I think I have an evil, diabolical twin
Friday night a young lady approached me (the same night I met the flaky club chick)—and called me an asshole.
Out of nowhere!
Then she stands in front of me, looks me right in the eye, and says: “Yeah, it’s ME.”
Girl, who the hell are YOU?
I ain’t know ol’ girl from Eve—but she was ready to cuss me the hell out.
I think I have an evil twin runnin’ the streets of Chicago.I’m convinced of it.
A dude who looks exactly like me.
Same build. Same voice. Same height. Same facial features.
Same build. Same voice. Same height. Same facial features.
Apparently we’re so identical that I can have a face-to-face conversation with a person who knows him—and you can’t tell ‘em I ain’t him.
How do I know this without having met this person?
People mistake me for somebody else ALL THE DAMN TIME. And they swear that I’m him.
And shyt really gets wild when women mistake me for him.
Last year a young lady waved at me while I was out with the fellas. I didn’t know her, but it’s possible we’d met before (I’m horrible with names and faces). I went over and talked to her hoping a light would come on and I’d remember. Pretty soon I figured out that she thought I was him.
Turns out she hung out with my evil doppleganger the previous weekend at a club.
She was shocked when I revealed that she had the wrong dude.
Fast forward to the night ol’ girl was ready to cuss me out.
A few minutes earlier I talked to a different young lady who thought that we hung out at a tequila bar not too long ago.
Seems my twin is a hard-partying playboy who—unlike me—uses his superpowers for evil, not good.
So when ol’ girl called me an asshole, it was clear she thought she was talkin’ to him.
Ol’ girl spent the next 5 minutes tellin’ me how—about a year ago—”we” started dating.
Apparently, they started gettin’ serious.
Talkin’ on the phone 2 or 3 times a day.
He was doin’ all that lovey-dovey, Ralph Tresvant shyt my ex-lady friend wanted me to do.
She was really starting to fall for dude—‘til he got pissed that she wouldn’t allow him to “seal the deal” late one night at his place.
Apparently, they started gettin’ serious.
Talkin’ on the phone 2 or 3 times a day.
He was doin’ all that lovey-dovey, Ralph Tresvant shyt my ex-lady friend wanted me to do.
She was really starting to fall for dude—‘til he got pissed that she wouldn’t allow him to “seal the deal” late one night at his place.
“Lock my bottom lock when you leave,” were the last words she ever heard from him.
And now—after 12 months of festering anger, resentment, and bitterness—she was finally getting a chance for closure on the situation by actin’ a damn fool.
Only she had the wrong dude.
I spent the next 10 minutes trying to convince her of that.
But she wasn’t tryin’ to hear it.
I showed her my ID to prove I’m 31 (he’s 27).
And to prove I live in the west ‘burbs (he lives on the south side).
Despite this, she still thought I was him (“You’re bullshittin’ me…you’re just fukkin’ with my head!”).
She said I had the same height, weight, and build as him.
And she kept tellin’ me we had the same lips (at that point I kind thought she wanted to take a ride on Mt Vondarrien).
But she wasn’t tryin’ to hear it.
I showed her my ID to prove I’m 31 (he’s 27).
And to prove I live in the west ‘burbs (he lives on the south side).
Despite this, she still thought I was him (“You’re bullshittin’ me…you’re just fukkin’ with my head!”).
She said I had the same height, weight, and build as him.
And she kept tellin’ me we had the same lips (at that point I kind thought she wanted to take a ride on Mt Vondarrien).
Finally, she grabbed my cell phone, keyed in her number, and dialed it—thinking my name would come up on her phone.
It didn’t. Finally, my point was proven.
But now I had proof that someone in Chicago is my identical twin. Maybe a biological brother who I’ve never known existed. It’s possible (my father [RIP] was a rolling stone who had 4 kids by 3 different women—who we know of). Ol’ girl told me to give her a call and she’d help me get in contact with him—but she turned out to be a flaky club chick and never followed through (why tell me you’re gon’ help if you’re not?).
But now I had proof that someone in Chicago is my identical twin. Maybe a biological brother who I’ve never known existed. It’s possible (my father [RIP] was a rolling stone who had 4 kids by 3 different women—who we know of). Ol’ girl told me to give her a call and she’d help me get in contact with him—but she turned out to be a flaky club chick and never followed through (why tell me you’re gon’ help if you’re not?).
So, if anyone knows who this person is, come holla at me.
I need to get to the bottom of this.
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