Of Beings Moist and Famous

The one childhood celebrity I most admired as a kid was Kool-Aid Man. Wherever he went parties erupted. There was women and dancing and all sorts of hilarity bursting forth just because he showed up. I wanted to be like him. I wanted people to be happy to see me like all the kids were when he shouted "Oh Yeah!" Most of all I wanted the power to walk through walls. Maybe I was projecting a bit but I always sensed a hint of anger in Kool Aid Man, I guess you could say I saw right through him. Friedrich Nietzsche wrote that the mother of excess is not joy but joylessness. So I wondered, Kool Aid man, what joylessness are you hiding behind your excessive partying and wild fruity flavors?

When I was a young teenager I really had nothing in common with my 7th grade classmates but for some reason I still thought they were all reading comic books like I was. I just thought comics was what everybody did, even girls. I also thought everybody at school was obsessed with me but they just had funny ways of showing it, and those funny ways were by ignoring me completely or throwing rocks. I just figured that everyone who knew me was a big fan and they all wanted to be my friend although I had done nothing of note or interest and I was remarkably nerdy. This was all totally understandable from my point of view because at the age of 14 I was totally batshit crazy.

Then came the day in 1988 when I could not hide my celebrity any longer. I did something so great and so newsworthy that I expected the kids at school to no longer be able to hide their starstruckedness when I walked the halls. I became a published author in a periodical with a nationwide circulation of over 100,000 readers. In other words, I got my letter printed in the Transformers comic book issue #42. That was the geeky robot nerd equivalent of winning the lottery, the Nobel Peace Prize and starring in porn.

I was shocked upon reading that letters page for the first time. Not only was my letter printed, it was the first one in the column, and it got responded to by the editor. Many letters got printed without editorial response, but so well written and thought provoking was mine that the editor of the comic responded to it. Or maybe they just read it and thought I was smoking the most rare and exotic crack on the planet and my bizarre thoughts had to be shared with children everywhere. I did notice they rewrote a lot of it to make it sound more interesting and as a coping mechanism I tell myself that the nerdiest portions were embellished by the editors. Almost twenty years later reading the content of my letter makes me cringe with horror. What a total robot nerd I was! Because I like to share the most shameful and embarrassing moments from my life, here it is transcribed for you, gentle readers, in all its cringe inducing glory:

"Dear Misguided Autobot Lovers,
I just gotta write this: In issue #37 you made the Predacons look like a bunch of miswired clods. It just ain't fair. Stop making the awesome Decepticons look like a meeting of Wimps Anonymous. Sure, they're not the friendliest guys in the world, and Ratbat may be a jerk, but have some sympathy.

Another thing-are the Throttlebots gone forever? Their bodies don't look so good. I spent most of my allowance collecting them and then you go ahead and do this. Now I've got to find a car crusher that will smash such tiny cars!

Overall you people are doing a wonderful job. I wanna see Octane meet up with Ratbat. That should show the Ratster how to conserve fuel! Keep up the great work. Oh yeah, I loved the Headmasters!"

Oh god that was painful. I swear if you ask me today I will deny all knowledge of what a Ratbat, Octane, Throttlebot, or Headmaster is. So maybe it's for the best that none of the other kids at school read comics and maybe it's good that nobody I ever knew read that horrible horrible letter. But at the time I really wanted them to. I was so sure that the next day at school I would be swamped with people wanting me to sign their robot comics. I was sure I would be a seventh grade Kool Aid Man. Instead what happened was everyone was getting ready for spring break and one boy named Mickey brought a water gun to school. I was excited about my letter being printed and when I told Mickey outside at recess he sprayed me in the crotch with his water gun so it looked like I pissed myself. And as I lay alone and embarrassed, gazing up at the sky while laying flat on the ground during recess, I realized why Kool Aid Man was so pissed off all the time. Because being famous sucks.