Doppleganger City

If you've been stalking me lately, you're probably aware of the fact that Miss Patty Labelle has joined me at my place of business. For the first three days, it was all gum drops and tickle fights; things were going smashingly. I show up today, though, and I am met with a ghastly sight: Mr. Lioi is dressed exactly like me. EXACTLY like me. It was doppleganger city up in that place. My first thought: ahh well, we probably just go to the same haberdasher. My second thought: holy crap, what if this is a Single White Female situation? First thing he does is he dresses like me. Next, he's stalking me, killing my ho's, and pinning the crimes on me. No way, man. I've walked that path and it's not happening again.

I see two options I could take. The first is that I could just start dressing so outlandishly that it'd be impossible to copy me. Black shirt and blue jeans are easy enough to imitate, but what about when I start wearing homemade parachute pants and strips of carpet taped to my chest? I like the creative aspect of this option. The second option is to just make Paddy stop by my apartment every morning before work so I can inspect what he's wearing. If we have a potential match, then I will select a tasteful choice from my wide variety of shirts featuring Bart Simpson saying "Ay Caramumba!" Not only will we definitely avoid any snafus that way, but he also gets the benefit of my legendary sense of fashion. Just how legendary, you ask. Well, prior to his passing, I was in talks with Redd Foxx to come on board and manage his wardrobe. We were going to bring the "shorts and cowboy boots" look back into business. I must seek another canvas now, and Paddy is perfect for that.

I guess my point with all of this is that you can copy my clothes, my catch phrases, and my pog collection, but you will never, never copy my savoir faire. I'm what the French call une beauté originale and that just can't be imitated. And now, I go back to freaking out over my lack of a Halloween costume.