If You Spot It You Got It

Class in session miscreants; Professor Booty's here.

You might think that a successful, world-renowned bootologist such as The Professor would be a proud and self-confident man, maybe even veering toward the vain. I mean, for the love of Baby Jesus, I’m a two-time Assman-Rumper Award winner – and I think you all know what that means.

But I carry around with me a fair amount of self-loathing. Can’t explain it, but there it is. What this means in practical terms is that when I run across someone with whom I share a lot of personality traits I don’t see a kindred spirit, maybe a good friend in the making. No, I see a nemesis.

Enter Idiot Boy. He ain’t much to look at - hackneyed title and tagline – self-deprecation and asserted cynicism – and blah, blah, blue basic blogger. Yawn. It’s nice and clean, but you drew the short straw Idiot, I’m the one guy around here who likes my blogs like I like my women – overly made up and trashy. If your blog was a women and and I saw her standing primly on the street corner, I’d spare her a glance - out of politeness - and then quickly move on to the busty one down the street with the ruby lips and fishnets.

I was assigned your blog - kind of like being forced to go on a date with the daughter of your Dad's business associate who has a 'great personality'. Miss Missives breaks out the riding crop when I don’t get my assignments done in time, so you’re a lucky boy. Because, forced to read, I discovered a kindred spirit. What I discovered in fact, was a blogger that seems to have lived a mirror image of my life. I mean this guy's wondered about why he's the target of phallus enhancers, dismays about his transition into his own father, has taken road trips on LSD, he's mystified by the evolution of our mother tongue and he can seamlessly patch together a post about one of Dylan's finest works and canine vomitus in five hundred words or less.

He's telling my stories. He's in my head. Get out of my head, you bastard! Just who the fuck does this fucker think he is?

I'll tell you, my Askers and Receivers. He's my doppelganger and thus, my nemesis.

It's not all good. Sometimes he slips over the top and Idiot Boy can be a bit formulaic - every post has the same structure and a ten cent punchline - but it comes off more comforting than boring. But more importantly, as I trolled through his archives I realized that this fucker is getting better. His posts are getting crisper. He's exploiting the networking potential of blogging and has developed a loyal audience. He doesn't feel the need to post every day and while there is about one too many posts about his dog's bodily functions, he writes when he has something to say.

On advice of counsel, I've been actively working on my self-esteem. But it's baby steps. And until I can love myself, Idiot Boy, I can't love my doppelganger. . I tell you what, Idiot Boy, take this...

...and let's just go our separate ways and pretend we never met. Deal?