One thing I have noticed more and more in stuff I've listened to, people are calling him out more for being a horrible slob and person. Much like he thinks he needs to "drag those chuds" in order not make them stronger, people are starting to just slowly pile on how horrible he is. And it's much more productive to pepper things here and there about Blob as opposed to him spending 2 paragraphs to try and dunk someone on twitter for 10 likes.
Robert stumbled along, thumbs thumping away upon his phone. The bright light of the sun was painful to his eyes, and he disliked its tickling sensation upon his skin. But he had promised Chris that he'd go with his niece and nephew to the garage sale. Pretending to be interested, he wandered the tables, wondering if there was used Marvel products he could buy.
Then he stopped; a curious item arrested his attention. It looked like an empty Mickey Mouse glove, yet it felt solid, like something was inside. It would look great over his mother's mantle. "Hey," Robert said, calling over the proprietor. "How much for this?"
The proprietor ambled over to look at it. "No sir," he said, "you don't want that."
Robert felt a flash of annoyance, briefly wondering if this man was one of the mayo ghouls Robert railed against. "Yes, I do want it," he replied.
"You think you do, sir," the proprietor said, "But you don't. It grants wishes. You don't want that."
The man was obviously nuts, but Robert played along. "Oh? Why not?"
"Because it will grant your wish, always," the proprietor drawled. "It must. But it will do so in a way to make you suffer for it. It's a monkey's paw- well, a Mickey's paw, I guess."
Robert looked back at the curious glove, letting Xitter notifications go unanswered. "It grants you any wish? Really?"
"Like I said, sir, it will, but you'll suffer for it."
Robert quickly considered his life. Yes, his life was hard, ever since Trump the Orange Hitler got elected. He'd suffered greatly since that horrible night in 2016. How could he suffer more? But what to wish for? Trump's death? The cleansing of the undesirables? All good ideas, but there would probably be a war and he'd die in it; no, there was a better idea. He picked up the Mickey's Paw, held it in what he thought was a dramatic pose, and said, as dramatically as possible, "I wish to be famous!"
With a cry of surprise, he dropped the Mickey's Paw. One of the fingers had curled.
The proprietor picked it up. "You're in for it now, sir," he replied. "Still, if you really want it, it's $20."
Robert ignored the man, turned, and walked away, feeling very clever at having gotten a free wish. If it didn't work, he lost nothing. If it did, he'd be famous. It'd be like the old days, only better, because he wouldn't have to do anything. No silly sketches, no YouTube videos. No, he'd be famous, without the work needed to get there.
Looking back at Xitter, he saw people he'd never spoken to bringing up old Xeets and embarrassing tidbits of his past. There was his cooking, his McDonald's gaffe, and Lindsay Ellis. Furiously, he set about denying, blocking, and reporting, working to keep his fame from spreading further.
