"My name's Mitch Maribel, and I'd like to legally change my identity"...
Mitchell Maribel was going through a life crisis. Not a middle aged one, as he was barely in his mid twenties. He sat on his couch, watching a his DVD copy of "Afro Samurai". He was going through issues of malaise. He didn't fit in.
He goes to work. It's seven in the morning when he gets there. Luke Skywalker. Holden Caulfield. Huey Freeman. Peter Petrelli. No, scratch Peter Petrelli. He's a walking idiot ball. These were a few of Mitchell's fictional avatars. People who were utterly bored with their lives. Antoine Doinel. Everything else was a copy of a copy...and so on. Don't want to get sued from copying "Fight Club". But would it matter, really?
That 2:30 feeling Mitchell felt throughout the entire day. He had a brief discussion with his predominantly white co-workers during lunch why black males usually looked better bald. Mitchell was considered the resident expert, as he was both of african descent, and shaved his head.
"Dreadlocks are only good on Jamaican's and girls" said Diana, a twenty year old temp that Mitchell liked.
"I...I mean I don't know. I've never really thought about it. I personally don't like to think about how other males look."
"No homo, am I right?" asked a guy that Mitch didn't like that well, with that motherfucking cocky grin on his face.
"No, not at all" sighed Mitch. "But I don't mean it that way. I just have never thought about it. Samuel L Jackson and Billy Dee Williams I'm assuming are the only people that might be the Gen X exception's to the rule, I suppose."
"What about..."
But Mitch got up from the semi circle desk where everyone was chatting, and decided to take an early day. He had enough idle pop culture musings as it was at home, where he could converse in privacy to his internet message board friends.
"That dude cut me off", replied Daniel, the man with the shit eating grin.
"Mitch isn't that athletic anyway" said another woman named Alexis. "You can only pull off the bald and black look if you're properly jacked, or properly bulky like Ving Rhames. Hey remember when he gave his award to Jack Lemmon?"
"Oh yeah" said someone else.
Meanwhile, Mitchell got home. He collected the mail from his mailbox situated right near the door, when he saw a DVD in a transparent slip cover that had his name on it and was marked as "important".
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