Bizarros pt. 2

There's nothing to shatter a person's feelings of individuality quite like seeing another person who looks exactly like them. Or at least pretty much like them. There's usually that weird feeling where your stomach falls out your asshole, and that's how you know.

Usually its an uncanny likeness made more delicate by the softening of distinctive facial features, like your real life mug compared with the puffy neon caricatures those dorks with airbrush pens sell you at the beach. Sometimes its just an awkward imitation of a janky style, the same funky walk, haircut and glasses, shit like that. Whatever it is, it takes us off guard.

What would you do if you met your bizarro? Handshake? Dinner date? Doubt it. I don't know who my bizarro is, but I already hate him. As we have learned from Fat Ass Umbutu, other people are actually only pseudo-real human replicas activated by attention. Anyone one from the Crowd that resembles us is only a chilling reminder of our own relative insignificance. You know you hate your bizarro too. He looks like you, but is not as cool as you. He listens to the wrong disc of the White Album and wears briefs. He can't be known.