Anni wanted to see pictures of me. Anni is a deranged a dangerous person. I wouldn’t normally give such a request more than a passing thought before shooting it down in flames with a sharp and witty retort but … I have seen pictures of her and, well, I haven’t been updating as much recently and, well, hell, why not?
The only problem is that there aren’t many photos of me and I’m terribly shy. We’ll have to do with some old pictures and a bit of artistic licence mixed with photoshoppery goodness if that’s okay.
I’ve had to watermark these images. I’d hate for them to get out and be mistaken for other people.
Aged somewhere between 1 and 4 (I can’t tell how old kids are even when I’m the kid in question) and the only person in my household with a clean driving licence. Still got it. This early introduction to cars and jumpers with skiing patterns on them helped see me safely through the transitional period of puberty later in life and helps to explain why I couldn’t care less about cars (I own a Punto for Christ’s sake!) and why skiing holds no appeal at all.
That picture above really was me.
The picture below really – I swear – is me too. I wouldn’t make this up. Nobody would make this up.
It’s hard to believe that I’m a fashion guru now, setting trends all over the place, advising Derek Zoolander on new looks, and helping Jean Paul Gaultier out when he’s stuck for wacky ideas when this was the start in life my parents gave me. Tartan from the MacShitstain clan in a delightful juxtaposition with horizontal stripes of red and blue: why, it’s a bloody miracle that nobody has tried to copy this look since the seventies!
It’s possible that having the picture taken above is one of the reasons that from this point on there aren’t any of me without two fingers raised or my hand conveniently in front of my face. Or my life is a lie and I’m a robot with a badly-constructed past. Or it could be a coincidence. In any event you’ll just have to take my word for it that I simply grew to resemble Little Jimmy Osmond from this point onwards. For many years I looked just like the photo below: I refused to appear in colour.
Extrapolating from this point we can see that I must still clearly bear some form of resemblance to the smallest of the Osmonds in big form. So you’ll have to use you imagination and picture me as similar to this:
That’s a reconstruction of when I was part of the original crew for Apollo 11. Everything was fine right up until the day before launch when I was told the helmet really wouldn’t fit no matter how much vaseline they put inside. That bastard Michael Collins took my place. I had my revenge though. I sabotaged Apollo 13. Then Tom Hanks got famous. I guess the last laugh’s on me.
And that’s me on the set of Buck Rogers where I played Twiki. God I hated Dr Goodfellow. I could have strangled him. And with the mask on every one of Buck’s curves were accentuated. But then again, so were Wilma’s. Hubba, hubba.
And here’s Marie Osmond: the big sister I never had. Which is pretty handy come to think of it because damn! She’s hot! Man, if I’d had a sister like her I’d have turned out warped.
I wonder who the cutie on the right is.