Although I would never mention it, I am in fact something of a celebrity.
The extent of my fame is not always obvious to the causal observer, mainly due to the surprising restraint shown by my admirers in open areas, but in the enhanced proximity of an enclosed space, their distinctly fanatical character is revealed. In fact, it is a rare occasion that I can slip away from a restaurant, doctorâ€™s office, or even a speed trap without some stern, often uniformed fan demanding my autograph on the bill.
But, like many other newly-minted luminaries, news of my social elevation has been slow to travel home.
Of course Iâ€™m not referring to the members of my immediate family, who extract paychecks, extort allowances, and otherwise allow me to house and feed them with the appropriate sense of reverence and awe due a man of my standing. No, I am talking about my childhood friends.
It may surprise you to know that as a young man, I indeed had friends…
It may surprise you to know that as a young man, I indeed had friends, and that I did not have to financially compensate them in any way for the pleasure of my company. It may also surprise you to know that even today a statistically improbable number of comment-dispensing Comma readers are former high school associates of mine.
What always surprises me, however, is how these longtime aficionados of my â€œworkâ€ are also the quickest ones to point out any hypothetical failings I may possess as an author, fearlessly critiquing my often-thought unassailable humor technique.
They are also impressively speedy to call upon the Hot Comma Momma, by far the friendliest of my high school acquaintances, for reinforcement in any comment section battle of wits they might find themselves decidedly not winning.
You can tell these â€œfriendsâ€ of mine primarily by the bold way they deliver their jabs and slights to my authorly self, here at the very heart of my Ominous empire. They think nothing of harassing me, providing violent ego-decompression, or even comparing my carefully cultivated Surrealistic Lyricism style of Artistic Blogging to a juvenile round of Mad-Libs.
Along with droves of other internet humor connoisseurs, you might wonder how these spectators from my past could possibly find fault in an artist of my stature.1 I often ponder this mystery myself, and the only conclusion I have come up with so far is that somehow my former educational associates still see me like this:
The Young and the Clueless
Instead of this, the towering bloggeranaut I have become:.
The Veins of Our Lives
So as a service to those of you whose mental picture of me is painfully lodged somewhere in the late eighties, I have generously arranged this opportunity for you to get with the program. It is a simple, three step program, consisting of the following tasks: halt your mockery, acknowledge my manly accomplishments, and tremble.
Those readers as of yet not trembling are clearly approaching the forgetful stage of their chronological advancement. So for the benefit of these semi-senile individuals, I have provided this handy Accomplishment Reference for your trembling convenience:
- I write the Ominous Comma, hailed by critics as â€œthe most inventive and un-credible blog ever to be named after punctuation.â€2
- I have a full head of my own original hair.
- I arose from my bed this morning unaided, narrowly escaping the clutches of gravity.
- Did I mention the Comma?
For anyone who may have already forgotten the purpose of the preceding highly impressive list, here is a reminder, in large, bi-focal friendly print.
Alright my readers, it is now your turn to wax reflective. If you went to school with the author, if you went to school with people, or if you in any way participated in the educational process,3 please send your memories, pictures, anecdotes, or anything else likely to embarrass you to this fine publication via the comment boxes securely mounted at the bottom of this post.
Our usual $72 dollar entry fee has been waived in order that even the most starvingly artistic, as well as the merely unemployed, can participate in what is sure to be painful spill down memory lane.
Let get remembering, people. While you still can.
This post has seen better days over at humor-blogs.com
- It is a well known fact that 73 inches is the height of artistic perfection. That is why so many aspiring artists invest in platform shoes. ↩
- Yes, I made that up. But genuine, unfabricated praise for this site does surprisingly exist and can be found here. ↩
- Military and obedience schools included. ↩
… You charged me $350!
You are so HAT!
The prophet is never recognized in his home town.
(I suppose itâ€™s because they know you throw your socks and underwear on the floor)
Oh, the 80s! I remember them! I think… Hm. But all the hairspray may have fogged my memory some. Is that when we used pliers to zip up our too tight Calvin Kleins and then accidentally bonked ourselves in the head when the pliers slipped and then had to go to school with big purple egg-bumps on our foreheads…?
Your email threat had me shaking for sure. I thought you were going to dredge up some embarrassing photos of me, or tell revealing stories I thought had long been forgotten (particularly by me).
I’ll have to ponder this awhile – my current life is so full of distraction I rarely have glimpses of the glorious days of our youth.
(I must say though, while watching the tremendous Tinsel of Doom dvd, I kept thinking, “If only they could see Brent now! What would they all think?” and “How come I was the one in 3 different choirs and he’s the one on stage?”)
(Laughter, tears, bellyacheâ€¦more laughterâ€¦)
â€œThe extent of my fame is not always obvious to the causal observer, mainly due to the surprising restraint shown by my admirers in open areas, but in the enhanced proximity of an enclosed space, their distinctly fanatical character is revealed. In fact, it is a rare occasion that I can slip away from a restaurant, doctorâ€™s office, or even a speed trap without some stern, often uniformed fan demanding my autograph on the bill.â€
Oh that is so good it gave me goosebumps! Dry humor at its finest. I love laughing this hard!
Good God youâ€™ve become better looking with age. Is that a furry hamster dangling down on your forehead?
LOVE the second photo MINUS the buff bod (ewwww) and shadow beard! I canâ€™t stop laughing actually.
I was just hailed as the pretty hot liberal chic by an incredibly intelligent Anonymous commenter so there is no way Iâ€™m sending in an 80â€™s pic of myself!
I just stumbled on this blog yesterday, yet after viewing that first photo, you are a celebrity in my eyes. You should seriously consider printing up 8 x 10 glossies for ebay (though taking me up on that idea makes me your manager and entitles me to 10 percent.) Keep up the good work;)
You didn’t have to pay your friends?!!?
Man, you rock! Most of my old high school chums are still taking a monthly draw on my Mastercard.
I’m glad you didn’t get that skinny little tie around your present thick neck.
I tried to do something similar to that with my life once. Everbody just Acknowledged that I talked with a Halting Tremble; and then they ignored me until I paid them $72.
You sure this thing is securely mounted? Seems a little shaky. Oh wait, that’s just me, trembling in awe of your blognificence.
“Our usual $72 dollar entry fee has been waived in order that even the most starvingly artistic, as well as the merely unemployed, can participate in what is sure to be painful spill down memory lane.”
Dr. T would be so ashamed of you.
Maybe you should bring back the snazzy thin tie. They are often under rated as respect getting attire.
“It may surprise you to know that as a young man, I indeed had friends, and that I did not have to financially compensate them in any way for the pleasure of my company.”
You only had two friends! Until Camille came along and saved you.
“It may also surprise you to know that even today a statistically improbable number of comment-dispensing Comma readers are former high school associates of mine.”
I do like that first picture. I like the collar up!
80’s?! EIGHTIES??? WTF? I was pregnant in the eighties. Holy shnikes. If I’d had kids younger and they had hair like that, oh dear.
No. NO. You were stunning. And surrealistically lyrical. May I steal Surrealistic Lyricism with appropriate attribution?
Also, I fell down the main hallway stairs at my highschool in 1970, wearing red over-the-knee socks and a red mini. Big stairs. Flashed the entire school before class. I was still able to graduate without being known as Britney with underwear.
You show a little skin and you get what 57 comments? That’s it I am giving in to pressure. I will have a nude picture of my ankle on my blog by sundown, or sunup or when I feel like it.
to be fair, a full head of hair is a pretty big achievement from where I am standing.
I have posted nudity and it’s not my ankle. Let’s see how many comments I get.
I stand corrected, it is now 50 comments, oh no, now 51 comments.
Can I get an autographed high school pic? hehe loved the hair.
Holy crap, did you really look like that? I have to admit I never looked that bad.
Yeah, I’d like an autographed highschool picture too. Please?
While you have the pen out…may I have one as well?
Did you want him to sign his current name or his alias before the “vacation” he took up the creek?
hahah what a nice photos here :)))) makes me funnyy
It is really a great post. After i red your post, I went back to my Early days.. I can bring my sweet memories but on the spot it is struggling to come into my mind..
I am unaware to post the story. I go learn and come or if anybody having idea to share with me.. Most Welcome..
Thanks for sharing good experience with us.. Keep up your good work…