Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Letter to Daniel O'Brien

Dear Daniel O'Brien,
Recently I was in a comedy club, where I accidentally made eye contact with a comedian while trying to close out my tab. Our eyes lingered for a moment, and at that point I realized that yes, I had to make conversation with this man  or risk spending the next nine minutes memorizing his every move, so I could analyze his posture for judgment later.

"Hey, you're that comedian that makes all those jokes that I steal and tell my family." I immediately regretted telling him.

"I don't really steal them, I mean, I tell them but then I'm like I didn't write them, this guy did... I mean. Uh. Hello. Were you up tonight? I didn't see you... I didn't see you go up, tonight." I looked beseechingly at the bartender, hoping that maybe he had closed out my bill or was at very least getting ready to breath fire on me.

He appraised me, I assume. "No, I didn't go up tonight. Did you know that you look like Daniel O'Brien?"

Y "Yeah, I've heard of Daniel O'Brien. He is a funny person and I read his columns literally the same day that they are published on the Internet."
"No, dude. You look like Daniel O'Brien."
I had to process this. Do I look like you? Yes, absolutely. White guy, mid twenties, really short hair, totally sick pipes. Holy shit, is it true? Am I DOB clone material? Here, look at this untouched file photograph of me.
It's uncanny, right?
So I was thinking, DOB, do you need, like, a Saddam Hussein-style body double? Partner through which you can perpetrate wacky, Parent Trapesque shenanigans? Evil twin to grow a beard and maybe bang your wife/girlfriend/good-smelling neighbor, then be shot on a rooftop, only afterwards they reveal it was all a mask and you were actually me all along? I can be awkward, make uncomfortable small talk, worry I'm sweating too much, and hang out at skate parks and ball diamonds with my hands in my pockets. I'm the full package! Right now, I'm actually editing this because I didn't want to look like I was bragging. About being awkward.

 You like presidents? I love presidents. Until I was convicted of treason last year, I was working on building customized presidential reliquaries. You know, maybe like a little bronze bathtub that has Taft's little toe bone in there, a hollow derringer pistol with a fragment of Lincoln's skull, or one of those little tooth treasure chests with Washington's wooden teeth. Don't worry, I got the sentence reduced down to "felony misuse of presidential skeletons".

I mean, it's not like I'm hoping you'll hire me so I can pull some Prince and the Pauper move. I admit that was my first thought, but honestly, why would I want you to serve out that sentence here in Supermax, or being stuck with my prison nickname (President Boner). So I promise I won't Dickens you. No, wait, that's kind of ambiguous--that could mean I'm promising not to haunt you with holiday ghosts. I won't Face/Off you. I won't steal your face, is what I'm saying, and use it to become best friends with Swaim, and live in his mansion. I'd much rather become best friends with Swaim and live in his mansion on my own merits. You guys all have mansions, right?

Amin Mueller

PS I can't rap, beatbox, or talk for any length of time about rapping or beatboxing. I hope that won't be a dealbreaker.

PPS Did you know that when you Google "Daniel O'Brien", it gives your birthday and home town with a picture of Michael Swaim's face? That's not a joke or anything, it's a true thing that actually happens. Well, it did.

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