Well, I'm Finally Famous

When I set out to become a comedy writer, I told myself and anyone who asked that it wasn't about being famous, that it was about making a living doing what I loved. And that's mostly true. I've worked hard at my craft, caught some extremely lucky breaks, and today I can honestly say I get paid and paid well to try to entertain people. Regardless of the day-to-day bullshit that a job can heap on you, that's a feather I display proudly in my cap. It's one of the few things my knee-jerk self-defeating reflex lets me feel good about.

But recently I learned that I've TRULY made it. I am, officially, famous. And it's a heady thing to hear, but I'm going to try and be humble while I tell you the story.

A few nights ago I was unpacking in my house with my wife when my cousin texted me. I've always been close with him and his brother and sister; we grew up with adjacent backyards and they were like brothers and a sister to me. Life has taken us to opposite ends of the country so I don't see them very often, but we always pick up like we never left off. So it was a complete but welcome surprise when I got his text:

Is this you? If so, I have an unbelievable story for you.

And that IS me. It's a picture my ever-so-indulgent wife took of me for an article I wrote a few years ago for Zug called Crappy Consumer Reports: Best Alternatives to Toilet Paper in which I tested all the stuff you could use to wipe your butt and demonstrated by covering my belly button in chocolate frosting and corn and then using stuff like dental floss and sliced cheese to wipe it off. Not exactly what I would want on my tombstone, but I stand by it as a humor piece. I replied to my cousin that yes, that was in fact me. 

Immediately my phone rang.

What followed was a story about a drinking game I didn't quite understand because my phone service was spotty, but basically a board needed to be constructed for horses to run on and bets to be placed. My cousins had taken the time to name each horse and decided on the 12th and final horse being called "Shit Sandwich." Ever industrious, they searched the internet for just the right photos to glue onto the board to represent each horse. When they typed "shit sandwich" into a Google Image Search, I popped up.

That's right. I'm the 5th Google Image Result for "shit sandwich." 

Looks like I made it! But how? The image in the results doesn't even link to the article I wrote. It links to a forum about PC gamers bitching about specs and frame-rates and things and in the middle of it, seemingly nonsensically, someone posted this picture of me, perhaps to imply that the user they were replying to was feeding them a load of shit. Someone took THAT image and created this one. I was torn. On the one hand, it's fucking hilarious. On the other, I'm now associated with shit sandwiches on the most popular search engine in the world. The Internet's forever. I decided to do what anyone would do when faced with such newfound fame: I called my dad to brag. The phone picked up.

"Hey there Shit Sandwich, what's up?"

Told you I'd make ya proud, pop.

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