I’ll cut through the lengthy backstory and keep this simple: my friend TIP has a neighbor that we’ll call “Shirtless D.” (His first name does, indeed, start with the letter D. However, in the interest of shielding this site from Googling, I’ll withhold that for now.) This neighbor, as you might expect, enjoys waltzing around TIP’s neighborhood absent any upper acoutrements that might otherwise shield unwitting passersby from his unappealing midwestern torso. TIP has spoken of this neighbor for some time, and a couple of years ago we hit upon the idea of learning his address for the sake of befuddling him with some unsolicited postcards.
Some time passed before TIP was able to obtain the address — Shirtless D apparently doesn’t keep up with basic home maintenance as one might otherwise expect a perpetually half-nude fellow to do. (I mean, they don’t call it a “farmer’s tan” for nothing, right?) I haven’t seen the dude’s house/yard myownself, but I picture there being no fewer than three rusted car chassises (chasses?) rotting in the yard. Possibly one of them serves as a deer stand.
Anyway. It wasn’t easy for TIP to locate his address, but he finally did. In the meantime, I realized that I still had the better part of 2500 postcards I had made up to advertise my soon-to-be-defunct comic book and the long-defunct website that once hosted it. I’d also recently read about an eBay auction in which a European made $400 on the promise to randomly postcard a designated American over a long period of time. Suddenly the pieces clicked together and we (me and the other idiots on the message board I frequent) had a project.
I sent out batches of pre-addressed postcards to seven different guys across the country (plus one in Ireland and one in England), with some basic instructions: make sure the overt references to me and my website are obscured, take a picture of or scan each card before you send it and let me know if you need more. Oh, and try to avoid anything that could be construed as proper harassment because, for the moment, I think this doesn’t count.
I hope it doesn’t, anyway.
So begins the great comedic experiment. Here’s the first card I’m sending, with more to follow soon. When I’ve accumulated a few, I’ll post them here. Enjoy!
Addendum: TIP sent me the following statement about our subject. Apparently my assumptions were entirely unfounded, but who can be bothered to amend all that?
I was first introduced to He That Would Be the Shirtless One on the very first day I moved into my home. As Good Fortune would have it this Particularly Strange Fellow lived directly across the street from me. Noting the appearance of a Moving Truck in the Driveway of our recently purchased abode, SD trundled halfway (only halfway) across the Street and, in a way of ‘greeting’ us, asked:
“So, you’re moving in?”
I turned to the inquiry grimacing…did I mention the rental truck full of our belongings?
“Good guess,” was my retort, “you’re clearly an observant one.”
“I work at the airport. I handle baggage.”
Lovely segue there, dude.
“Okay.”
“I live across the street. It was my mother’s house.”
Oh…no. One of THOSE guys.
“I’ve got to finish unpacking.”
And I went about my business, making a mental note to avoid all contact of any kind with this dude.
Many weeks pass.
I’m out mowing my lawn with a push mower (the non-gas-powered-whirling-blades kind) and some neighbor kids have taking an interest in this device (a rare sight in this day and age).
They ask if they can try it out. I agree as I figure with the four or five of them (and factoring in they’ll each make at least one pass on the lawn) that I’ll greatly reduce my own workload thanks to their inquisitiveness.
It is during this time that one kid chimes in with:
“You know that crazy guy that lives across the street from you?”
“Uhm, yeah…I met him the first day I moved in.”
“We call him Shirtless D—–. He’s weird.”
“So…er…he’s often Shirtless?”
“Yes.”
They eventually leave (and half of my front lawn was indeed mowed by them FOR FREE).
It is now almost 9 years later and I have never ONCE seen this man Shirtless. I have caught him ogling the Missus while see tends to her front lawn shrubberies and what not…but never without a shirt on.
No matter.
He is and will always be…Shirtless.
I’m of the mind that–for him–it’s a State of Being.
T
