The Average White Guy

If you knew me as a kid, it was no secret that when I was growing up, I was often the littlest guy in the class, on the team, at the bus stop, on the street, at the pool, at the park, etc… If there were weight classes for school yard fights (of which I had my share) I would definitely have been a junior featherweight. Needless to say, I was picked on a bunch because of my short stature. Did it affect me? Did the torture have lasting effects? The voices in my head say no, but my therapists all say yes. (Please tell me you know I’m joking about that last one.)

Being small had it’s shortcomings (no pun intended). I couldn’t hang with the big guys on the hoop court. I couldn’t reach the popsicles in the freezer. I couldn’t do that thing where you hold the object of your little brother’s affection over his head while he jumps for it and cries, “C’mon Jiiiiim… Let me haaaaave it….. PLEEEAAASEE!!!”. (No offense, Bill) I was robbed of those sorts of childhood gems, but being a shorty also had some nice advantages.

Because I was such a little dude, I could often squeeze through the gaps (open windows, under beds, between jagger bushes, behind stuff) most other people couldn’t. Dodgeball? I was an impossible target! I was also extremely fast due to my extremely light weight. This quality I’ve kept with me, although I’ve lost a step being as out of shape as I am. When I fell off of stuff or out of stuff like trees, I was typically fine. Today though, if I step of the curb awkwardly, I’ll feel it for a week. WTF happened? I digress…

When I was growing up, I needed a role model. Sure, Maya the Bee could have filled the void, but c’mon folks, I’m not a little girl. The Smurfs? Yes, of course - those little dude took it to Gargamel at every available opportunity, but there was a whole community of them; I was typically on my own. How about the Fraggles? Eh… I always viewed the Fraggles as the special ed muppets. While I’m average at most things, my brain isn’t… I’m actually quite intelligent, so the Fraggles just don’t make sense. So who’s left? Who could possibly give a little guy like me hope? Who could give me the courage to be bigger than my little body? I’ll tell ya who… The Teeny Little Super Guy, that’s who. Please see the following video clip and I’ll pick you up on the other side.

The Teeny Little Super Guy (if you don’t already remember) was a sketch on Sesame St. which I watched like a fanatic when I was a kid. For a sold hour and a half Sesame St. and Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood kept me planted on my caboose in front of the TV. Teeny Little Super Guy was one of my favorites. He was no bigger than my thumb but snap my fingers and here he comes! If he could do stuff without his size being a factor, so could I. He gave me the strength to be a teeny little super guy too.

So to the Teeny Little Super Guy, this post is for you. Thank you for getting me through those really tough years. Thank you for giving me the strength to embrace and accelerate with my size, rather than be held down by it.

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There isn’t a single one of you out there who doesn’t get MySpace spam… If you’re a guy, there’s a good chance it’s some tight-assed little cock tease profile designed to get you to click a series of advertisements. If you’re a girl, there’s a good chance your spam is coming from the horny guys who just deleted the spam from their inbox before trolling for pussy.

I suppose there is nothing on the Internet which is ad or spam free anymore but do you really have to insult me and my intelligence? See the following screen capture (which is a few months old, but I’ve seen this behavior a bunch of times in the past few months…. Tell me, does anything strike you as odd?

Yes, junior detectives, yo got it.. It’s two scintillating friend request invitations from two different fat guys posing as hot chicks both using the same profile picture. Of course, I’m not dumb enough to add both of them… One of them is obviously a fake, but which one? Well you’re the junior detectives… you tell me. Ok, ok, ok… that was a trick… the truth is, they’re both fake. I wasn’t fooling you, was I?

The truth is, I’m slightly insulted by this. I mean, not only do you assume I’m dumb enough to fall for your hot chick invitation, but you didn’t think it was important to disguise your identity with a unique picture…. Man, what a bummer. To go one step further, you should be ashamed of yourself for toying with the hormonal instincts of the 20-something guy crowd who frequents MySpace.

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