Fair Massachusetts you have given me much but have taken even more. Though I am grateful for all the gifts you have bestowed upon me, your adopted, rakishly handsome and infinitely talented son; a son not unlike Kal-El, Jesus, or that baby from Willow, not one of these gifts can make up for what has been stolen from me.
I went to get my Massachusetts driver’s license and was informed that I had to get a new ID picture taken.
No big deal, right? Maybe for you,
I happen to be the owner of the world’s single greatest driver’s license photo.
It’s been quantified brojob so back down and live homie. On the real, real. Here is my old ID photo in all its glory, let us all bask in the perfection of my Arizona ID one last time:
Yeah, I know. How can I be expected to part with this? How could anyone expect another living breathing person to just relinquish such a testament to their own obvious excellence? It was like when they stripped the title off Muhammad Ali, or when they replaced David Lee Roth and kept calling the band Van Halen. Grieve with me, come play my game and I’ll test you. It was not only a crime against me but a crime against every living being that has or will ever exist across the multiverse. It was like sneaking into the universe’s dorm room and replacing its “Hang In There” kitten poster with a photo of the same kitten doing its best Ian Curtis impression from a noose with a caption that reads “Batman Sucks”.
NO! You monsters, NO!
This aggression will not stand, man. This aggression will not stand.
You see my ID photo wasn’t just taken from me; it was taken from all of us.
Every bouncer that had his boring, mind crippling, humdrum routine pleasantly shattered by my life-affirming, God-existence-proving photo identification has been robbed. Every beautiful woman that desperately needed to sleep with me but was too sexually intimidated by my musk, machismo and overall mystique to make the first move, she too was robbed. Because it was only by gazing upon my freely offered ludicrous yet lascivious ID picture that these women gained their easy open with me. The simplest and fasted way to know that yes, I too knew the meaning of lonely, and I could also drive them home if they needed four more drinks before we compared notes. But those poor ladies have now been robbed and will have to find another way to kill nine minutes. Every cutey pie police officer that has ever stopped me and had his thick black moustache parted wide in an uncontrollable Cheshire grin upon looking at my identification, where are they going to go now that they have no one to let off the hook? What about the poor police officer who needs to pardon an idiot every now and again?
Why didn’t the state of Massachusetts at least consider this when they pulled this draconian power-grab bullshit?
And that’s what it is people; I was wielding too much power with my old ID and Mass couldn’t handle it. They couldn’t stand that I, just some fresh transplant from the mean streets of Tucson Arizona, had sauntered into their midst armed with a readymade key to the city. I was like the first kid in your neighborhood to get a Super Nintendo when everybody else still had regular Nintendo. And everybody’s parents said wait ’til Christmas and you’ll get one too. But you couldn’t wait so everyone just pretended to be the kid’s friend until Christmas. And then the kid was dropped faster than a good show on network TV.
Point being, I was going to be that temporally-exalted-than-swiftly-turned-pariah-kid-with-the-Super-Nintendo, and I was fine with that. My ID was exceptional. But exceptional cannot be tolerated by the oligarchs in charge of the RMV. I had to be made an example of, in case any of the rest of you fought your way out of the mental ghettos. I had to be spiritually eviscerated and strung up on spikes at the castle doors for all to see. But what they didn’t count on was that my beautiful visage would gain even more strength by being destroyed. Just like in the Old Testament when Moses told Darth Vader, “If you strike me down I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” I too shall get the tractor beam out of commission.
What we do in this life echoes in Internet.
They may have taken my identification, but they have failed to take my identity. Plus I hate my new picture; why is it that they insist on using the child molester lens on pictures down at the RMV? Any ID really? No matter what you end up looking like some insatiable child –uccubus. But oh, yeah, doesn’t matter. Echoes in Internet and everything. Here’s a drawing of me done by a good friend. (He didn’t really capture my eyes.)
The best part of this whole debacle is that when I handed the woman at the RMV my old ID photo she laughed and said, “This is awesome.” I told her thanks and then asked really politely if she could just punch a hole in the side so I could keep it. She abruptly stopped smiling then told me, “No. There’s no way I can do that.” But I forgive her, she knew not what she did. Echoes in Internet folks, echoes. Besides,
Obi-Wan: “That boy is our last hope.”
Yoda: “No, there is another.”