Oh man, wait till I tell you what I did last night! You will be, like, SO impressed!

So, as y’all know, because they are as mad as fish, Amber and Terry like to confine me to Azkaban of an evening. Well, Sting and Bob Geldof never did turn up to FREE ME, so for months now I have been forumulating a plan - a plan that I cunningly put into action last night.

Last night, you see, was "windy", and I don’t mean in the "OMG, Rubinman, have you farted again?" kind of way. No, it, was, like, a STORM, and as I sat there, deep within the confines of AZKABAN, listening to the wind howl around the house, I knew that my time had come. It was time for the Rubinman to be free, and to take his rightful place in the BIG BED - Amber and Terry’s basket, upstairs.

Well, I started barking. Every time the wind howled, the Rubinman howled with it. I barked and I barked until I was actually starting to annoy even myself. I knew it would be worth it, though. I knew it would get a reaction, and, sure enough, after not very long, Terry showed up. Man, he was MAD. He was, like, totally shouting and saying BAD WORDS at me like a crazymad thing, so what I did was, I shut up until he was on his way back to his basket, and then I started it up again. And again. And again. God, it was the best performance of my life. Terry was getting madder by the moment, but I knew that within twenty minutes I’d be upstairs and I’d be in that there BIG BED right along with Them.

I gave myself thirty minutes to break him. It only took about ten. Before I knew what was happening, I was upstairs. He had brung my bed with him, but, like I was going to sleep on the floor! No way, man. I just waited until he lay down, then I jumped out and ran round the bedroom like a madman, popping my head up every now and then - POP!

Within minutes, I had achieved my goal. I was picked up and allowed to sleep in the BIG BED, and, it’s like, that’s where I’ll be sleeping from now on, dudes. I just need to work out how to get A&T out of the way - let them sleep in Azkaban from now on, see how they like it.

Anyway, enough of this. Before I go, though, I just want to clear something up. Quite a lot of yoos have been askin’ me lately if I really write the blawg myself. Yoos are all, "You’re a dog, dude, you can’t type, I bet Amber writes it for you!" Well, yoos are WRONG. This here blawg is all my own work, and to prove it, here is a picture of me "blogging". As you can see, got me a GREAT BIG keyboard, so’s I can type. SO THERE.

Smell yas, dudes!
Rubin

Dudes, Bob Dylan has wrote a song about me.

This is my favourite bit:

"Rubin could take a man out with just one punch
But he never did like to talk about it all that much.
It’s my work, he’d say, and I do it for pay
And when it’s over I’d just as soon go on my way"

Yeah. He totally GETS me, you know? Me n’ Bob, we’re like THAT. No one has ever understood me like Bob does. I mean, it’s like, I’ll do a crap in the kitchen, you know? But will I boast about it? Nosir**. It’s my work, I say, and I do it for pay. And when it’s over I’d just as soon be on my way.

I’m, like totally overwhelmed. I mean, obviously it was just a matter of time before someone wrote a song about the Rubinman, but I had no idea that Dylan was a fan. I’m thinkin of sending him the Purple Puppet as a token of my appreciation, but I’m worried that then he might write a song about the PP and take some of the spotlight away from yours truly. Whaddya think?

Anyway, I’m very much heartened by this development. With people like Dylan carrying the flame for me, I can’t help but feel that soon I will be totally busted out of AZKABAN and this journal will be used as proof of my suffering. I’ll be a LEGEND man. Me n’ Bob. I’m just wondering who else will join the fight to clear my name? I’m thinkin probably Sting. I’m thinkin Sting will write a song, and let me tell you, if Sting does that it’s totally NOT MY FAULT. So don’t even say anything.

Actually, now I come to think of it, it’s strange that Sting and Bob Geldof haven’t been around by now, wanting to hold a benefit concert or somethin’ for me. I mean, they did it for Nelson Mandela, and me n’ him are in, like, EXACTLY the same situation: both of us wrongly imprisoned for peeing on the kitchen floor, both persecuted for our beliefs (my beliefs: dogs should be able to pee on kitchen floors; Mandela’s beliefs: um, dunno, but probably the same), both black***…

Sing it with me, people:

"Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties
Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise
While Rubin sits like buddha in a ten-foot cell
An innocent man in a living hell.
That’s the story of the hurricane,
But it won’t be over till they clear his name
And give him back the time he’s done.
Put in a prison cell, but one time he coulda been
The champion of the world. "

* With every purchase. Conditions apply.
* *Sometimes I totally WILL boast about it, though.
** Except me, obviously. I’m white, but it’s, like, the same thing.

"An innocent man, in a living hell…"

OK, so I hesitate to mention this, but somethin’s been buggin me.

It’s Amber.

It’s like, sure, she bugs me MOST of the time: take that as read. But lately…oh man… Lately every time we go out for a walk - EVERY time - she straps these stupid wheels onto her feet, like a big sissy. She calls them "rollerblades". I call them "Stupid lubbish feet wheels". Now, trust me, I know what you’re thinkin. I’m thinkin it too. It’s like, there’s me: white, fluffy (still WOLF like, though), runnin. Then there’s her: feet wheels, hair blowing in the wind, rollin’.

Yeah, we look like a freakin Tampax advert.

"Aiiiiieeeeeeee! Booooodyfooooorrrmmm! Bodyform for yoooouuu!" THAT’S what I think now every time I go on my walk. EVERY time. Stupid lubbish song playin in my head every time I try to take a crap. "Aiiiiiieeeeeee!" It has RUINED it for me.

Oh man, I have SO got to bust out of this place. It’s not like I haven’t been tryin, either. Like, last week I started to dig me a hole: I was totally going to burrow under the fence and bust out, but no. They seen me, and they were all, "Baaad Rubin! Baaad!" Idiots.

I would try leavin under cover of darkness, but of course they have me confined to Azkaban every night. Unbelievable. I mean, to lock a noble, wolf-like creature like myself in a CAGE is just unforgivable. And WHY, for the love of Dog? WHY? What purpose does it serve? I mean, sure I peed on the kitchen floor every night in life before they banished me to Azkaban. Sure I did. And yeah, there may have been the odd crap or three along the way too. SO? What of it?

Nah, I don’t think that’s it. I think they just put me there because, it’s like, I’m so scary and stuff and they don’t want me roaming free at night in case I savage them in their beds or something. Which, by the way? I totally WOULD.

I am SO breakin’ free. Azkaban is one thing, but these stupid feet wheels are just the final straw. I will NOT stay here to be made to look like a stupid sissy dog. I’m not the freakin’ Andrex puppy, you know! Uh-uh. The Rubinman wouldn’t be caught DEAD lookin’ like a sissy. No way.

"Aieeeee!"

I’ve got something you’ve not got! I got a PURPLE PUPPET! Man, I bet you’re all totally jealous. No wonder I look smug:

(That thing right behind me, by the way? The CAGE? That’s what Amber and Terry call my “Den” and I call “Azkaban.” That’s where I live now. The nice, COW print bed I’m sitting in here? Just for show. So that Amber and Terry can pretend like they don’t make me the prisoner of AZKABAN every night. Muppets.)

Anyway, in not-so-good news, we have a GREEN THING living in our spare room –>

For those of you who’ve never seen one, it’s called a "Pepe" and you get them from Terry’s mum’s house. My advice is to not get one, though, because they’re, like, really, really annoying. A & T are always talking to it for one thing and - get this - it TALKS BACK to them. It talks complete LUBBISH, of course, but still… when it does it A&T look all pleased, like the Pepe’s been dead clever or something. Like, big deal! I talk ALL the time. Yesterday I barked like a maniac for five minutes straight and what do I get? "Baaaad Rubin! Baaaad!." Hmph. I even heard Amber telling the Pepe it was a "pretty boy" yesterday. OK, I’M the pretty boy around here, lets get that straight. I do NOT appreciate being usurped by a Pepe. No way. Stupid lubbish bird.

Yeah.