This is Ted. Now, I know what yoos are thinkin’. Yoos are all, "Great bear, Rubinman - orange is SO your colour!" The thing is, though, Ted is NOT a great bear. In fact, me and Ted, we don’t talk. We’re just not down with each other. Also: he’s totally mental.

Ted, you see, is Amber’s bear. Yes, Amber has a bear. I know! It’s like, how old is she, four? Actually, Amber is WAY old, and so is Ted. This makes Ted a bit of an ass, really, because he totally thinks he’s, like, IN CHARGE of all the toys in the house, you know? Also, he thinks he’s in charge of me, and that right there shows you how totally mental Ted is because NO ONE IS THE BOSS OF THE RUBINMAN.

Ted thinks he is, though. He’s been alive for as long as Amber, and Amber’s been alive since FOREVER, so he’s all, "Respect your elders, young Rubin me lad, waffle, waffle, waffle." Idiot. I don’t even know why Amber has him, I really don’t, because it’s like, what does she DO with him? I haven’t ONCE seen Amber pick Ted up in her teeth and throw him around the room by the scruff of his neck, and that’s totally what I’d do with him. Then I’d throw him out the house and tell him to never show his sorry orange ass round here again. And he would listen because he would be scared of me.

Let this be a warning to all yoos orange-ass bears out there. For real.

RUBIN

So, what a lot of yoos Rubin fans probably don’t know is that as well as hunting fat kids and postmen, and just generally bein’ a mad scary WOLF, the Rubinman is also a "moovy star" in his spare time. Yes, it’s true, the Rubinman is famous. I’m big in Japan, apparenty.

Anyway, here’s one of them "moovys" I made just for you, people. It’s like, I really hope it doesn’t scare yoos too much, you know? Kids, ask your parents before you watch this. And don’t have nightmares. (Unless you’re a postman, in which case you SHOULD be scared, and I mean it.)

I’m in disgrace. Again. No one’s talking to me. They’re still feeding me (feeding me DOGFOOD) and taking me walks and stuff, but there’s definitely an "atmosphere". It all seems to be stemming from The Cushions.

Last Saturday we went round to see my Norma and John, and Norma had growed two cushions. Amber decided to bring them home with us, and they’ve been living on the couch ever since. Amber kept looking at them and touching them and stuff, so naturally I took agin the pair of them.

Well. On Monday night, I go down the stairs and I see The Cushions. Well, I don’t need to tell you what happened. I was only down there on my own for a few minutes, but by the time They came down I had:

1) pulled one of the cushions off the couch
2) peed on it
3) Jumped onto the couch - the CREAM couch- with my muddy paws
4) left mud all over it
5) been out to the garden and collected more mud
6) brought it back into the house with me
7) put it all over the CUSHIONS

Amber went MENTAL. So did Terry, but he’s always mental. I got put in the Sin Bin for ten minutes. When I came out though, I bided my time then when they were out of the room I went and peed against the guitar that lives under the stairs. Amber didn’t find out until the next morning, and by then she hadn’t caught me in the act, so she couldn’t give me a row. Hee!

The next day I dug me a hole. It’s my best ever hole, I’m really quite proud off it. It’s a hole in the LAWN rather than in the dirt. GO me! Then I took Terry’s pen and burried it in the hole. They didn’t find it until the next day. How I laughed! That night I secretly peed against the guitar again. Sometimes I amaze even myself…

I ate a SPIDER.

It was in the kitchen, walking along the floor. I was like, “the floor belongs to ME, buddy”, but it ignored me so I STALKED it. I stalked it like a TIGER, and then, when it was least expecting it, I POUNCED and caught it in my mouth. Then I ate it. It’s in my BELLY now, which is a bit weird really, but still – I’M the pet in this house, anything else that tries to come into my territory, whether it be fat kids or spiders, gets it.

Sooo, not a lot happening. The thing that’s really bothering me right now is the “teevee”. Now, I had never really paid the “teevee” any mind before. It’s more Terry’s thing than mine; he’ll sit and stare at it for HOURS, but I always just figured that was because Terry’s just a big bag o’ lazy. But then the other night it was on, and I noticed that there were some tiny dogs trapped inside it…

Well. I ran over and put my paws on it, barking to frighten them. Sure enough, they skeddadled – they were terrified. They ran right out the back of the “teevee”, but when I ran round the back myself to get them, they were gone?

I was puzzled. Since then I haven’t been able to get those tiny dogs out of my head. Where did they come from? How did they get there? And, most importantly, where did they GO? I’ve noticed there are tiny people trapped in there as well. Like, how WEIRD is that?!

Anyway, tiny dogs aside, not a lot to report, except that today they BATHED me. (Amber and Terry did, I mean, not the tiny dogs. If the tiny dogs had bathed me that really WOULD have been weird…)That’s the second time in two weeks. They’re saying it’s because it’s “winter” now and I keep getting muddy. Yeah, well, I been diggin’ me a hole. Been up to my neck in mud every night this week, and what thanks to I get for it? They BATH me. Huh.

I killed the postman yesterday. Don’t listen to what Amber says: that postman? He dead. Seriously, dudes, he may not have died on the spot, but I could tell by the terrified look in his eyes that as soon as he staggered home he woulda just dropped down dead. There’ll be no more poking bits of paper through the Rubinman’s door, that’s for sure. Not on my watch.

I mean, I didn’t plan to kill the postman. I was just, like, out enjoying my walk, as you do, when The Enemy came into view. Well, I seen my chance, I took it. It’s what we wolves do. You can’t blame a dude for followin his primal instinct.

So,one Enemy down, a few thousand to go. I’ll be waiting for yoos, postmen… Come and geeeeet me!

Basically, I’ve been barking like a madman EVERY SINGLE morning. I start about half an hour before A&T normally get up, and I WILL NOT STOP until they haul ass out of bed and come and play with me. It’s driving them absolutely CRAZY. If they try and get up earlier, in an effort to thwart me, I just work out what the new time is and start barking half an hour before THAT. The way things are going, they’d need to get up at 5.30am to beat me just now. Hee!

The thing is - they CAN’T ignore me. I mean, they’ve TRIED - don’t think they haven’t. But it’s like, would YOU be able to ignore the scary wolf that was barkin at YOUR door? Remember what happened to Little Red Riding Hood’s ol grandma before yoos answer that one…

I particularly like doing it on a Saturday morning, when Amber’s been working all week and is thinking she can get to sleep late. "Aaaamblller!" I shout. "Teeeerrreee! Doggie crap in here for you to clean up! Come and geeeet it while it’s hot!" Then they come thundering down the stairs, all bleary-eyed and wild-haired to scold me, and I’m like, "What? Me? Barking? No, I wasn’t barking. Are you sure you’re feeling OK? It’s just, you’re looking a bit tired. Maybe you should try and get some more sleep?" Hee!

Heh. Just when I thought it was safe to go back into the garden, he’s back - The Fat Kid From Next Door (TFKFND). And this time he has a Fat Friend…

I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t seen him for ages, but there I was, finishing off my dinner in the kitchen, when I hear all this screaming coming from Next Door. Being the guard dog that I am, I went to investigate of course, and there they were. Back. Now, I wasn’t looking for trouble here. I was annoyed, yes, but I just gave a couple of quick warning barks, just to let them know that a dangerous WOLF was on the scene. Well. They retaliated.

I think the presence of the Fat Friend must’ve made TFK brave. He started shouting at me, and clapping his hands to try and scare me away. (I know - he was trying to scare me, the Rubinman. Like, good luck with that pal - you obviously haven’t heard the story of Rubin and the Bad Man). Then he started hitting the fence, cheered on by the other one. They were both carrying guns. Well, that was it - that just made me MAD.

Of course, what they hadn’t realised was that Amber had been watching all of this, and when they started with the fence she came out to glare at them. I was expecting them to shut up at that, but no - Fat Friend decided to give Amber "attitude." He walked over to where she was standing and started making faces at her through the fence, while TFK watched him. What the porky pals hadn’t realised though was that while they were busy making prats of themselves to Amber, the Rubinman had cunningly snuck under the bushes next to where they were standing - as cunning as a FOX. I waited there silently until I was sure they hadn’t seen me. Then I let out the BIGGEST bark of my career.

Hee! The Fat Friend nearly peed his pants he got such a fright! He actually stumbled backwards - then TFK started taking the crap out of him for being scared of me, so I barked again, and they BOTH jumped! Hee! Then Amber and I came back into the house and laughed our asses off. It was really quite satisfying, and it got me back into Amber’s good books again - I had fallen out of favour earlier that day because just before she made me my dinner I had sneaked up to the bathroom and peed up against a white towel that was hanging there. Well, who hasn’t done that?

Anyway, I certainly taught them a lesson. They won’t be back in a hurry, that’s for sure.

So, it’s like, I gotta be honest with yoos - this isn’t REAL beer. Like, it’s not actually got alcohol in it? Which kinda sucks, really, because sometimes I could just fancy me a nice, cool beer after a hard day’s barkin at the post-woman and peein on the washin machine. Ya know?

Anwyays, this has no actual alcohol in it (so I dunno what that white dude thinks he’s lookin all "drunk" for, because he ain’t. Drama queen!) but it DOES taste like BEEF, which is almost as good, because seriusly, how often do you get to drink BEEF? Hardly ever, that’s how often. It’s low in calories and fat, which also sucks, if you ask me, but then, no nobody even DID ask me, so yoos can all just go and buy me some. Thanks.

(Note: I haven’t actually tried this stuff. I just WANT to. I mean, it might taste like cat butt for all I know. I bet I’d still drink it, though, even it did.)

So, by now Amber has probably been totally whinin’ it up over at her blawg, all, "OMG, Rubin totally vomited all over his bed and we had to buy him a new one, oh poor us, having to clean up all the vomit." I mean, am I right?

Well, here’s the truth of the matter: I just wanted a new bed. And I got one, too. Alls I had to do was, like, totally regurgitate my dinner all over my old bed. It was, like, totally amazing, I mean, I wish you coulda seen it. Because, it’s like, it kind of surprised even me, you know? One minute I was having me a bit of a lie down after dinner, next minutes I’m staring that SAME DINNER in the face ALL OVER AGAIN.

Well, it didn’t take me long to realise that I was onto a winner with this one. I was all, "If I can keep on doin this, I can totally keep on eating my dinner OVER AND OVER AGAIN. Like, I could eat my dinner all day? This will give you just a small idea of how totally clever I am, but trust Killjoy Terry to put a stop to all the fun. He was all, "No, Rubin, you can’t eat your own vomit," and then he cleaned it all up and everything, so what I did was, I threw up again, only this time I did it on one of their cushions. Then I did It AGAIN, but - and this was a total masterstroke - I did it ON THEIR BED. Hee! God, it was hilarious, you should have seen Amber’s face!

After that I didn’t feel too good. I think I might have overstretched myself, you know? So I bided my time, and sure enough, next thing I know, it’s the next day, and we’re down at Pets at Home, pickin’me up a new bed. Of course, I went for the most totally outrageous bed in the shop: it’s like, all red leather, and its got this white furry cushion on it. It’s a real KINGLY bed, you know? Like, a bachelor pad bed? A kinda "Come back to my place and see my Goodboys kinda bed". This is it:

They’re calling it a "belated burfday present" - I call it "yet another triumph of Rubinman over Humans). Also: because it’s red, it matches my RED COAT. That, you know, I don’t even WEAR, obviously, on account of me bein’ a WOLF. Rarrr.

Anyway, they gives me the bed, and I has a bit of a think to myself, and I was like, "I think I’m going to mix things up a bit here, see if I can’t set me a new kinda record or somethin." So what I did was, I waited until it was, like, WAY early in the morning, then I crapped all over that stupid bed of mine. Hee! So, I totally got me my record: that bed had only been in our house for a matter of hours -HOURS, I tells ya- and I had already totally crapped on it, and it had ALREADY been washed and everything. Now I don’t got no red leather bed, because I’ve got to wait for the furry cushion thing to dry, but it’s like, it’s OK, because there’ll be somthin else I can pee on tonight. Like, probably the washing machine, or somethin.

Smell yas,
Rubin   

   TENNIS BALL ON LEGS! I gotta TENNIS BALL ON LEGS! Do you see the TENNIS BALL ON LEGS? Do you?! DO YOU?! Damn, you SO wish you were me, dontchya? Well you’re not, OK? Suck it up, dudes.

So, yeah, I got me a tennis ball on legs. Actually, it was my Norma and John what got me it, and they got me it because it was my “burfday” last week. I was, like, the “Burfday Boy” and stuff.

Things I Got For My Burfday:

• One TENNIS BALL ON LEGS - My Norma and John
• One rawhide SHOE that I’m pretty sure came right outta my Christmas stocking, that I hadn’t eaten yet - Amber
• One rawhide LOLLIPOP, that I’m ALSO sure came from “Santa” - Amber
• Nothing - Terry

Yeah, so I guess SOMEONE should be feelin’ pretty ashamed of himself right now. huh? And it’s not the Tennis Ball on Legs, put it that way.

Anwyays, that was my Burfday, and although I’m lookin quite serious in that photo up there (ALSO: did ya notice that I’ve started growin’ me another set of HORNS again? Well I have. A mad Rubinman I am, I am.) I wasn’t. No, me n’ the Tennis Ball on Legs were totally partyin’ like it was 1999 and stuff, and then, what I did was, I got carried away and I totally ripped out that dumb tennis ball’s head:

Now I don’t got the Tennis Ball on Legs no more, but it’s like, I got the memories, you know?

Buh-bye, TBOL. It was good ripping your brains out knowin ya.

Rubin