AN: Totally based off of my piece I started writing randomly one day in homeroom that was supposed to be Wayside but turned into 5 pages of Fraggle Rock. Also, my sister and I are like totally random, and some of this stuff may not make sense to you, because it's stuff we thought of long ago that we've always applied to Fraggle Rock. This is written in a very strange style, so anytime a sentences in bold, it's me, the Narrator, talking. I do not own Fraggle Rock, that's the Jim Henson Company's job. Though I wish I did. That would be so freaking awesome.
Once upon a time, there was a Fraggle named Gobo. Gobo was quite the little adventure.
"Hey, I'm not little!"
"You go ahead and think that."
"Who are you anyway?"
"I'm the narrator. I'm the one who's telling this story."
"Oh. Ok then. But I'm not little! I'm older than Wembley!"
"True enough."
Anyway, Gobo liked exploring. One day, he wanted to be just like his uncle Matt and explore outer space. Gobo had a friend. His name was Wembley, and, just like his name entails, he was prone to wimbling. Which, for people like you may be who don't have such an extended vocabulary, means he was very indecisive. Which, in case you still have no idea what that means, means that he had trouble making decisions.
"I do?"
"Yes, you do."
"Oh, ok then."
They also had a friend named Red. Red was Gobo's "special" friend. And by that I mean she liked him.
"What? I do not!"
"Do too!"
"Do NOT!"
"Just admit your in love with the only fraggle who is as stubborn as you, and is possibly Canadian."
"Canadian?"
"You never noticed that?"
"Umm….No, not really."
"Well, it's only a possibility. But Canadians are awesome!"
Red's best friend is Mokey. Mokey was very spiritual and creative. She was always painting or drawing or writing a poem. Her poems, in the words of Boober, are so beautifully tragic. Boober is another fraggle. Boober was a pessimist. A laundry obsessed pessimist. Some say he's a paranoid coward. I say he's just a pessimist in desperate need of a hug. But, everyone is entitled to their own opinions. So if you want to think he's a paranoid coward, you go ahead and think that. Boober, at the moment, is washing socks, so I say we shouldn't bother him. Washing socks requires a lot of concentration. So let's go talk to Red and Gobo, and possibly Wembley, if he's there.
"For the last time Red, I am not dying!" Gobo cried.
"Well, it sure looks like you have cancer to me. Let's ask the narrator. She knows EVERYTHING."
"Correction: I know everything that happened, is happening, and is going to happen in this story, along with what everyone is thinking. And no, Gobo does not have cancer."
"See Red? I told you!"
"Shut up!"
"No, you shut up!"
"No, you shut up you over controlling Canadian!"
"Huh?"
"Not you, the other over controlling Canadian…GOBO."
"Oh my goodness Red, could you just shut up for five minutes? That's all I ask Five minutes."
"Why? Why should I shut up and you not?"
"Ahem, some of us are trying to create a story here."
"Oh, sorry, it's just that somebody thinks that she's the greatest thing on the planet!"
"Would you all please be quiet? Your distracting me from getting all the socks clean!" Boober yelled from the room where he was washing.
Gobo, Red and I stopped arguing.
