Thursday, February 28, 2008

Embarrassing Times

So, I was sitting around with some friends yesterday, and we got to talking about some of our most embarrassing moments in our lives.

The first thing I thought of, was actually not an embarrassing moment at all for me, but one hell of a near-miss of an embarrassing moment.

Side note: This story once again contains Earl in it. I have realized that, of late, many of my posts have centered around Earl. If this makes you as nauseas as it makes me, please read no further. I’m sorry, but the sad fact is that in my youth I spent way too much time with Earl, so now when I look back on those years, he’s usually featured in my recollections in one form or another.

Anyway….

For a time, Earl and I were into comic books. I mean REALLY into comic books. I mean so much into comic books, that we would go to a convention pretty much every weekend. Pretty sexy, I know…

One particular Saturday, we were in New York City at a comic book/Magic convention (don’t ask), where we were competing in a tournament (pleeeease don’t ask). These conventions were usually all day things, and towards the end we were so geeked out that we would usually have bad headaches and generally be exhausted.

At one point, I couldn’t find Earl, so I went up to the second floor, where people went to usually take a break from the action, to look for him.

At this point I should make it clear that Earl doesn’t really deviate too much (i.e. at all) with his wardrobe. In fact, one could make a case that from 1991 to 1998 he basically wore the same fucking thing every day of his life: Baseball hat, big poncho/t-shirt, baggy shorts, and sandals. Like EVERY Saturday that we hung out, that was his wardrobe. Plus, he’s got a goatee…. That’s important too.

So, off I go to the second floor, when, after a few minutes of searching through the amassed nerds that were congregated there, sure enough, I spy Earl taking an afternoon snooze on the floor, his baseball cap pulled over his face to block out the sunlight.

Sandals? Check. Shorts? Check. Baseball cap? Triple-check! Goatee? Check, check, and check-mate! Yeah, that was Earl, sure enough…

So, because I secretly hate him, I decided to be a prick.

I sneak up to him, sleeping soundly as a newborn babe on the floor. I figure what nicer way to wake him from his peaceful slumber than to jump on him and give him a surprise pink belly. I also was planning on kneeing him in the balls once or twice.

I was secretly reveling in the madcap hijinx that were about to ensue. He was going to be SOOO fucking pissed!

So, I crouched down, getting ready to leap.

I was just beginning my launch, when a hand from somewhere behind me suddenly grabs my arm.

“Oh there you are. What the fuck are you doing?”, is all I hear from the voice behind me.

I quickly spin around, and what do I see? Who was my mystery assailant?

It was Earl, stuffing his face with a hot dog.

The poor unsuspecting loser on the floor was in fact not MY loser, but completely someone else’s loser. Someone who, even Earl admitted at the time, could have been his clone.

I often wonder what the guy would have thought, woken up from a deep slumber, with a stranger jumping on him while slapping his belly and kneeing him in the nuts.

Sadly, like all of life’s eternal questions, like who built Stonehenge, or how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie role pop….

…..The world may never know.

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