Alexplorer Goes Time Traveling...

If you're just joining this series already in progress, then it means you don't have a time machine, so here's the short version: Every Tuesday (your present), I come back from my adventures time-traveling around MySpace and fill you in on what happened to people from my past as they keep slippin', slippin', slippin' into the future.

Ah, here's one now...


Phillip (not his real name) lived on the first floor of my dorm when we were in college together.  No one talked to him.  He stayed in his room and played computer games or something.  Who knows?  He was honestly the least visible character to the rest of the cast since the Phantom of the Opera.

I was friends with his girlfriend, Ronni, the other half of the unlikeliest couple on campus.  She had body issues (read: jogged and did aerobics and otherwise exercised non-stop) whereas he, though trim, never saw daylight and would be in the running for Least Likely To Get Laid Before Graduation if anyone knew he even existed.  She used to make fun of him behind his back to me.  We even prank called him together with some other friends one afternoon when we were bored.

Remarkably, Phillip's roommate was an even bigger freak than Phillip was, a guy who never bathed and was most likely schizophrenic (and is great story material for another time).  The fact that he was paired with the least desirable roommate ever was just one more injustice done to Phillip, who believed that the world put down upon him and everyone was out to get him.  In reality, none of us knew or cared that he even existed.

Schizophrenia must be contagious because Phillip still suffers from the paranoia that kept him sequestered in his room for the entire two years I lived in the same dorm as him... and for who knows how long beyond that.  His entire "About me" consists of the admonition to "never volunteer information, especially to authority figures, it can be used against you!"  It seems almost redundant to me that he places Christopher Walken among those he'd like to meet when indeed all he'd have to do is look in the mirror.

Hypothetical letter I'll probably never send to him:

We regret to inform you that our literary agency cannot represent you at this time.  While we do serve a wildly varied clientele including science fiction authors and so-called conspiracy theorists, we have found that there is little audience for the post-apocalyptic dystopian manifestos which you initially submitted.  This is no reflection on your skills as a writer, merely a reality of the marketplace that readers tend not to be interested in being preached to about why they should only barter in goods rather than using credit cards or most any other form of payment that can be traced back to them.  See, this makes it difficult for them to purchase your book in the first place.

I apologize for not making the above nearly clear enough with the first rejection notice.  As such, please refrain from sending additional ultimatums like the last two.  We politely  interpreted those as merely "supplementary chapters" to your original manuscript and not as the death threats they purport to be in their text.  However, further submission of unsolicited materials such as these will be forwarded to the authorities who, I'm sure, you do not want to be in contact with again.  Thank you,

-That publishing house you keep pestering.

Copyright 2007 Ale[x]plorer.  All photos are of the actual individuals described above because, seriously, I can't make this shit up.
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