The Adventures of Bob

Aquarius
While practicing Tai Chi exercises, you will accidentally kick your senile uncle into the reflecting pool. But it’s ok. He won’t remember a thing.

Aries
To you, everything is like a woman.  A car is like a woman, a song is like a woman, good meatloaf is like a woman, even you, to you, are like a woman.

Cancer
A mongrel in a bright yellow mackintosh resembling Kathy Lee Gifford will inspire you today. You will want to get back on medication after this.

Capricorn
Angry villagers wielding torches and pitchforks will pay you a visit today; but that’s nothing new to you. You’re used to this sort of thing.

Gemini
Today’s headline: “Politician Caught Wearing Women’s Clothing.” Of course, when you turn to page two, you’ll learn it’s Margaret Thatcher.

Leo
Chuck Norris holds the key to your existence, today. Find him and learn the meaning of the universe.

Libra
Here’s a hot tip from the stars: if it’s warm and yellow, slightly salty and if it tingles down your throat, it isn’t apple juice.

Pisces
Flopsy, your rubber rabbit, will disagree with you about a lot of things. You are appalling, you see, and Flopsy knows it.

Sagittarius
Mars is raising his eyebrows at you alternately, the left then the right then back again in a sort of hairy tango we are only too mortified to describe.

Scorpio
A partly-decomposed body will wash up in the bay. This is good news. Bodies don’t rise till the weather gets warmer. Hello, sunshine!

Taurus
It is highly likely that your mom was an ape who mated with an onion. Indeed, your being half-ape and half-onion is proof that anything’s possible.

Virgo
Like the true virgin that you are, you have a tendency to press wild flowers, to skip and dance and to dress up in women’s clothing. Perhaps you should move to British Columbia.

God gives the nuts, but he does not crack them; that is why you are still intact to this day, and that is why squirrels chase you relentlessly.

“All my concerts had no sounds in them; they were completely silent. People had to make up their own music in their minds!”
-Yoko Ono

Hmmm… she disturbs me; but maybe it’s true.

Hey, look, I’m making my own music right now.

.  .  .  .  .

Fantastic, innit?

Imagine going to a rock concert, paying good money to get front seats, and have the performers do nothing but stare into space.

Or even just buying a CD labelled “Greatest Hits” and it has nothing in it. Then on the flap of the cover, there’s this inscription saying, “You got Yoko-ed”.

Look out, Ashton. Here comes Yoko, yoko-ing the crew.

I must say, ever since I got that Gmail account, I’ve been happy with my fan mail. It’s not easy being on the go all the time, so I guess it’s just as well that I stay connected via the net.

Here’s one of my favorite emails. I’ll send her a free shirt, or maybe even an official Bob CD with nothing but Barry Manilow tunes to ward all troublemakers away.

I love my name, Bob. It’s a *palindrome (*a word or phrase that reads the same backward as forward), so regardless of whether my reader is dyslexic, he or she can still get my name right; unlike my father, who gets called doG every now and then.

Anyway, I had a lovely time on my way to work today. Some crazed woman was trying to wipe my face with her handkerchief. I would’ve enjoyed it, had it not been for the ammonia. But that’s another story, altogether.

Work seems droll now, but I need to earn the money. The company is contemplating whether or not they want to send me to Elbonia, a fourth-world mud-covered country somewhere between two obscure islands.

I’ve been there before, but not intentionally. When I mistakenly knocked the pilot out cold and the plane crashed, I swam towards this charming island and met a native.

This is us before I suddenly got hungry and ate him.

Ah, well.

On to the brighter side of things, I got this inside a fortune cookie:

“A Chinese Proverb will inspire you to perform well in the sack today.”

It’s a curious idea, but I like it.

If ignorance is bliss, why aren’t you happy? Maybe ignorance has nothing to do with bliss. Maybe you’re just stupid, and your happiness is incidental.

This is me, chilling with the cats back in the village. Even at the age of five, I already fashioned my trademark moustache. I guess it can’t be helped. I am unbelievably masculine. I was born with facial hair, baby!

I was going through my old photos and stumbled upon some interesting shots. You see, I used to be such a celebrity. During the 80’s I was hanging with the peachy keen guys of Menudo, but they kicked me out of the group. They said they needed someone who could sing pop songs, not a bloody Pavarotti. Those pricks. They had no class, although I must admit, I loved their Soul Glo hair.

Before I decided to shave my mane off, I wore it in a semi-Afro with pride. It was a hit with the ladies and it kept my head warm (especially during the cold season), but I soon found it tiresome to maintain.

Later on, I hooked up with the great MJ. We had a tiff during his world tour. He wasn’t too happy about my mellow rendition of “Thriller”. He said that it should’ve been more upbeat, and that I should stop stealing his moves and come up with my own. The daft fool. I never stole his moves. I did it all. I went with the groove.

It’s hip to be square. This is a fact. I don’t need limbs to get my funk on, and I don’t need surgery to look as handsome as I do. Honestly.

My looks: it’s all natural, baby. You better believe it.

Years later, some bloke asked me to star in a Harry Potter movie. Naturally, I was too damn gorgeous, I upstaged that pasty Daniel Radcliffe. They cut me out of the movie. They said that I should just read my lines and do without my interpretative dancing. I say, to hell with it! If I have the talent, should I not share it with the world?

It’s not my fault that the lead was a ruddy wanker. Where I come from, people told their tales through dance.

It’s not a bloody crime that I did the same.

Ah, well. Bygones.

I guess, you can say that I’m blessed. I’ve been living it up since I won the Lotto. It’s all about luck, you see. Your talent can only take you so far, but it takes something else, something beyond your control, to make you realize everything that you’ve been dreaming of.

As I sit here on my favorite chair, counting my blessings, you are there reading about them. In some ways, you are blessed. You can live vicariously; my joys become your joys. My adventures open your eyes to a whole new world. You are content going on like this because you have nothing better going for yourself. This will go on and on until I meet up with the big incinerator in the sky.

I went to Italy and dined in this fantastic place. The only problems was that my date had a bad case of the runs, so I had to enjoy the entire thing on my own. I think she had too much cheese the other night. I kept on telling her to lay off them, especially since she’s lactose intolerant. Pity she didn’t get to taste the coffee cake. It was delicious.  To this day, I still dream about it: how lovely the texture was, how it wasn’t too sweet, etc.

Ah, well, must be off.

“If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?” -Isak Dinesen, Out of Africa

It was a journey of the soul. I needed to find my family. I knew mum belonged to these parts, and it would do my heart good to know how she lived.

After looking all over, asking the resident gazelle and Ng-Mut, the zebra, I learned that mum’s sister was alive and well near the savannah (see picture: me under the shade of Auntie Phoebie). We had long conversations, Auntie Phoebie and I, and we talked about how it was when mum was still alive.

I found out that mum has never taken to monkeys, and that she was fond of dropping her leaves on random animals. She had such a spirit, it was infectious, so much so that the birds had to place their nests elsewhere. It was also one of the reasons why she got chopped down.

Leaving Auntie Phoebie wasn’t easy, but at least I’m wiser now.

There is just so much to be grateful for. I feel like I’m in a Stephen Dunn poem: “I’m both speck and important. I’m the right size for love.” I am loved. The world is perfect.

Hi, I’m Bob. I’m quite new to this whole blogging business, but seeing as my friends have been pressing me to write about my adventures, and as I see no harm in it, here I am.

Part of me wants to write this because I want to prove that I indeed exist, and another part of me just wants to find an outlet for my ramblings. Perhaps one day, a kindred spirit would read this and know that he (or she) is not alone.

Whoever you are, if you do stumble across this post, know that I’d be most excited to meet you. I am a Capricorn; whatever traits I have, whatever the stars may predict for me, I’m certain that I will find you. I don’t know what that means just yet, but I feel that I have to say it. So there it is.

You can say that I am well-travelled. I’ve met some amazing people, and have been to some extraordinary places. This makes me feel so humble: there is just so much in this world, that I feel so small, despite my accomplishments (I won third place in the fifth grade spelling bee, and was awarded best hall monitor during the sixth grade–indeed, I am lucky that all this hasn’t gone to my head).

I remember what I told the director, when I was given a minor part in “The Pianist”: “If you’re going to pick someone too good-looking, Adrian Brody is going to look bad.” But they picked me, anyway. I realize that this part of my entry is totally out of context, but I just wanted to fill you in on that bit of juicy news.

I’ve always been lucky with the ladies. Perhaps, it has something to do with my animal appeal, or the fact, that I am, indeed, an enigma.

When I’m not exploring the world, or braving the wilderness of Africa, I love having coffee at Starbucks. It’s just so cozy there.

Almost always, I take a man’s drink: a non-fat, half-decaf white chocolate mocha. Other times, I go for something mild like hot chocolate (but that’s during the times when I feel like getting in touch with my childhood).

Yes, I come from humble beginnings. My mother was a native in Ghana till the capitalists decided to chop her down. But she still lives on, through me.

I never met my father, but I hear that someone wrote a book about him, and that he rested on the seventh day.

I’ll meet him one day, although I’m in no rush. My mum was the world to me.

On to more pleasant things, I met up with good old Ribery during the World Cup. He’s a regular ladies’ man. This is a shot of us running away from a crowd of crazed fans. It’s true what they say in the papers. He is the joie de vivre of the team. It’s not so hard to see why.

Anyway, I have to meet a couple of friends for tea. I’ll post again later.