Chemically Imbalanced Comedy's Blog

By Mike Devine

This tiny, new human I have is great. I read all the material and did my online research beforehand, but I’m pleasantly surprised by what he has to offer. I’ve found that having a miniature replica of me who I can mold as I see fit is fulfilling my god aspirations in ways playing with G.I. Joe never could. Sure my little guy’s kung fu grip is still a bit lacking and Joe would never cry just because he wet himself, but overall the results are fantastic. And while the hours I’ve spent immersed in role-playing games have provided a temporary fix to my desire for power – whether rolling dice in my friend’s basement or clicking a mouse at 3 a.m. – it’s really no comparison to a living, breathing character.

So now I have this little fella that I was able to name, who I get to dress however I want, who I can play with and take for walks, and who even responds to me sometimes. Sure I’ve done all this with our Roomba, but I got bored taking pictures and videos of the vacuum. And the cat got pissed off and scratched the crap out of me when I tried strapping him into the stroller. How the hell am I supposed to show off to the neighbors if I can’t wheel him around in the SUV stroller for everyone to see?

Of course every Dr. Frankenstein must come to terms with the challenges of his creation. For awhile I thought that the spectacle of molding this little guy’s personality was making me more popular – just like when I got a big screen, high-def TV. I thought folks were coming by to see my new project, check on my progress, maybe get some tips – but I’m starting to wonder. Sure more people than ever are coming over to visit, bringing gifts (for him), taking pictures (with him) and talking (to him). But I feel like I’m just the guy who answers the door and cleans up: sort of the Blaster to his Master.

I’m even starting to speculate that having the mini person might be hurting my chances at making it in Improv City. I’ve heard the whispers: he’s got “other priorities,” he needs time to spend with the new arrival, blah, blah, blah. Please . . . it’s not like I got a puppy.

So we’ve made our truce. I still get to dress him up however I want, but he gets the majority of my waking time. And I get to show him off around the neighborhood. Seems fair.