The Tribulations of Mr. Roberts

"Why do you do this thing to me?" Mr. Roberts asked of his captors. "Am I not kind and gentle? Do I not do any thing that a Christian might not be required to do were he not not of the blood of those that lack not? Whatever have I done, that you trouble me so greatly?"

"You're growing a beard," Mr. Roberts' captors informed him.

"And is this now a crime?" Mr. Roberts asked histrionically. "If you prick my beard, does it not bleed?"

"Well, first, no," one captor replied.

"And secondly, it's a pretty dang scruffy beard," the other told the rope-bound Roberts.

"And if it is?" Mr. Roberts asked, his beard frizzling in defiance. "Who are you to aggress upon me so, for such a trivial crime? The Fashion Police?"

"And if we are?" one of the captors asked Roberts.

"Then you're a pretty awful one!" Mr. Roberts rebutted.

"We're doing the best we can, for gargoyles!" one of the captors shouted back.

(They were gargoyles.)

(It is very hard for gargoyles to be fashionable. Owing to being hideous, and also made of stone.)

Roberts shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt your feelings. All I mean to hurt... IS YOUR BODIES!" With a roar, he burst free of his bonds, shattering them into a mess of loose fibers. His eyes glowed. His clenched fists also glowed. And most of all, his beard glowed, shining a deep red light into the cavern of the gargoyles. "By these powers combined: Python! Anime! Manga! Beard! I am Cristopher Roberts, and woe bedite to any that stands in my way!"

Promptly, a gargoyle stood in his way.

Mr. Roberts produced a hammer from nowhere. With a glance, he surrounded it with a field of red energy; with the wave of a hand, he set it floating upwards; with the flick of his beard, he sent it crashing down, shattering the gargoyle unto dust.

He stalked forward. Another gargoyle appeared to oppose him. Mr. Roberts drew in a deep breath, and cried out a piercing tone, "NANIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" For a moment the gargoyle appeared to vibrate; then it flew apart in a spray of stone shards and rock dust.

The entrance to the outside world appeared; but before it lurked a gang of gargoyles, undeterred by the grisly demises of their colleagues. Their leader cried, "Not one step further, Mr. Roberts!", and with a cry the gargoyles hurled themselves at our hero -

Who calmly scribed two words into the air and sent the gargoyles flying helplessly away. They wailed as they were hurled into the horizon, dwindling into the distance; Mr. Roberts moved on without breaking step. Behind him, the words lingered in the air, slowly fading: import antigravity.

A small smile on his face, Mr. Roberts unfolded his scooter - left abandoned on the ground at the entrance to the gargoyles' cave - got on, and calmly scooted away. It would take quite some time to scoot back to college from the mountains of Peru, of course; but he might as well begin now.

-

Alternate title for this post:
"mr robert

and

how he did not blog

for

34 weks"