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Mr. Bubbles

Today’s (optional) prompt is to write a poem in which you very specifically describe something in terms of at least three of the five senses.


Max and Mr. Bubbles were caught pink handed today. Love is love, yo.

Max and Mr. Bubbles were caught pink handed today. Love is love, yo.

Mr. Bubbles

There’s something scarring about fluorescent pink.
Not in a bad way, but in a way that can only be associated with Mr. Bubbles.
You know, the mascot of bubble bath meant to cuddle
90s children into thinking bath time was a time to look forward to and love?
He was such a pivotal icon
of my 90s childhood.

I think back to bath time of my childhood,
and I think of that neon colored bottle, an unforgiving pink,
that perfectly complimented the bizarre icon
called Mr. Bubbles.
He was the reason bath time was something that I loved,
a time where I would allow a bubbly sea foam to join me in a cuddle.

I’d wrap my body in the pungent suds and cuddle,
blinded by the innocence of childhood,
and full of laughter and love
as my toes turned a wrinkly pink
from covering my entire body in bubbles.
Mr. Bubbles was my generation’s bath time icon.

You know he’s an icon.
While I may be one of the first admit I like to cuddle
dear Mr. Bubbles,
he is an essential component of childhood
memories, highlighting childhood dreams in a beaming pink
bubbly foam of love.

Speaking of love…
When I saw this icon
for sale, standing out in his pink
fluff, begging for a cuddle,
I knew that I wanted to share my childhood
memories of Mr. Bubbles.

I knew my dog would love Mr. Bubbles,
that he would share his puppy love
with the love of my childhood,
that he would roll around with the stuffed toy version of this icon
and kiss and chew and play with and cuddle
Mr. Bubbles until his own paws became pink.

The love of Mr. Bubbles, an American icon,
knows nothing but love and a foamy cuddle.
Sometimes childhood is best seen in shades of pink.

I commented on HONY, and all I got was a bunch of haters.

I left a comment on this photo, and it somehow became one of the top comments in under 10 minutes.

Saying “Waits for the haters to comment on the cig in 3…2…1…” was commentary on the habit of individuals who regularly attack the people shown on HONY… or, in this case, seem to attack an individual for smoking a cig even knowing part of his back story.

No, I’m not a smoker. Yes, I do recognize that smoking is bad for one’s health. I associate a lot of the reasoning behind my grandfather’s death with the aneurysms smoking caused him. I regularly throw around the phrase “Haters gonna hate” when the internet goes all kung fu on my gawky ass (hello, opinionated blogger problems), and I am not singling out anyone for critiquing this man’s smoking. Hate is a strong word, and perhaps I shouldn’t have used the word “haters” on this photo, but goodness knows the people of HONY will attack if I edit my comment!

However, I think it’s important to note that I have been called a “hater,” a “bitch,” and many other names for a single comment that meant no harm. I sympathize with the man who can’t seem to catch a break. I wish the people of HONY would do something for this young man and show him that people care instead of arguing over his potential smoking habit. Honestly, it seems like the man deserves a moment to reflect and decompress.

It breaks my heart that the internet is so full of haters. Go drink your Haterade somewhere else, people, and let this poor guy be. He’s been through a lot, and we only know what he told Brandon and HONY. Who knows what else his story entails? The moral of today’s lesson is Haters gonna hate, and the internet needs to shut down their debates.