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Cold & Clammy Dopplegangers

2005-10-14 - 8:06 a.m.

Current Ale Imbibing: Sea Dog Bluepaw Wild Blueberry Wheat Ale

Listening To: White Stripes, Talking Heads, America

Quote: "Fuckin' dim it, dude!" - Kate

Hey brother. Ok. None of you are my brothers. I just wanted to sound like Buster Bluth. Because he's one of my idols. Ok. That's a lie. G.O.B. Bluth is actually my idol. Plus, I suppose, by process of elimination, one of you reading this could be my brother. But my brother reading this is as likely as frogs learning fractions. Moreso.

But my tv idols? Hmmmmmm. The shortlist would have to include G.O.B., Jack Bristow, Bill McNeal, Lionel Hutz, Jimmy James, Hesh, Dr. Mark Craig, Ted Baxter, Luka Kovac, Sam Beckett, Kermit the Frog, Punky Brewster, Danger Mouse, Bill Haverchuck, Daniel Desario, & Frank Furillo.


I was vacuuming the other day at work and I accidentally whacked myself in the balls with the vacuum. Stop me if you've heard this one. You've heard this one?! Really?! That's odd. Since it's never happened before. I don't know what was stranger. That I temporarily paralyzed myself with the vacuum splonk to the boys or the mere fact that I was vacuuming. Probably the latter. And what's the fucking deal with the temperature? Last week I was on the roof of the parts room at work painting the warehouse in shorts and a t-shirt and sweating my (soon-to-be-vacuumed-plonked) balls off, and then, a week later, I'm in a turtleneck and freezing my (formerly-vacuumed-chanked) balls off while wheeling the go-kart inside at the end of the day. Oh Mother Nature, no wonder you don't want anyone messing with you!

Remember Marshall? Some of you young turks wouldn't remember him. He's from many, many moons ago. But he used to be fascinated with the words, "bearded clam". He might not be anymore. For all I know, he has a peg leg and a cybernetic tail now. I mean, sometimes you fall out with someone and sometimes you really fall out with someone. But anyway, I seem to remember, that way back when, Marshall enjoyed the fuck out of the words, "bearded clam". So much so that Fred, Coty and I tattoed it on his bare chest with a permanent marker on his 21st birthday. You really can't blame us. Anyway, I'm just pulling out all this "bearded clam" nonsense now so I can igonre it in the latter half of this paragraph where it would have inevitably come out. So anyway, Mark, from Danger Mouse, is a clam digger and he brought in a ton of clams for me the other day. Ok, not an actual ton, but pretty damn close. Two koolers full of clams. I met up with him in the parking lot before work. I tried to exchange the clams from his kooler into my kooler. And got clam goo all over me in the process. And then I put the kooler in the car for the day. So not only did I smell like clams all day, but my car reeked/reeks of clams because of it. Fun times. My mother and Don ate their weight in the clams and Nanny got screwed out of getting any steamers because of it. But Mark promises to come in with even more clams. Isn't he a prince? A Prince of Clam Diggers? Where did the other kooler go? Well . . . after T.C. & I participated in the "Bentervention" (copyright - Hayley) I gave the second lot of clams to Ben as a parting gift. He loves him some clams. It was the least I could do. So if you see Mark out there digging clams in some tide pool soon, honk your horn, or throw a pen at him . . . he'll be glad you did.

Dig, dig, dig all day long. Dig, dig, dig while I sing this song . . .

I would be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity, since I was just talking about work, to include a picture that Little Nick sent me over IM the other night. You know how I am cuckoo kwazy for Spider-Man? Like I want to have his babies and all that jazz? Well, I am to Spider-Man what Little Nick is to Batman. Except I just love Spider-Man and am known from time to time to break out my Spider Sense. Little Nick thinks, no - knows he is Batman. He's always concerned people are going to find out his true identity and there was even this kid in the store this summer that had a Batman mask on. Nick went up to him, and was very nice, but politely explained to the kid while he appreciated him dressing up as Batman, that he, Little Nick, was the real Batman. Though he did thank the kid for being in the same place as Nick so then it made less people suspicious of Nick really being Batman. A fact he seems to try to hide while at the same time constantly publicizing. There's no trying to figure out Little Nick. Trust me. Science gave up years ago. So the other night he IMed said picture. And I looked at it. And part of me cried for him. "Please fucking tell me that's not you." I said. "Of course it is. Who else would it be?" he typed back. And truly, it IS him. Except just make pretend you don't know it's really him, ok? He has a secret identity to protect, you know.


"I'm Batman. Tell your friends."

So I was at Bull Moose the other day, after I got out of another scintillating stay at the humble pie tour I call the Wallakers. I bought a DVD about The Band that I knew Peter hadn't seen and that I had watched for a class many moons ago. As I go to ring out they asked me which Z.F. I was. Well, they used my full name, which for the sake of google I'm trying to avoid plastering around the joint. You know, "Etoof Hcaz" (read it backwards, Hayley). That's right there's ANOTHER me. Which, I mean, I always knew there would be people with my first and last name. But in the AREA? Technically he's in Maine they said, and closer to Portland than Portsmouth. But STILL! He's in the area and shops at Bull Moose. That's already way too close for comfort. And it doesn't even involve a cow puppet! Finally, not being able to take my curiosity any longer, I asked the clerk what the other Z.F. (spelled exactly the same as mine too) bought. Because Bull Moose keeps a record of all your purchases. So I'm the "Zombies, Pixies, NewsRadio, Sealab, The Band, Wet Hot, Gorillaz, Super Eagles" Z.F. What kind of Z.F. is he?! Apparently, due to doctor/patient/clerk/doppleganger confidentiality laws, she couldn't tell me! But it's such a slippery slope! Oh how slippery! O Pioneers! I know that I'd be pissed if he bought the same kind of shit as me. I'm already feeling crowded about his mere existence! But if he bought NOTHING like I do - and it was all hardcore rap and speed metal . . . I'd be bullshit! How dare he desecrate the name Z.F.! He deserves it not! And what if he's tall? That's my thing! I don't want him to be super Al-y short either. Because that's just ridiculous. He would need to be average - slightly tall. And his music would have to be not mainstream - but a little bit of everything. A little bit of Talking Heads in there for flavor, but not the whole catalog. Back off, evil twin! But what if I'm HIS evil twin? Is he older? That's important!! Which came first, the chicken Z.F. or the egg Z.F.?! Arrrrrgh. I hope he likes video games but isn't too good at them. But better than most. And that he reads comics, but not all the cool ones that we read. If he's the evil version of me he's probably a teetotaller of the highest degree! And he probably HATES canolis! Oh that foul wretch! Why is his existence tormenting my soul?! This is just like when my Great Uncle Doc Brown (1985 version) ran into 1955 Doc Brown. All of my brain cells are bleeding and the space/time continuum is threatening to fold in unto itself. Damn you Bull Moose! Damn you doppleganger! I know it was you that cancelled NewsRadio!!!!! I KNOW IT WAS YOU!!!!!!!

I need to cut down on the sugar.

It's been real,

Izor


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