So get this--the other day I'm at the gym, working to make my pects even more massive than they already are, (look, I know what you're thinking: David,
your pects?
more massive? is that even
possible!? All I can really say is that I won't be satisfied until my pects are so fucking massive that my nipples turn into black-holes and my areoles become their event horizons [honestly, what else would you expect they become?]. I'll save the universal consequences of this for another entry.) when suddenly I'm struck by a realization--the impact of which rendered me catatonic for just long enough to loose my mommy effing stride. I was pretty pissed off (probably due to the liters of testosterone coursing through my bulging veins) and I knew this was an issue that was not about to mend itself.
The issue? I realized that all throughout my childhood and on up to this fateful day, I looked up to no-one. I could not claim to have even one hero, one person who I could look to and say "there is a man/
woman I can respect and I want to grow up to be just like him/
her"
Okay, I guess this is not entirely true. Of course I had all of the hackneyed heroes of times bygone: Neil Armstrong, my parents and/or guardians, Magic Johnson (pre-HIV and post it's-okay-to-have-HIV), both Sifl
and Olly--but these were just futile attempts at trying to be like all of the other beheroed and supple youth, they weren't heroes of any substance to me.
So here I stand now: afraid, alone, eager for guidance and direction, yet without a soul to whom I can fix my peregrine gaze. And so, as I do with almost all of my existential crises, I go straight to Google Image Search(tm)* for a quick and easy solution.
I think to myself: here I am, google image search, looking for some heroes--what's a good name for a hero to have? what is a hero-name that I can really get behind? (when prompted to read endnote **, you may want to refer back to the previous statement... you know, for joke.)
RANDY!!! That's it! It is the perfect internet name to find the faces of my heroes! I mean, I don't know anyone named Randy so it is a pure name in that sense. It's not too serious of a name, like I can see a Randy joking around with his buddies (he isn't the "jokester" per se, but he knows how to make a joke or two when appropriate). But at the same time, the name Randy isn't a fucking joke either (Peter and Dan initially come to mind... maybe Brett) like when the time is right Randy will never hesitate to say "Haha, okay guys, but in all seriousness now, settle down." as he slowly raises the volume of his voice until he finally peaks at a firm, yet friendly, authoritative timbre.
So without further ado (I really am sorry because this was an obscene magnitude of ado), I present you with the (unauthorized) comprehensive** annotated slideshow of my heroes named Randy:
First we have my Randys avec(tm) the goods:
These are the Randys who have got it all. They are smart, successful, talented--these Randys have traits that I could only dream of. The middle Randy (Randy 2) for example is very good at... you are probably thinking math aren't you? Well shame. on. you. Stereotypes, even positive stereotypes, not only alienate the isolated individual, but they hurt society as a whole. Anyways he is very good at owning laundry-mats and operating computers. I'll level with you though... not the best golfer (and not the best at pleasing a woman either but his income more than makes up for it.) The two Randys Randy2 is uncomfortably sandwiched between are, in fact, really good at sex (no this isn't another positive stereotype, this is from first hand [or should I say 'fist hand' cuz holy geez that's what it felt like] experience.) When all is set and done, these Randys aren't unconditionally my heroes because I only idolize them for what they have and/or can do.
Next I present unto you, The Randys with the Edge:
No, these Randys don't necessarily play by the rules; but like any maverick with a thirst for danger, they get the job done no matter what the costs. The first of the three Randys (Randy4) has been MIA for over a year now. But I respect that, you know? I respect that. Sometimes we just want--nay--need to break free from our humdrum commitments and once again let the world be our oyster. Well, you know the saying: surgery may cure a broken heart, radiation may cure lymphoma, but the only cure for wanderlust is to set your spirit free (it's the only way to be-eee). And then there are those who are born wanderlust, like Randy5. He won't even try to settle down cause he knows... he knows. Like an eagle he will soar on his motorcycle across the countryside, stopping only to play a tune for a pretty lady or a wide-eyed youngin' lookin' to getta clue. He doesn't ask much of the Earth but then again, he doesn't give much back either. And finally we have Randy6. Honestly, wow--where should I even even begin. I mean, check out those abs.
Finally we have my three feel-good Randys:
These Randys are probably the most important Randys in my life because they each have their own unique Randy-know-how that feels like it's custom-made to make me feel good about myself (Choo! Choo! all aboard the
esteem engine(tm) am I right Randy9?). And honestly, in the end, when you strip away your family, friends and loved ones; when you strip away your power, accomplishments, and material possessions; when you strip away all those fucking bullshit ego-constructs and perverted freudian safety-nets that you so-pathetically suck teat from everytime you feel yourself becoming unmasked; when you are face to face with your own mortality with no other entity joining you on the day of your reckoning--as you are standing there in the end, pink, shivering and naked in judgment before the eyes of Everything and Nothing, as the center of your soul is outstreched through every planck-nook and quantum-cranny of the universe; you will find solace and reassurance in and only in the person that is yourself. ...Better be damned sure you have a few Randys there to help you make sure you learn to like it.
Welp, those are my heroes named Randy. I can finally feel like a full human being.
Note: If any of the glorified Randys happens upon this page... Sorry? If you really don't like being someone's hero then there is something seriously wrong with you. And if Randy4 happens to stumble across this page... why don't you stumble upon your family as well if it's so damn easy to stumble upon things. I mean Jesus Crichton they must be worried sick. Although chances are, if you ran away from your family in the first place, you probably weren't the best father/spouse from the get-go/. That being said, they are probably better off without you (this is assuming you weren't abducted and murdered or anything; and if that happens to be the case, my bad).
*Although I'm sure it probably need not be said, but just in case some of you 'people' (that is if you actually still deserve the title) out there don't take it for granted like you should, I turned safe search off.
**Alas, I am guilty of the purposeful negligence of no less than a few (or 'a couple of' if you will) Gay-Porn-Randys. Please note that this is not to say the aforementioned Randys don't deserve a spot on the glory-pedestal along with all of my other heroes named Randy. (They most certainly do!) Let me put it this way: if the pedestal had a closet, said closet would be where I would feel most comfortable discreetly tucking (wow, the orthography of 't' is amazingly close to that of 'f') these fabulous Randys away until life on Earth is composed of nothing more than cockroaches and Cher (low blow?). (-see consequences of black-hole-nipples a.k.a. '2069, The Unmaking'). Unfortunately such a 'pedestal-closet' is nothing more than one of my idol fancies (conceived to contain my fancy idols) since pedestals--by design--don't have closets. Perhaps if I could just keep them hidden somewhere underground--yeah, that's it! underground in some sort of glory--------ditch? nah, ditch is a shitty word. bunker? maybe? Oh I know! a glory-h... eh screw (fuck?) it. (ahahahahahahaha!) (low blows.)
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disappointed
ribald