I am an imposter
A Mother's Day revelationby Dave McAwesome
I am an imposter. This Mother's Day, I learned a terrible secret about my childhood. I was abandoned and then kidnapped at the town pool when I was 3. I have proof.
This is a picture of "me" at age 3. It is taken from my pool pass (which I carefully hid from my fake parents). Why did I put quotes around 'me?' Here is a picture of me at age 4 (notice Alfonse D'Amato's signature--he later became a hated U.S. Senator).
This is also taken from my town pool pass. There is no way this is the same person (as my alleged fake parents claim). Notice the low, sloped brow of the 3-year-old. No, no. Something's amiss. It's all very clear to me now. Sometime between the ages of 3 and 4, I was switched with an imposter (most likely at the town pool, seeing as both Daves spent a lot of time there). That cretinous 3-year-old (I'll call him Johnny Scissorkick, cause that's a cool name and he would've wanted it that way) was apparently a huge disappointment to his parents. Couldn't figure out how to use a drinking straw. Deathly afraid of living room furniture. That sorta thing. One pool-going day, his folks abandoned him at the kiddie pool and traded up for that handsome 4-year-old you see there. In a way, I can't blame them. They got a better son out of the deal, but I can't help but wonder who my old parents were. Ninjas, probably. Yes, my life is shrouded in mystery. If I ever become a superhero, I'll have a cool origin story all ready to go. Neat, huh? I love how my fake parents have the gall to take me back to the same pool a year later (as evidenced by my pool card). That's some nerves of steel right there. It also bothers me that my real parents didn't raise much of a stink when I got switched. Could I have been unloved?
That's Greg, and we've spent hours trying to figure out what his deal is. Man, that's a big hat (or a huge head). He looks enough like me that there's only one logical explanation. Several years after my fake parents dumped Johnny Scissorkick at the pool and kidnapped me, they decided to strike again. My original parents, not too thrilled with Johnny's constant inadequacy as a child, had another kid (Greg). My fake parents stole him too. They might've traded for him with a few of my Star Wars figures (I never did find out where Chewbacca went).
There you have it. The awful truth. Not one to wallow, I somehow coerced a few regulars on the forums to submit pix of themselves as li'l ones.
This is Gordo the Grunter. Look at his atrocious fingerwork on the fretboard. Terrible form. Just terrible.
Poor Deb here is attempting to chew her way to freedom while the cat roams unfettered. Say what you will about cats. No one has ever owned a cat. Babies, on the other hand, have to sit in their own poop until a big 'un brings a new diaper.
Malfouka had the misfortune of being born with a border collie for a right hand. Poor thing. Between the crying and the yelping and the howling, it's a wonder anyone could sleep in that house. On the other hand, she could round up sheep like a champion.
We all know it's a matter of time before young Heide here learns to use the spray gun on the sink.
Bunny grew up in a house with strong northeasterly winds.
Monogodo is three seconds away from soiled pants. Yummy, meanwhile, is being attacked by a giant wig monster. I don't know where she grew up, but that ain't no place to live. Constantly assaulted by giant wig monsters? No thank you. And, lastly, there's Riss. She's not much taller today, but she's retained the same good fashion sense.
(By the way, those pictures of me are very much real. I didn't take 'em from the interweb. I cannot fathom how they are of the same person.)