The Day I Met My Doppelganger

Phew, It has been a weird couple of weeks huh? That one thing happened. That one old bastard that everyone hated died, and now we love him. Rick Santorum just realized that his running for office was a slap in the face for anyone who wasn’t born before 1822… OK. I’m not going to bullshit you. I have no clue what happened this passed month. If any of the things I said above are true, that you should just consider that a happy little coincidence because I have been indisposed for that last couple of weeks. Here is the story why:
It was a sunny day in Dublin, Ohio when I met my doppelganger. Dublin, Ohio, for those of you who don’t know, is where we banish all the drunks and undesirables of the Greater Columbus area. By the way, it’s bullshit that I was sent there, because my drunkenness is totally made up for by being so damn desirable (ladies).
So yeah, I was trapped in Dublin, making several repeated and failed attempts to scale the fence. The problem was that I could only get about halfway up before I’d lose my grip and fall back to the ground that I’ve hardened by repeatedly falling on it. This had gotten some attention from the guard staff, but they never tried to stop me. No, they found my relentlessness amusing. Every once and a while one of them would call out to me, “You do know that’s an electric fence, right?” but I wouldn’t answer them. Granted, that was partially due to the fact that the electric shocks seemed to give me a case of lock jaw, but none the less, I continued to try. Those fools. Little did they know that with enough dedication and interactions with something unpleasant, you begin to get used to, and even like, the sensation an unpleasant feeling gives you. It’s just like, garbage men getting used to the smell of trash, or coroners not gagging as they open a cadaver, or googling for naked pictures of Courtney Love- desensitization is the key.
(pic of Courtney Love- caption: But if you’re googling pictures of Courtney Love, then you should be coming to me for tips on how to be more of a model citizen)
As I was about to try for my lucky 2,674th attempt of scaling the electrified fence, I noticed a strange sight on the other side. There, sitting in a burgundy sedan at a traffic light, was me. I rubbed my eyes, both to make sure I was seeing what I was seeing, and to make sure they hadn’t turned into serpents (the easiest and fastest way for me to know if I had taken any drugs.) Nope. I was still sitting in the car, and my eyes weren’t biting at my fingertips. That must mean he is real! I tried one last time, with as much energy that I could muster. It worked. I climbed that damn fence like I was Spider-man, and each electrical shock gave me more energy to continue upward. By the time I reached the top, I was moving so fast that I actually launched myself with enough energy to land close enough to the car. I jumped through the passenger side window, despite the gunshot accompanied protested cries of the Dublin guards.
Unfortunately, I was so hopped up on being electrocuted that it sounded more like: “HIGHMYNAHMIZMINIGUNUNDITHINWEERTWINSBUTTYJUSSBROKOUOFDOUBLINSOYNEEUTOODRIVRIGHNOW!!!!!!”
My twin screamed, but foolishy had not started driving. I looked back. The guards were down from their towers and already aiming their guns at the car.
“DRIVE!” I screamed as I pressed down on his right knee. The sedan lunged foreward, through the red light and in between the cars of the inconsiderate drivers who were driving through that intersection so selfishly. My twin screamed as the assholes in the other cars either whizzed past us or swerved to avoid us. “Good idea,” I said, “Let’em hear your battle cry. That’s how they know not to fuck with you.” I began to scream out the window and made sure to point and look furious if I caught any of the drivers’ eye. We made it through the intersection safely (mostly thanks to me and my awesome yelling skills), and we sped off away from that hellish prison of Dublin, Ohio.
“Please stop pressing down on my leg,” he asked as his voice quivered, no doubt from the excitement of helping me escape. I obliged, and he let out a small sigh. He let off of the gas, and the needle of the speedometer began to inch back down.
I casually put my hand back on his knee and forced it down once again, making the needle go back up. I then said, “So how crazy is it that you, my twin, were driving past Dublin just as I was trying to escape?”
He didn’t answer, but judging by how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel and how much he was shaking that he was thinking the same thing. There was an awkward silence between us for a few minutes before I ask, “So, where are we headed, twin?”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want as long as you take your hand off of my knee and for the love of God don’t hurt me.”
“I get to choose?!?!” I cry, “Well, fuck me sideways. Let’s go bowling! We’ve got some serious catching up to do, and bowling is the perfect activity to do it!”
My twin drove, er, steered us to the nearest bowling alley, which was a dumpy little place surrounded by several abandoned buildings. There were several cars scattered in the parking lot, and the neon sign in the glass front door beckoned me in with the promise of beer. Other than the promise of beer, this place looked like a shit hole, but I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to insult my new found doppelganger’s choice in bowling locations.
“This place looks like a shit hole. You’ve got piss poor judgement when it comes to picking out places to bowl,” I say anyway.
Despite my disappointment, I get out of the car and rush around to the driver’s side so that I can open the door for him. He got out slowly, but once he was standing, I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and pull him towards the door.
“So, I haven’t even learned your name. What is it?” I ask.
He hesitated, but then replied, “Mike Thompson.”
“Mike Thompson? That’s a stupid, fat person’s name! For now on, your name is Maximillion Kickass. I’ll call you Maxi Kicks for short. So, do you have any kids, Maxi Kicks?”
“Yes. I have a son and a daughter whom I love very much and I’d love to see again,” He replied, his voice shaky for some reason.
“Shit! You do!? Do you have pictures of them?”
He hesitated once again, but once he eventually gave in and pulled out his wallet and flipped to a picture of the two children. They looked just like him, and therefore, me.
“Those are two damn attractive kids,” I said honestly and innocently , “It would be a shame is something awful happened to them, if you know what I mean.”
Maxi Kicks began to shake, which was understandable because it was beginning to get cold, so I put his wallet in my pocket and we hurried our way into the rundown bowling alley. Despite the place being so damn cruddy, it was actually pretty full. Most of the groups playing were people around Maxi Kicks and my age, yet there were some groups of middle aged people scattered along the lanes. A Britney Spears Song was playing overhead and the scent of beer, nachos, and old feet filled the air. We bought our lane and then walked up to the Shoe-witch. I called her a Shoe-witch because she was a bedraggled old woman with frizzy and tangled black hair and she peddled her old shoes.
“Hello,” the witch said in a horribly bright tone, “What size shoes can I get for you today?”
“Listen to me, Shoe hag,” I command, “I will not be buying any of your accursed footwear, so you can take them back to the hell bog from which you came!”
Maxi Kicks sighed and said, “I’ll take 11’s.”
“Omigosh! Maxi Kicks! That’s the same size I wear! We ARE twins!”
The shoe-witch pulled out two pairs of size 11 shoes and set them on the counter in front of us. Maxi Kicks grabbed his pair and started walking towards our lane. I grabbed a hold of mine, gave a dirty look to the shoe-witch, and then followed Maxi Kicks to our lane.
As we tied our shoes, I asked, “So, twin, who should go first?”
“OK,” He replied, “Why do you think we’re twins?”
“Isn’t it obvious? We clearly look identicle.”
“What the Hell are you talking about? We look nothing alike. I’m a middle aged black man.”
Irritated, I snap back, “Oh Blah, blah, blah I’m a black man. We can never be twins because our skin color is so different. You know, skin color is such an unimportant difference, yet we all feel so strongly in separating ourselves along those lines. I hope that one day we can get past all of this needless racism.”
“Wow.” He said, clearly shocked at my awesome words, “That was surprisingly unracist of you.”
“I know,” I replied, “I’m a lot of things: smart, funny, a great writer, sexy, muscular, all different kinds of awesome, totally sane. Hell, I’m even a robot from the future. But the one thing I am not is racist. Unless it’s about Jews. Fuck those guys.”


They're all evil monsters.

“How is that not racist?”
“Oh, it is,” I answer, “But it’s not “hate” racism as it is, “I’m tired of making gay jokes, but I still need a group to subjugate. I actually don’t have any problem with Jewish people.”


See, they're not so bad after all.

“Oh,” he said, clearly impressed with my awesome and totally not offensive explanation, “That’s better…I guess…”

Suddenly, from outside, red and blue lights flashed and sirens blared, indicating that those buzz kill policemen were out to ruin my night with my twin.
“Quick, Maxi Kicks,” I said, ” we need to get out of here,”
It was too late, the cops were already coming through the doors and were pointed to our lane by that bitch, the shoe witch.
“Minigan,” my twin cooed, putting a sympathetic hand on my shoulder, “Just give up. We’re trapped. If you resist, they’re going to split your head open.”
Split? Like a seven-ten split. In bowling. Holy shit!
“We’re in a Bowling Alley!”
“Wha- yeah. You wanted to come here.
“I know that.” I stated, agitated that my twin didn’t understand, “But what is the one thing that both policemen and shoe witches are defenseless against?”
His vacant stare indicated that he didn’t know.
I sighed, “Their common weakness is having bowling balls thrown at their heads! Quick, Maximillion Kickass, start chucking as many bowling balls at them as you can!”
“I am NOT going to attack a police officer!” He cried pansily.
I grabbed him by the shoulders and screamed, “YOU WILL DO WHAT I SAY IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR KIDS AGAIN!!!”
That seemed to do the trick. He grabbed the closest ball and chucked it, with surprising force, at the group of oncoming policemen.
I grabbed a couple of balls of my own (he he, my own balls), and began my own game of bowling for pigs. With each ball thrown, I took out, like, 10 damn cops. I’m so good at bowling, you have no idea. Anyway, this didn’t last for long because I got it with something hard and heavy. Everything went black.
I must’ve blacked out because the next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital bed with about a half a dozen cops standing around me.
“Blast,” I cried as soon as I could muster the strength to do so, “You may have caught me, but you’ll never take me alive, coppers!”
“Good, you’re awake,” the head cop said with a look of relief on his face, “We were beginning to think you were never gonna wake up. Why are you chewing on your I.V.?”
“I’m going to escape from your tyrannical clutches, even if it means I have to chew my way out” I retorted in between bites on their oppressive I.V. cord.
They began to mumble amongst themselves, and I happened to catch phrases like, “still needs time to recover,” and “Possibly brain damaged?” After that brief moment in which they discussed my condition, the leader turned to me again and said, “Well, you’ll be happy to know that your kidnapper is in custody.”
“Damn right he is… wait, who?”
“The man who kidnapped you,” The head cop replied, “His name is Minigan Blackwood. After forcing you to attack us with bowling balls, he must’ve decided that you were a liability and threw one at you. It hit you in the back of the head, gave you a severe concussion and put you in a coma for the past three weeks.”
“He did what?!” I cried, spitting the I.V. tube out of my mouth. I must’ve punctured it because it began to spray the clear fluid all over the place.
“Yes,” the officer said while holding his hand out in front of his face to block the oncoming stream of I.V. fluid, “Yes he put you in a coma for three weeks, Mr. Thompson. We just need to ask if you would be willing to testify against him in court.”
I did my best to sound dazed, which wasn’t hard, what with me waking up from a coma and finding out that the cops had mixed up my twin and my identities, “Well, I’m not sure… It was all very traumatic. I’m not sure I could ever face him again after what he put me through…”
“We completely understand.” He replied, “We’ll let you get your rest.”
They left. As soon as they had shut the door, I pulled out the needle from the still spraying I.V. from my arm, and walked slowly to the bathroom. I had to prop myself up most of the way because of how weak my legs felt. Was I actually Maxi Kicks this entire time? Was the belief that I was Minigan Blackwood and seeing the story through his eyes a side effect of the coma? I had to be sure. I had to look in the mirror. Once I reached the bathroom I stared at the person on the other side of the glass. I wasn’t sure who it was. It could’ve been Minigan Blackwood, but it could just as easily been Maxi Kicks. I wasn’t sure. But then, I remembered.
“Maxi Kicks was right! Minigan was white and Maxi was black!”
I looked into the mirror again, and the person staring back at me was absolutely a honky.
“I’m Minigan!” I said to myself, “but then why did they think Maxi was me?”
It hit me. Right before we walked into the bowling alley I took Maxi’s wallet. I made sincere and hopeful statement that nothing bad would happen to his kids and then I pocketed his wallet. I didn’t have my actual wallet on me. They must’ve saw that I had his wallet and got our identities switched.
“That works for me!” I said aloud for some reason, “It kind of sucks that Maxi is going to jail, but I’m pretty sure I warned him to do exactly what I say if he wanted to see his children again. He should’ve listened.”
And with that, I put on my clothes, climbed out the window and sauntered off into the sunset.


While "Hurt" by Jonny Cash played.

And that is why I haven’t posted anything the past few weeks.



  1. It’s about time you explained your absence.

  2. […] Well, I would have gone with my twin or that one Jonas Brother, but both of them are in jail. And then I was going to go with Russel […]

  3. […] Jonas- This is Bullshit! Minigan has done awful shit to me! I deserve to go first! Mike Thompson- Oh really, did he trick the police into thinking you were him? Nick Jonas- No. He ran over Justin Beiber with my car, and then left me to take the blame. Jimmy- […]

  4. […] you may or may not know, earlier last year I met, kidnapped, and eventually went bowling with my doppleganger, Mike Thompson. Well, he’s in jail now (which is probably partially my fault, but let’s not get […]

Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

  • I am this popular!

    • 97,154 hits
  • Blast from the Past!

    April 2012
    S M T W T F S
    « Mar   May »
  • The Vault