On Looking Like That Stupid-Head Kris Kattan

I can almost pinpoint the exact time it happened. Like, the exact time. I can’t remember the exact date, so much, but the day (Saturday) and the time-ish, for sure. And an approximation of the date (in my mid-teens...-ish). But I can remember seeing it and feeling it and knowing what would happen next as one perfectly placed to witness a car accident and it (they say) appearing in slow motion. To expand on the metaphor: you’re leisurely strolling from an exceptionally yet not to filling lunch with an exceptionally good-looking yet not to overwhelming individual. You’ve walked to the dining spot because it’s nice out and the distance is neither to labor intensive nor exceptionally, uh, long. From the restaurant, you have no immediate plans; no work to tend, no friends to converse, no worries at all. Its just you and the beautiful day and your moderately filled tummy and your feet on the pavement, being aware enough to miss errant cracks, debris and moving vehicles when crossing the street. At a particular intersection that you must cross, you, being fully and wholly and absolutely aware, stop cautiously at the corner, figure out which button to press to signal your desire to get across not that street but, yes, that street. This may take some time because effort is made deciphering which white button to press to trigger the blinking hand to shift quickly and resolutely to that of a mid-motioned red-colored block-legged man signaling you, the walker, to pass soundly and safely across what is otherwise a river of speedy steel. A wrong button press signals the wrong blocked man and while this bothers not him (surely it’s a him, right?) ,it increases your travel time. And while you’re waiting for clearance from the red-colored block-legged individual, peering the above light and watching it turn from green to yellow to red, you see a car approaching the soon-to-be-red light at a speed saved for green. It flies through the intersection without a car-care in the world and you know trouble it soon to be witnessed. Just before the collision, just before the worry-be-gone vehicle plows headlong into an innocent steel ship (as innocent as these steel ships can be) you utter, effortlessly and almost without audible:



“oh shit”



The same muffled utterance I breathed when I saw what I saw that fateful Saturday night in my mid-teens between the hours of 2345 and 0100 (are these army-timed numbers correct? Or need they a “:”…?...) while watching SNL and I saw that rat-bastard dressed up in a red leotard eating an apple like a crazed, starving, horribly manic homeless man; eating the apple like it was the last food on the planet; eating it like the future was stored in its core; like a Mr. Peepers would eat a damn apple. And I thought to myself: “that dude looks oddly familiar to…ME.”



“oh shit”



My life from then on; for the better part of 15 freaking years, I’ve had to endure endless statements about out likeness. Endless Night-At-The-Roxbury jokes. Endless taunts to knock my head jarringly like those bums on the skit and now movie. And they always start the same way: “Hey…do you know who you look like?” It’s gotten tougher through the years to comply and sate those that are asking. First I chuckled/snickered it off. Ha Ha yea I look like Mr. Peepers at the Roxbury hilarious ha ha ha yea the apple with the red thing on fucking hilarious ha ha oh the Christmas episode with the keyboard and the head bobbing yup ha oh he was in other movies didn’t know that no haven’t seen them bet they are great and funny and hilarious and yes I know l look like him ha ha ha yesssss.



For this reason, I always always always always make sure to never never never never remind someone that they look like someone I think they may look like. Because it’s always a reminder; you, friend, are never ever ever the first to recognize this idea. And what do you, friend, expect to here as rebuttal from your handed-from-God epiphany. ..OM.. MY GOD YOU’RE RIGHT I NEVER THOUGHT SAW KNEW HEARD THAT. YOU ARE A F*%INK GENIUS WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING WORKING AT MCDONALDS/QUICKTRIP/HERE WITH ALL THAT MENTAL FORTITUDE OOOOOHHH MYYYYY GAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWD



We’ve heard it before dear, dear friend and it pleases us not; naught the first time nor this time nor the next. Think about this: know anybody that looks like Brad Pitt? Clooney? “Moderatly-Looking-Actor-That-Makes-Resceptable-Films?” probably not. If you do, I’m betting the aforementioned actors salary that you don’t tell them so. Why? Because good-looking is good-looking. They need no reminding of this…idea. Mind you, I think of myself, physically, as no slouch but the times I would be reminded of my likeness to any popularily good looking pop figure would pale in comparison to that which I am portrayed currently.



My beef is, somewhat, two-fold: I have no rebuttal and that upsets me. The other: what’s the freaking point? Is it as a conversation starter? Doubtful because you’ve managed to stonewall any conversation with your spoke comparison (possibly a fault of mine…). Is it a desire to see if this person in front of you really is really is really is the spawn of who you think they look like? Probably not. Perhaps it is the hope you seek for finding validation in one, true, unadulterated all-mine-own thought. Mmmm…..not feeling that one either and neither and such. I think that I think that you’ve lost the ability to censor and filter your thoughts and you speak whatever asinine and meaningless and altogether worthless thoughts your mind has somewhat managed to brew and stew spew from your godforsaken stupid dumb face orriface on your stupid dumb face.



Halloween costumes are a fucking breeze, though…