We invited him into our bathtubs, he made us smile, he made us clean. And now he is dead. The Soup Blog is saddened to learn that Mr. Bubble, a victim of old age, bankruptcy and changing attitudes has passed on. The pink, oval man with the jolly basso profundo voice was a beloved figure to generations of fun-seeking bathers, a seemingly ageless fellow whose calling card to dirty children was a vigorous cleansing and a face full of foamy good times. Yet, in Hollywood circles, thrice-divorced Bubble was known for his many affairs with some of the industry’s most sought after spokes vixens, particularly his heated, on again, off again relationship with syrup queen Aunt Jemima, a lengthy tryst with tantric love proponent St. Pauli Girl and a six-month romance with firebrand Tanya Tucker (his only human dalliance), which Bubble described to close friend Merv Griffin as “a sheer living hell. And I loved every goddamned minute of it!”

Throughout the halcyon ‘70s, Mr. Bubble was a fixture of the L.A. party scene. “Jesus, all it took was a hot tub and a couple of stewardesses...and Bubs would bring the suds,” revealed an intimate who requested anonymity. “You should have seen when he and Glen Frey had that pad in the canyon! Scandalous!”

Yet Bubble was always more at home in the tubs with children, and his work there is what we shall remember him for. As he used to sing to filth-caked boys and girls everywhere, “I’m Mr. Bubble and you can watch me pop!” Sadly, at bath time tonight, there will be no popping.

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