Monday, December 11, 2006

I Saw- I Played- I Turned Bright Red

It was a day unlike any other in the life of the illustriously famous junior journalist Brendan Alexander. He woke, he rose, he saw toys and he played with them. The only difference was the toy nearest on this day was a dolly, and the boy in question happened to be me; so now I’m apparently doomed to a life of peculiar awkwardness.If you’ve ever been a politician, specifically one smeared for a single act of most inconsequential indiscretion, however fleeting it may have been, I can fully and honestly say I know how you feel.I’ve been wrongly accused! My life need not revolve now nor forever around this scant hundredth of a second’s snappery of a quick-triggered camera. I don’t play with dollys!
While on the surface this may appear to be an incriminating and embarrassing shot of me playing with a dolly, I assure you it's a false photo. I was tricked, smoke and mirrors were involved, and anything at all, save for the photographic evidence, is the true and actual truth... I wasn't playing with a dolly, I swear!This is an outlandish and outrageously ridiculous chapter in my life. Heck, it isn’t even that, it’s more like a footnote within a chapter within a volume of the lengthy compendium of my life. Don’t call it a chapter, people, I just wanted to see what it was.So let’s get back to the politician thing. You see a politician patting a baby or giving it kisses on cheeks most rosy and you don’t think him a weirdo any more than you would on account of him being a politician in the first place, right? That’s me in a nutsachel without a doubt. I was making friends, influencing people, shaking hands and kissing babies.Only in this case I was shaking the hand of a baby doll. That’s not so out of the ordinary, is it?Forget what you’ve seen or what it is you may have thought you had seen, I’m a manly man of a baby and I only check in with dollys as to best understand the needs of my well-rounded constituent base.Come November, vote Brendan Alexander for Somethingman. And, come my own adolescence skim right on past this entry as it is/was of very little meaning… unless you’re a dolly and you’re registered to vote, in which case it meant everything and there’s nothing that could make me say otherwise.Oh man, what a tight spot I’ve put myself into.Check out these many, more manly, alternate explanations as to what it was that I was doing:
ABOVE - As you can see here, I wasn't playing with a doll. I'm a manly boy and I was using something else, something much, much more manly. AT LEFT it's plainly obvious I was enjoying the testosteronio's of a manly Tonka Truck. AT CENTER you can see that it was still not a dolly, but rather that I was poking a sickly bit of albatross. "Kaw!" said the seagull in protest, but I poked it no less. That is quite simply and quite precisely how very, very manly I am. I'm no doll player! AT RIGHT you can see me checking my stock quotes and checking out the stats on the monster truck show. Did Grave Digger crush them again? This is just how manly I am whether checking email or surfing for stories of manly heroism.