I Am That Guy

As a memento of our 50-year high school reunion, the editors of our high school newspaper, The Chat, are publishing a new 50-Year Reunion edition. 

Now, to be honest here, The Chat was never exactly the Atlantic Monthly. 

Hoping to inject some life into this destined-to-be-dreary enterprise, I wrote a side-splitting humor piece that I intended to submit to the 50-Year Chat. I sent it off to two of my best pals from FRHS, who also happen to be writers for the Chat (I will not mention their names, but their initials are Lenny and Rhoda.)

The piece came back with little flecks of multi-colored vomit on it. 

Not wanting to embarrass myself any more than usual, I decided not to submit it for publication. However, not giving a shit what you assholes think, I am publishing it here instead.

Try not to injure yourself laughing.  

I Am That Guy!

By Bobby "Faf" Hoffman

It’s taken me 50 years, but I finally understand that there is more to life than drugs and girls and booze and parties and fancy dinners and expensive cars and drugs and awesome dinners at expensive restaurants and hotel suites and drugs and trips to Cannes and private jets and alligator shoes and drugs and limos and those really cool sunglasses like Bono wears and, did I mention girls and drugs?

Yes, my journey from Wavecrest Gardens to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue has been -- as my old mate Paul once said -- a “long and winding road.” But not just winding. Also bumpy and twisty with many emergency stops along the way to make a tinkle.

But let’s start at the beginning. I’m sure you all remember me from 50 years ago as Co-Captain of the Far Rockaway High School origami team. After high school, I won a mushroom grooming scholarship to the Sorbonne.

My four years there were very fulfilling but mildly confusing, as I did not speak French. Fortunately I had seen all the Inspector Clouseau movies and knew how to go “je la mais oui...” and that kinda shit. The other students thought I was pretty amazing and they nicknamed me “le grand sac de douche.”

From Paris I went to London. That’s where I started the band. At first, we didn’t think of ourselves as a global media phenomenon. All we were trying to do was, like, play our music and, you know, change the world. One day we were sitting around listening to Zager and Evans’ amazing recording of “In The Year 2525” (it still gives me chills,) and trying to think of a name for the band when Simon Nigel, our drummer, came up with the name “Chinese Hernia.” We knew that was it, and that’s when I took up the guitar.

Being in an internationally loud band was a lot of fun. There were plenty of “swingin’ birds” (that’s what we called “smokin’ hot nymphos” back in those days. It was a simpler time.) But, like so many other huge pop stars, it led us to trouble.

I’m sure you’ve all read about the band’s drug problems, but here’s the real story. Our bass player, Nigel Derrick, was dating a bird named Flower. Or maybe it was a flower named Bird. I forget. Well, anyway, Flower’s father, Sir Derrick Simon, was ceo of this huge pharmaceutical company and they were experimenting with this amazing new drug.

So like, years before even the Jews discovered it, we were all into Lipitor. I spent ten lost years on statin island.

That’s when I decided to clean up, change my degenerate lifestyle, and devote myself to helping The People. While I was in Europe I had read all about The People, but I had never actually met any of them.

Returning to America really opened my eyes. I walked the streets. I rode the subway. I went to Toddy’s. That’s when reality hit me right between the old almond joys. My next move might surprise you. I went to work for a perfume company. You see, the thing I discovered about The People was that, on the whole, they were mighty smelly -- and I wanted to help!

I developed a fragrance called “Midnight At Walgreen’s.” I know what you’re thinking...Ronald Reagan totally ripped it off with his “Morning In America” bullshit. Don’t think I didn’t sue! Well, guess what? I didn’t get a cent!

That’s when I had my epitome...or apostrophe...or whatever you call that thing you get. The whole system was rotten! And I vowed to change the system to make sure that everyone in America had a decent place to live, and food to eat, and a cell phone plan with rollover minutes and unlimited texting.

Well, sad to say, that whole thing didn’t really work out either. Cut to the nineties. I’m in Washington D.C. I don’t remember how I got there except there was this guy named Spider who claimed I owed him all this money which was like total bullshit because I wasn’t even into blow at that time. And, by the way, if his girlfriend Brianna is reading this, I know you took my watch, bitch, and I want it back!

It is now 20 years later and believe it or not I spend every day in the most powerful place on earth. How did it happen? It all started at Far Rock High!

My memories of Far Rock High always seem to take me back to one day in particular. It was the Senior Boat Ride. The sun was gleaming in an azure (that means blue) sky. A light breeze was blowing, and the air was redolent of Tuckee Cup and dead jelly fish.

As the sea produced a gentle rocking motion I stood at the rail, trying not be nauseous, furtively watching Lenny Tillem drool all over Elaine Kushner.

Who could have dreamt that fifty years later, a freckle-faced kid with a winning smile and a lot of guts would be assistant manager in the White House laundry?

Yes, I am that guy!