I have a friend who wants to walk the earth with a machete and murder everybody else who shares his name.
Drink that statement in, because it’s true. He is a megalomaniac who also was a big fan of the 1986 cult classic “Highlander,” starring Christopher Lambert and Sean Connery about a guy who has to kill other immortal beings in a worldwide blood sport.
When he told me that, I laughed the statement off and then consulted a genealogist, lest I be a pawn leading him to his next victim.
But now I see his point, because when I tried to see if this blog was registered on Google, I ran across this abomination: “James the Mormon” Curran.
James the Mormon needs to die.
Not because he’s Mormon. I’ve read the Book of Mormon and while I don’t buy it, I have also met many members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and they’re swell people.
But when you add to his resume that he is a rapper from Utah … You know, the same mean streets that forged Eminem…
Who spits rhymes about BYU football …
And he got publicity for that atrocity. …
And he shares my name?
Where’s the machete?
Homeboy has to meet his maker, whether he’s wearing that white collared shirt with a name badge or not.
My blood runs cold when I think of the other dingleturds smearing the Earth with my name. Take “James the Well-Mannered Sex Trafficker” Curran, or noted record-breaking drug mule “Keestering James” Curran.
I am The Highlander of James Currans. There can be only one.
Aside from my dad, that is. He could whoop my ass.