Image Obsession

Good heavens, Deon, there’s an AVATAR where that weird design thingy used to be!  You’re welcome, internet!

There, now you have a baseline, understanding of course, that I look better in real life than as a cartoon avatar.  Or worse.  Whatever.  If I were image-obsessed, would I hide all this beauty in a bunker as much as possible?  For a while there I was kind of nervous about displaying anything close to the real me, probably put off a few friends who asked when I sent the pictures of Mr Rogers flipping the bird right at the camera.  Sorry, Blah-grrl, I guess I’m coming out of my shell a little, maybe.  I reserve the right to go back to the geometric design and go back to hiding.  I’m a shy guy who likes his normal hiding-in-his-bunker existence.  Go on, follow Blahpolar, she rocks.  Plus, she has a dragon named Toaster (my dragon is named Buttercup – FIRST mention on this blog!  Another out-of bunker disclosure.  My bravery knows no limits (That’s a total LIE!).)

Gotta love that.  His image so squeaky clean and yet there are these images to haunt him for all eternity, but the song is still squeaky clean and without any connotation.  I LIKED Mr. Rogers, for the simplicity and love and innocence of his message, which is why in my blog, unless you’re a complete ass, I’m simple and loving and try to be encouraging.

So there you have it, I’ve courageously created an avatar image I suppose not far from what I would look like if I were cartoon-ed.  It’s squeaky clean and without any connotation and yet there are people (thanks, Mrs. M. You and your damned honesty.)  who will tell me my hair has more brown in it, my beard is longer, scruffier, and more white than that, my hair needs cutting, I should shave, I look older in real life, blah, blah, blah.  And I’m too fat.  They can tell just from the cartoon.  Not really.  They can tell because I said I was.  If I were image obsessed I might try harder to look more like, or better than, the un-cartooned likeness.  Cleaner.  But no.  And honestly, I’m not all THAT fat, I’ve got the standard-issue happily married extra 20…or 30 lbs I’d need to to lose to be completely ripped.

I liked the colors.  Purples are my favorite.  And black.  And my eyes are smoldering blue, I did the best I could to capture it but in real life they’re much more penetrating.  Staring. Straight. Into.  Your. Very. Soul…  I know you better than I know me, because I’m a sympathetic empath and, unless you’re a complete ass, I care about you.  Don’t tell anyone, I’ll probably deny it.

If I were image obsessed I’d have been more honest about it and just gone with this, it’s not far off:

There you have it.

I was discussing doppelgangers on another blogger’s comments and confessed that I’ve never met my doppelganger, but I’m certain he looks just as hot as I do.  You’re welcome, internet.  Go on, follow Jill.  You know you want to.  You won’t regret it.  She’s awesome.

My image is squeaky clean, because I’m always running it through the washing machine.  But in real life, I’ve got all the connotations of a dirty-minded man except I only want Mrs. M.  I wish my brain was squeaky clean but no one has invented real-life mental floss.  But I noticed you, you sexy thing, which is probably a bad thing for me to have done.  Plus, it’s hard to get the filth out from between the little cracks in the cranium.  I’d need a mental technician to irrigate all the shit out of there.  And then there are the cavities.  What the hell do you use to fill the cavities and depravities?

I await the judgemental commentary of the trolls and the dubious admiration of any mistaken people who think if I look like the avatar it’s not that bad.  If I were image obsessed I might care about the constructive criticisms enough to do something about it.  But no.  I DO need a haircut.  I DO need to trim up the scruff.  I DO need to lose 30 lbs for a better wardrobe to actually fit my fat ass.  It IS probably more gray in real life(, but it used to be more brown).  I DO look older in real life.  Yes. It’s all true Mrs. M, and I get the last laugh because YOU MARRIED ME, you hot, amazing, adorable, hottie.  (GOD! I love that woman.  In spite of that truth I have to look at in the mirror so she won’t give me the up-and-down and eye roll look so I’ll clean up and dress better before she will go out with me.  That’s right, and that hasn’t changed since college so she knew what she was getting into when she married me.)

I think my image needs a hot shower.  Pass the mental floss?  Wait, what are you doing in the shower?  Get out!  You’re NOT helping me.  Noooooooo!!!!


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