This is the story of Mr. Flibble. It’s an awful one, but however sorry we are, it still needs to be told. Nobody complained about Frankenstein either, so read it.
One beautiful day, Mr. Flibble hatched from an egg, just like any other human being. However, in this case, the usual dose of semen hadn’t been necessary at all; the egg itself sufficed to produce another magnificent Flibblish life form.
Sweet little Flibble grew up to be an astonishing – well, whaddawecallit in one old-fashioned word – nerd. Developing his own date-o-matic, a true sensation on the world market, he was able to get dates with his groupies, his niece, the cleaning lady, all three neighbors in the adjacent cages (who were miraculously reduced to merely one neighbor afterwards), Steve Jobs (with whom he was able to shoot some very nostalgic iPhone pics in the early seventies), Shakira (who then suddenly became her notorious chicken-like cackling sound) and Mark Zuckerberg (who – upon this experience – cancelled every Facebook friendship and became a page instead).
Yes, he even had dates with his own teeth and his spencer. No need to say they were all very fond of him. He sure was a gruesome womanizer, even Steve and Mark admitted that. Always available for some sexy loving. And he definitely made no secret of his amiability.
As the cleaning lady had miraculously disappeared, too, after a notorious Flibble-date, Mr. Flibble finally got into serious trouble. He had to clean his own toilet in the research facilities, also known to him as ‘home, sour home’.
That day, the toilet radiator had just been painted by the schizophrenic janitor (the result of another failed Flibble-encounter, but that’s quite a different story). It smelled heavenly. Flibble dribbled over to put his nose on the freshly painted heater, just to inhale the delicious fumes. No better entertainment than getting high on lead paint. Unfortunately, Karma got him. In all his highness, he fell over, his lips touching the still open can with the remainder of the lead radiator paint. That eejit of a janitor had not been able to dispose of it. And Flibble, as you can guess, made sure to drink it all.
This was the start of his awesome career in chemistry. An inner-body career, to be true. Internal processes that had never been observed before, were now studied by all renown chemical scientists. Even Marie Curie resurrected from her grave to see the wrinkles that instantaneously carved through his face after the notorious lead paint drinking session. Also, a nasty rash appeared, that made him look like Santa. Marie advised him to use Xotob. Flibble just considered her to be profoundly and deadly insane: Xotob was a cure for the lame with no fame. Nor shame.
And fame DID in fact come to him. After the rashes – red ballooney blobs all over his face, which he cured by mere harsh perforation – he discovered his hidden Xena-personality. Each night, fiery red hair luxuriously sprouted from his head. All thanks to the lead paint. But he kept wondering: who needs an old-fashioned sword when one can have a laser gun? So he got one.
You may now kiss the Flibble.
This absolutely awesome story has been made possible with the permission of the great Mr. Flibble. He has the gift of making the most outrageously awesome selfies, just by drinking that lead paint.
For more of his pictures, visit idrinkleadpaint.com
This is a tribute to you, my dearest Flibble!