which Robert Robus reveals his abhorrence of sofas

At this juncture, I must reveal that I, Robert Robus, abhor those soft amalgamations of fabric and frame commonly known as "sofas"-- unless, of course, I happen to be curled up on one with my girlfriend's arms around me, and have just consumed, with said girlfriend, a pizza procured from the local Gumby's. For I, Robert Robus, while being (needless to say) a highly civic-minded gentleman, at the same time also possess a curious proclivity for intimacy, with those few rare persons I happen to adore.

Now, of course, this girlfriend (of whose identity I am not necessarily, at this juncture, certain) would have to be someone tough, and indeed nigh unyieldingly stubborn: for I, Robert Robus, desire no shallow soul easily taken in by promises of victory, nor lured by the mere certainty of sweet kisses shared. No: for I, Robert Robus, am looking for far more than that in a lifelong mate--for surely, many challenges lie ahead, and I desire someone strong who is willing to face those challenges, with me--bearing sword--by her side. In fact, I, Robert Robus, have always been excited by imperious women--especially, I now find, when she be imperious of soul. And I, Robert Robus, wish to conquer the heart of an exceptionally strong woman: for that is the biggest challenge, and most worthy reward, of all in existence.

And so I inform the world that--under ordinary circumstances--I, Robert Robus, am implacably hostile to sofas. For they have been complained on for centuries; they have been the site of many injustices; and, frankly, the very sight of one bores me to death--unless, again, my pretty-eyed dame be there, perched over me in splendor as I sink to my knee before her, and says she will be my wife.

But perhaps I grow too sentimental. The world is a cold place, and I a young man with scarcely a penny to my name. What makes me think I could conquer an office-desk, let alone a woman and her mind? The course of a person's existence--we each get but one--is unpredictable, and we must grow neither complacent, nor unduly proud. For indeed pride, while certainly tempting for such men as I, in the end conquers less than loving patience. And--in thinking these matters through--I find that one further disclaimer is required: that, being of British descent, I, Robert Robus, would only wish to ply said patience on the soul of a British girl; for the British nation is the proudest, and most blessed, among all the nations of earth.

And so, on this fine evening, I bid my readers adieu. My advice--should the reader wish to take it to heart--is: Have a good holiday; treasure your parents' counsel and wisdom; and at least do me the favor of tucking me into the back of your mind for the night. Have a good meal, G-d bless you, and be safe, warm, and sensible.

Affectionately,
Robert Robus

P.S. Not too "sensible," sweetheart.

On my own brilliance as a comedian

Everyone says I am brilliant. How brilliant, you ask? Well, as I have said repeatedly throughout the annals of my stupendiferous blog, "The Musings of Robert Robus"--the very blog which you happen to be perusing at this instant--I am the greatest cybercomedian ever to walk the face of the earth. There has never been a cybercomedian like I, Robert Robus, and there will never be another cybercomedian as fine as I for the rest of the course of human history.

The casual observer may object that this is rather grandiose talk coming from someone such as I. After all, I have only been maintaining this magnificent blog for a year and a half, and have as yet attained a popularity which is but semisoaring at best. And yet I, Robert Robus, assure you that everything I have said with regard to yours truly is absolutely veracious, and will stand the test of weathered time, with a firmness that can only be said to be shared by Roman columns.

But what are the costs, one might ask, of being so assured as I, Robert Robus? Well, for one, when one is completely, utterly and unequivocally convinced of one's own greatness--and furthermore of the unstinting veracity of one's views--one cannot help notice that one's truthful pontifications scare away many a potential companion--most often for the reason that said potential companion, when his opinions conflict with those of I (and are therefore, ipso facto, completely and irredeemably false), there seems to ensue almost invariably an irreconcilable argument. (In fact, my good sir, that man you saw me defenestrate from my sixth-floor study not two hours past seems to have caused such a situation.)

But, no matter: I, Robert Robus, am a great man, with accurate opinions, a penchant for high-flown speech, and a spectacular comedic sweep. Thus, I count myself by far the best cybercomedian conceivable; and people who can't see the truth be damned!

In which MacFarlane and Robert Robus "engage in dialogue"

Robert Robus: It is I, Robert Robus; and I am here with my new friend, MacFarlane. It is the quotidian dyooty of MacFarlane to snag mutts.

MacFarlane: How do you do, good sirs and madams? I'm pleased to be participating in such a world-preeminent blog as that of Mr. Robus. And, while I do consider myself a dog-catcher, you can be assured that there's much more to yours truly than carting curs off to the pound.

Robert Robus: Like, for example, your decided root beer-quaffing proclivities.

MacFarlane: Yes, yes, good sir--yes. I also have other interests, though.

Robert Robus: Namely, you like to let aggressive curs exercise free rein quite plethorially.

MacFarlane: Why, yes, good fellow Robert. . .While I probably should not let my boss know about such proclivities, I will admit that I think it cruel to control dogs excessively. Even highly aggressive ones.

Robert Robus: Which do you think are superior--dogs or humans?

MacFarlane: I have no opinion on the matter. While, certainly, it is clear that humans have an astonishingly high capacity for destruction and cruelty, whereas meanwhile dogs are largely peaceable creatures who live in harmony with their environment (and do not try ceaselessly to manipulate it to their advantage, thereby destroying it beyond repair), I must say: No comment, Next question please.

Robert Robus: Fair enough, good sir MacFarlane. Now, how do you opine about oatmeal?

MacFarlane: I cogitate that, whatever its relation to other foods, it is clearly far superior to doughnuts.

Robert Robus: You are quite right, good sir. But hwy the immediate comparison to doughnuts?

MacFarlane: Why, whatever do you mean, sir?

Robert Robus: I mean, why didn't you compare the virtues of oatmeal to those of, say, kumquats? Or, for instance, roasted barley?

MacFarlane: The only person in the world to have ever ingested roasted barley, my dear Robus, is that horse inside of which hid Stephen Hawking.

Robert Robus: Why, you, good sir MacFarlane, are obviously a regular reader of The Musings of Robert Robus (the greatest blog in the world), I dare say!

MacFarlane (eyes darting around room): I have no idea what you are talking about. I have never perused any blog entitled The Fusings of Mobbert Sobus, or a blog of any other name. I do not know you, nor do I recall ever reading, on a computer screen or anywhere else, anything about a rascal named Tartar snarfing dentifrice. In fact, until that last comment you uttered, I was not even aware a single blog had existed. What is a "blog," Mr. Robus?

Robert Robus: Very funny, MacFarlane. Quite clearly you (my good sir) are a regular reader of my regularly scheduled pontifications. Congratulations.

MacFarlane: Again, Mr. Robus, I have no idea what exactly it is you are talking about.

Robert Robus: Never mind; all I care about, good friend MacFarlane, is that I catch you on my site often, almost constantly, and repeatedly. And it is on this point, dear readers, that I spiritedly bid you adieu for today. Keep your many letters of extreme and unbounded praise coming to my inbox; continue to let many people catch you reading my blog; and remember, individual Robusionados: you are each just one in a garagantuan, screaming worldwide fan-base to the pompous, bombastical, universally-touted rock-star cybercomedian commonly referred to by people such as I (in my quotidian vernacular) as "yours truly." And with that, I bid you farewell.

[NOTE FROM BLOG ADMINISTRATOR]
Yes, everybody--Robert Robus really is (cough) that popular. People the globe across may claim in public never to have heard of the gentleman; but they are (cough) prevaricating.

In which MacFarlane, catcher of dogs, is introduced by Robert Robus

Hello, dear readers; it is I, Robert Robus--and I have tidings. This pahst Friday, as I was out quaffing brews (of root beer, of course) at a local establishment of the type commonly referred to in our autochthonous vernacular as a "pub," I happen to have christened the acquaintance of one "MacFarlane," a quotidian Mr.-Rogers-hairstyled gentleman who, when he's not wearing a cardigan and lacing his shoes, is entrusted with the lofty tahsk of--when he sees mongrels and/or mutts roaming more freely through the streets than they ought--capturing said mongrels and/or mutts in his net and carting them off to the pound.

The only problem is, folks, that MacFarlane has a secret fondness for mongrels, mutts, and other curs, and rather enjoys watching them, um--to put it in diplomatical fashion--exercise free rein quite plethorially.

Now, let us meet this hero: for I have determined to sally forth this ahfternoon, and this on a course that is amply conterminous with that of said dogcatcher. Ahnd now I am jaunting in the lane in which it is often the dyooty of MacFarlane to snag and/or allay any mutts, mongrels, or curs which might come along to disturb the calm of said lane. Ahnd now I see a little white truck appear in the distance, stirring up a cloud of dust as it charts its course on the road toward I, Robert Robus, ahnd. . .Ah, yes, it's drawing nearer, ahnd MacFarlane, recognising yours truly, has applied the brakes and brought said vehicle to a standstill not thirty meters from I. Why hello there, good sir MacFarlane, and how do you do?

That is wonderful, my good man. I, too, am doing quite fine. . .What? What's that you say?. . .Oh, no, old chum, sore drinking arm notwithstanding: I cahn't complain, my good man--I most assuredly cannot complain! And you, good friend MacFarlane: how art thou doing, my good chum?

--What? What's that you say? A doberman pinscher scratched several layers of skin from your wrist when you tried to stop him from eating the wheels off a man's phaeton in town not an hour ago? My word, dear MacFarlane! So what did you do in moments subsequent?. . .You say you quickly fled the scene? Why, of course, my dear sir; who would not do precisely as you have done in similar circumstances, my old sport?

--What? You say dogcatchers are commonly held to be responsible of comporting themselves in rother a different manner in such circumstahnces, considering their role in society? Why, that is nonsense, my good man; who (in the name of Jove) told you that?. . .Oh, I see. . .the police officer who was forced to intervene when the pinscher--after consuming the wheels of the phaeton, of course--made a show of endeavouring to consume the man as well? Hum! And you say the officer employed his truncheon quite plethorially on said doberman? Why, what a pitiful example of brutality! I say he be amply indicted for this inhumane act. To what despicable acts of violence our canine companions are made subject by such vile men as he! Indeed, it is clear from this incident alone that dogs are far superior to humans.

At any rate, MacFarlane, I am glad to have made your acquaintance, and I look forward to watching you let many more of our canine friends mete out their peculiar brand of justice to many more of their human couterparts in months subsequent. Welcome aboard!