WYSIWYG

So, I haven't seen What the Bleep Do We Know yet, but it's on my queue at Blockbuster. (By the by, my ancestors didn't invade Canada early on in the nation's history just so that a list of movies I could rent online would be called a queue--where's the hot congressional action when you need it?) However, I hear that a prominently featured idea is that you can only see what you believe is in front of you. Well, more anecdotal evidence follows.
So, Emily told me today that I looked like "Ron Burgundy" today. This would make her the n billionth person to have made the observation that I bear a resemblance to a certain SNL alumnus. Anyways, this brought up the Halloween story--that Halloween party filled with random drunk people that Janna didn't really know because we showed up so early that I headed straight for the Jack Daniel's and can only remember through a haze of bad party vibe. Anyways, I didn't really feel like dressing up, so I went as a candle. I used the left over orange hair spray from last year's Field Day--see my orthopedic surgeon for all the fun details on that happy incident--and I dressed all in one color. Anyways, no one at the party said, "Hey--candle--I get it." Of course I would be an idiot to expect someone to say that. Actually, what I was hoping, was that people would see me and say, "What the *~{% does he think he's doing--he's *~{%ing retarded," and not talk to me. However, this ruse backfired, because instead I got, "Dude--totally--Elf right!" or, "Whoa! Old School! Man you rock!" Maybe this year, somebody will come up to me and say, "Man, you totally sucked in Melinda and Melinda, and I mean, everyone knows Woody Allen lost his chops after he started boning his adoptive teenage Asian daughter."
Okay, time for the requisite photo essay...


Me? 


Of course this isn't me or Will Ferrell, click on the darn picture. I hate to say this, but unfortunately this guy's name is Shannon Ferrell and he goes to Oklahoma State University. I hate to say this as well, but 'nuff said. (I found his picture on a google search for my doppleganger in flesh.)

Anyways, the point is, those overgrown fratboys could only see me as the guy they wanted to come to their party--not for the beautiful anti-social candle I truly was on the inside. The point is, if someone comes to a party with orange hair, just let him sit alone next to the Jack Daniel's singing Stephen Foster songs.