By: George Palczynski aka Wild Man
Prelude A (major):
My name is George Palczynski. I am an initiate to WTF?!. It is by the generous impulses of both Sparky, and Modesty, that I am here. I thank them both.
Prelude B (minor): Manual For Human Behavioral Sciences: Vol 4: Sec:21 Article 214: Dweebyness is cause for ostracization.
Ref: ” How 2B Dweeb Free For Life
#14. Never ever pick a nickname for yourself… it’s pathetic
#15. Never ever, EVER claim a rep for yourself… it’s pathetic
In The Beginning
The Proprietress had invited me to participate at WTF?!. The message began with the salutation: “Hey, wild man. Would you…”
She had me at ‘wild man’.
I’ve no doubt that Sparky knows next to nothing about me. She could not possibly even have suspected she was massaging cool a hot raw nerve. From the time, the moment, I’d given up childish things I had wanted to be a ‘wild man’… of some sort. You know, of the kind of man who’d had a long apprenticeship as ‘bad boy’ and now knew the ropes… and all the knots… and all the “spots”.
Now it’s possible that Sparky had some other allusions in mind in using “wild man”. But I can’t imagine a one. Well no, I can imagine one come to think of it – a carnival freak/geek biting the heads off cute little ducklettes. Uhh uhhh! No way – she meant what I’d heard. I’m laying 100 to 1. Until she dissuades and disillusions me, to my satisfaction… I am wild man, endowed with a new persona. It will take getting used to.
Now, there’s a backstory to this new demigod. If you know some of it you may understand better my good spirits over my new rep.
During the interminable blah, blah, blahs of school-time lectures, I would wander over to the margins of my notes and write, in my best cursive – as was the wont of boys and girls for millennia – the name of my ‘crush’. But it was not the name of a girl; AND NO, not a guy. My crush was my one and only aspiration. I’d fallen for the idea of being a… wait …Louche Scoundrel. I’d even heard tell of a School For Scoundrels. That would have been a Master’s degree worth pursuing.
Now what terrible ordeal was there behind such a strange desire? None. It’s just one of those DNA molecule clusters that found a nest to rest in what happened to be… my mind. That’s my theory.
Now understand, my life was not a hermit nerd’s. The girls all thought me good company. I was blessed/cursed with a benign popularity but there was never any heat from their direction; you know what I’m getting at – yes? What heat there was, well, it was all mine. Never had their cheeks flushed, no nervousness, no scanning for an escape route. What I wanted was to have the Count Vronsky Effect on females whereby they feared their own propensities when in precarious propinquity to me. I wanted very much to be every female’s Svengali; and have every female my Trilby. I wanted to be the guy females hate themselves for falling for. So that was what had driven me to pledge to my gray sad brain that I would become a rake for all seasons and times.
Why sad… gray sad brain? Well, up until I’d resolved myself to becoming Wild Man-Louche Scoundrel-Rake, I was – this took some effort to recall – I was… let’s start at the beginning:
“Georgy Porgy “Bubbles”.”Yogi”, “Curly”, “Sweets”, “Jerzy”, “Hoagie”, “Hootie”. “ChooChoo” “L.G.”, “C.T.”, “Big G”, “Tootsie Wootsie”, then, inexplicably, “Tootsie Whoopsie” (don’t ask – I’m not tellin’). Not all at once, of course, but serially. Each one of them being much as markings on a doorway denoting growth spurts. At his point, I believe, it would be entirely appropriate to interject – WTF?! I really hadn’t thought I’d had THAT many nicks. The last two had been hatched in the fertile minds of females (don’t ask – I’m not tellin’).
Not a hint of ‘wild man’ anywhere in all that, right? Particularly annoying was Tootsie Wootsie/Tootsie Whoopsie (don’t ask – I’m not tellin’). The one that had gams and had never vexed me at all was “Big G”. It had attached itself to me with good will and had to it a literal bonhomie spirit. It was a riff off an ad campaign for General Mills Cereals – The Big G on the box stood for goodness, they said. That was me… then. Now, now, I am wild man. Live with it – I will. This is going to be one hell of a ride from here on.
All the consternation, the wishing, praying, hoping, and… here again…WTF?! Just two words out of the mouth of a babe and voila – my aspiration was no longer beyond my reach, it was clutched in my clenched fist. Now I have only to care that I not get carried away and become insufferable.
Thank You Sparky, twice trebled!