The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince

No-name nihilists,

I know what you’re all asking yourselves, “is that Gomez Addams? What’s he doing here?”

Nope. It’s just me. I AM a master of disguise after all. Here’s a shot of me in my costume from Halloween, taken and saved here for posterity. It would seem all the pictures taken of me during All Hallow’s Eve have either gone missing, or been destroyed. Though this certainly wouldn’t be the first time that all photographic evidence of The Virgin Prince has been erased, I find that this time I am quite dismayed by the prospect of not being able to gaze at my gorgeous mug, especially when dressed so spectacularly.

There’s two things wrong with this picture: one, my hair is a bit too long (my perfect John Astin haircut only stayed perfect for about a week), and two, you can barely see the sheer magnificence of my suit (you have to blow-up the picture about 400% and then stare very closely at the screen just to make out the pinstripes). It’s not really a fair representation of just how good I looked on ol’ Samhain, but it’ll do for you, my lowly audience. And I do hope you appreciate this; I had to trim down the old sideburns-cosmic for the shot, and they’d finally just grown back in. I do love the old sideburns, and always have, ever since I first had them grafted onto my skull, courtesy of a spittle-spraying werewolf donor during a bit of Elvis-inspired madness. Ah, it was a fine year when I was twelve.

With the passing of today, it’s been more than a week sober for me, and things are going swimmingly. Tomorrow is Yankee Thanksgiving and I’m looking forward to watching I Walk the Line, having watched Johnny Cash: Live At San Quentin last night. Listen, I’m not going to bother giving you guys sobriety updates. It’s boring, and it’s the type of crap you’d expect from anyone else’s mediocre blog. Things are going well and that’s all you really need to know. Unless you hear otherwise, I’m still dry. But I’ll tell you what; if I slip up I’ll be sure to let you know.

I woke up today feeling like a monkey had been jumping on my back all night long, which is only half-true; my life has calmed down quite a bit since ditching the bottle. The power had gone out in the night while I’d been sleeping, so I’d had a late start out the door. I showed up at work in my suit of emerald, and my clover and lime-colored Hawaiian shirt, which seems to be a new popular favorite at my job. Ol’ Finnegan was back, and my mates were happy to see him.

It’s funny how quickly I’ve settled into this new identity, responding to my new name instantaneously and almost forgetting the old one. The multitude of nicknames I now have, relating to the nickname I already have, completely astound me. Finnegan, Finny, Finn, Finlaggen, Finn Diesel, Fin Job, Finny-Finn-Fin, Finnegan (Fuck Yeah!!), Finnster, Finny Cent, and L.L. Finn J., just to name the common ones I can recall.

It’s strange settling into a new identity, going from a well-liked member of a crowd to suddenly being Mr. Popularity, a sort of mascot at my place of employment. It’s a nice thing getting all the smiles I get. Now there’s a ton of new-hires, and I’m starting to notice more and more with every day that there’s a lot of cute girls that I work with. It’s getting harder and harder to stick with the gentleman-thing with every minute. This’ll be a rough thing indeed.

I’m counting down the days until my Brian Dewan CD arrives; it’ll be a nice change from all dead animals and severed limbs I generally get shoved in my mailbox. Funny how the relatives in Kansas never really know what to get you for your birthday. I’m still trying to figure out which Gilbert & Sullivan performances I want to get; certainly something by the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company, but some performances are better than others, so figuring out the year and cast is of some importance. I suppose I’ll have to figure this one out before Christmas.

I’m a bit obsessed with music of late, having pried my brain free from the luring, steel-grip of television. Having already chucked the bottle, I suppose I figured I might as well throw in the television with it. I’d get my brain really freed-up, firing at full-force, and brimming with ideas. Nothing like a bit of pirate music to inspire the spirit.

I wanted to write a bunch more but I’m pretty tired right now and should probably head off. I barely slept at all last night, having stayed up late admiring my own portrait. My dreams are getting weirder and weirder, not the four-color, pulp-filled romps they used to be. Nevertheless, it’s time to join Nemo in slumberland. Here’s hoping Adam West visits me this time around.

Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince