It was Valentine’s Day. Feb. 14th, 2011 when it all happened.
Rob had stolen a precious subject very dear to someone, who recently was the victim of a bad breakup.
And it wasn’t exactly a ‘clean’ one.
Rob had gone overboard by a large margin here with Natalia. He had stolen a pooch doggy from her, and he had also absurdly decided to cover her face in Crisco during their encounter. Just for ‘good measure’ – as he would say.
Performing this act on Mission Street in San Francisco isn’t exactly conspicuous on a Monday morning. But Rob has no limits, which is why he is now in this dilemma.
On the run for his life, with a pooch dog he didn’t care one shit for…he felt like a half-breed cooler version of Jack Kerouac.
Which leads to the question: How DID we get here with Fiddlin’ Rob?
FOUR MINUTES EARLIER
Huge amounts of people filled the streets of San Francisco. Rob was among these hundreds of moving crowds, minding his own business like it was any other Monday.
He carried with him a used chocolate snow cone, a bottle of sparkled water and a bag of double-sided dildos.
When on duty, things can get fairly hectic for Rob. Acting as his OWN private investigator, he reaches and goes way out of bounds on things. Lots, of things.
Like trying to arrest a cop for throwing away half his apple fritter.
Holding up a wiener stand with a super soaker for a hot dog.
Stomping a child’s McDonald's meal for bad directions to a nearby adult bookstore.
Or hiding in Nursery homes just before dawn, jerking it at granny's bedside singing, "Who stole the cookie from the cook-ee jar?"
Today things were not exactly normal though; things were strangely peculiar for Rob. He was literally stealing items from random people all morning. He had actual shit in his hand to prove it.
After being fired and charged as a sex-offender three months ago, Rob has taken the liberty of starting a non-formal investigation into San Francisco’s ‘bad people’.
For instance, random people on the streets that just piss him off. If Rob sees someone cutting off an unfortunate someone, or speaking loudly on a phone, or just looking like an asshole…he makes sure he does something about it.
Walking along Mission street today, he saw a distraught-looking woman shaking her pooch doggy.
To Rob, it looked like a crazy bitch angrily shaking a newborn baby. That would be his reason to attack her with a double-dong in public.
From where he was currently standing, it would take about a minute to get to her. She was under some amount of stress – or just PO’d for some stupid reason (maybe peeing on her hand in the bathroom), Rob thought.
Rob liked to think of himself as the guy who slapped sense back into the ‘bad people’ that stepped out of line. He was another superhero, except he wasn’t carrying a gun or a sword, or a whip. Not even a magical ring.
He was just Fiddlin’ Rob, once again on the job; taking out a double-sided dildo as he crossed the intersection. It jiggled to his strut.
By now the woman at the corner had started to move. Luckily for Rob though, she was moving towards him. Meaning – as long as she was preoccupied pissing and moaning at her pooch, he would have the element of surprise.
He just hoped at this point the rainbow colors of the dong wouldn’t catch her eye once he got within twenty yards.
He would have to move fast.
As he bridged the gap between them, he started to lightly jog.
As Rob approached, he started swinging the dong in a circular motion, bracing for combat.
Natalia was not paying attention. Until the last second, she didn’t notice a man wearing nothing but cross-country shorts and a leather jacket jogging towards her. The madman was wildy swinging the biggest God-damned dildo she had ever seen in her life, and he was staring into her soul.
She screamed, but it was too late. Rob struck the tip of the dong to her forehead, and she fell backwards.
When she hit the ground, the pooch came loose of her grip, including her bag. Absurdly, a tub of Crisco slid and stopped just at Rob’s heels.
Rob had to act quickly. He scooped up the Crisco, lifted the lid and took out as much as he could with one fist and directly hit Natalia right in the face with a huge wad of it.
“Stop shaking your dog like it’s an 8-ball bitch! You have been relieved of this poor creature,” Rob explained.
And with that, he grabbed the pooch by its fur, turned on his heel and retreated in the direction he had come bursting from. Natalia mustered up all her strength to yell to the public for help.
“Help! That bastard stole my pooch!”
PRESENT TIME
On the run for his life, Rob quickly hurled himself into an alley. Luckily for him, the pooch broke most of his fall. He would have to lay low for a while.
The minutes slowly began to jerk away from Rob as he pulled out his miniature pipe, and inhaled that green smoke pondering his next move. He had pissed himself in excitement and had a shit-colored shirt thanks to the pooch.
Besides that, everything just might be OK today for Rob. Until next time -
Fiddlin Rob Goes Hiking
