For the Love of God, Don't Google Yourself

About two years ago, in a fit of uninhibited boredom, I MySpace-searched for my own name. I found a rather interesting character from Baltimore who in fact, had the same exact name as me. It was cool. We exchanged a message or two, and that was that.

So, as we all know, MySpace quickly became obsolete. Incessant ads, and comments like these, although tempting, made it virtually unusable.

And so comes Facebook. And in time, so does a friend request from my MySpace name-clone.

Here, I learn that the name-thief is a year younger than me, confirming that the name was indeed mine first and thereby validating my inclination to call him “name-thief.” This past September, I also learn that he now goes to school in New York City. That’s right. The same New York City that essentially raised me and wiped the shit out of my ass for eighteen years. Not only that, but the fucker even looks a little like me too.

Now, I am in Pittsburgh. And he is there. Stealing my name and my city. I can picture him running into some obscure acquaintance of mine from elementary school or something on the train:

Name-Thief: Excuse me, you’re talking on your phone rather loud. Can you please lower your voice?
Acquaintance: Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how loud I was. Ha!...Anyway, so I closed the bond at a 4.7 merger and…
NT: Shut up!
A: What? I…
NT: Suck my dick, bitch!
A: Excuse me?
NT: Oh! Here’s my stop. I’m off to go rape some single mothers on the Lower East Side. Don’t tell the authorities!
A: Hey!...Uh…What’s your name?
NT: [Name censored for confidentiality purposes]!
A: Oh my god! I sat next to him in second grade! I thought it looked like him! Now there should be no confusion whatsoever that he’s the perp.

Twenty minutes later, the police would be at my door and they’d give me the death penalty right on the spot.

This inane paranoia recently came to fruition when I discovered the fellow’s blog. It’s funny. Really. So funny in fact, that I’m finding myself questioning my own worthiness of my own name. How sad is that?

Maybe one day I can ride the coattails of his success and we can be the first mononymic duo to take the nation by storm. Then one night while he’s sleeping, in an acid-induced rampage, I’ll wake him up at 4 AM and make him carve our name across my chest with a grapefruit knife. Then I’ll stab him in the eye with it.

Okay. Maybe I’m a little bitter.

Oh my god. Maybe I really am the Lower East Side single-mother-rapist.