Posted by: Abe's Blog | October 21, 2010

Being Famous Has Not Affected Me Negatively At All, Hardly

I’ve been working in the remote high desert area of south-eastern Oregon for a month or so. I work, sleep, then work some more.  A couple of days ago, I came home for some R&R and was able to log onto the ‘net and was surprised to find that I had become famous in my absence.

A few months ago, I wrote a blog with the unassuming title, The Science and Art of Pickup Artists. The blog was about a segment of the male population (genus Homo Sapien) who believe that attractive members of the female persuasion of the same species can be wooed and conquered through the use of scientific methods developed by super nerds.

Imagine my surprise when one of the superstars of this exclusive club of handsome fellows left a comment on my blog. His name is Wayne “The Juggler” Elise, and he is a muckity-muck of the PUA movement. He even has his own Wikipedia page.

I politely responded and asked him for a job as a “guest lecturer”. I promised to bring my chainsaw as a motivational prop.

As I closed my laptop, I reflected for a moment on my new-found fame. As the house was quiet–the dogs, cat, goldfish, child, and wife all sleeping soundly–I allowed myself to have a whispered conversation with myself. “Self,” I told myself, “don’t let this go to your head. You still have to put on your pants one leg at a time.” And then I stood, grabbed my pants and attempted to jump into them with both feet at the same time (those who have tried this know that it is possible, but only if you are laying down on the floor, or if you have fastened your pants to ropes between two trees and you jump from an upper limb and land with your feet properly placed into the separate leg holes.)

My struggles woke the small dog and he attempted to help me by biting my head and barking at the top of his tiny lungs in my ear. I crawled out of the front door, prying his teeth from my hind end, tearing a chunk out of the seat of my pants in the process. As I stumbled barefoot to my truck, my friend Clarence walked by on his morning stroll. As usual, he carried an aluminum baseball bat. (I’ve never known why.) “Hey!” He called, “You ever think about running for mayor?”

I thought about it for only a second. “Yes!” I shouted, “I am ready to run for mayor.” Clarence had been asking me this same question for the past year. My answer had always been “no”, but I knew that my new-found notoriety would carry me through the election. As I fumbled with my truck door and keyed the ignition, I looked up at the old building that housed City Hall. I imagined myself seated in the large leather chair behind the mayor’s desk, looking out of the picture window on the town.

My truck wouldn’t even turn over. Dead battery. I decided to walk. Ahead of me, I saw a familiar figure rounding Elk Street, coming towards me. I could make out the lumpy form of Eileen Crumpit. She hadn’t seen me yet. I still had time to hide. I turned to run through the Zane’s backyard, climb over their back fence, and double back…but then I stopped. If I was going to run for mayor, I would need all the votes I could get. I needed Eileen’s vote.  I looked down the block. She was making her way up the street, her posture menacing, her gaze turning from side-to-side, her negativity surrounding her like a buzzing cloud of locusts. I looked down at my bare feet. Then, holding my torn pants up with one hand, I turned and ran for the Zane’s back fence.



  1. You are still the man and the next mayor. The Crumpit vote is a small interest group that over inflates its own importance.

    Run Abe Run

  2. The Crumpit’s scare me. That’s why I ran. I ran until my pants fell off. Then I stopped running because I was back home and could put on some new pants.

  3. >>She was making her way up the street, her posture menacing, her gaze turning from side-to-side, her negativity surrounding her like a buzzing cloud of locusts.<<

    I think we might live in the same neighborhood. I'm off to work on your campaign slogan. Just to be clear: you're not a witch, right?

    • Absolutely! Let’s be clear: I am not a witch, nor am I associated with witches. Some of my best friends used to be witches, but I’m not friends with them anymore. I don’t even LOOK like a witch. Thanks for your campaign help 🙂

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