Self-depricating, self-referencing, self-promoting, short-short wearing* META MANIA: Nowhere but Over the Hedge.
*T draws me as though I were a back-up point guard for the ABA Baltimore Hustlers in 1975.
Hammy is my hero and I shall not want.
He maketh me stop and smell the Twinkies, he leadeth me to pick out squid shapes in the clouds.
Yea, thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of suburbia, I will fear no angst, for Hammy art with me, thy thumbs and thy fuzzy milk duds they comfort me.
Hammy preparest a feast of Macaroni and Cheese dust in the presence of mine critics, thou filllest my head with silliness; my smile runneth wide.
Surely a toasty-cozy warm buzz will follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the hug of Hammy for ever.
I have no idea what I’m wearing in this. Not sure why T dressed me up in shorts and what looks like an Old Navy shirt from 1997. I do wear Chucks, but not high-tops. I did wear red high-top Chucks 20 years ago.
Which might have been the last time T and I saw each other.
I’ll send him a recent photo.
Yeah, that’s pretty much me in my daily work position. Except…
I’m about 25 pounds thinner. I have a beard. I don’t wear a watch and I haven’t worn shorts that short since 1979.
Oh, and I don’t rest on my laurels. I keep them in a display case, next to my Nolan Ryan signed baseball and my Titlest NXT hole-in-one ball.
And I drink decaf coffee (three sugars), not soda.
Other than all that, it’s exactly like me.
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I had to shoot, direct, edit and produce this myself. Mostly because I couldn’t figure out who I had to fuck to get off this picture.