As I do most days, I arose bright and early this swampy Tuesday morn, opened my window blinds to take my first look of the day at the dank and miasmatic tarn which sprawls languidly across the street from me and then settled in to check my fan mail (I did this, not the tarn; it doesn't even have dial-up) which pours in from around the world as numbers of readers up to and including 5 or 6 read my daily musings.

This was no ordinary day though, this was a red-letter day if ever there was one in Blogland (don't worry about mapquesting it, you're better off not knowing where it is).  Today, you see, I got my first slutty E-skankmail on myspace.  I knew in a moment that I had to save it, like an exquisitely trashy faberge' egg, or like an exotic, yet whored-up dragonfly in amber, that I might mock it tonight at my greater leisure. Alas, twas better that I had siezed the day this morning, for upon my return home this evening, I found that my slutty message in a bottle had vansihed as suddenly as it had arriven.

Was it deleted by some moderator with a sense of decency?  Or snatched away by the capricious gods of the internet who had unwittingly shewed it to me in the first place?  Did I dream the whole ordeal?  Or was it just one of my friends pranking me, like some damnable Ashton Kutcher, punking my very E-soul?  That is a question I shall leave to wiser and more inebriated men than myself.  What follows though, is the body of this brief and sultry missive, which was so recently seared into my living memory (name changed to protect other friends I have who have the same name as the mystery skank):

"Hey Babe, you're kinda cute and I thought I'd send you a message.  I'd really love to get to know you better.  Check me out on MSM or AIM sometime, my name is Lovelygurl69.  Love and kisses, smooch, smooch,
                                                         Buckwheat Bertha"

See what I mean?  I think it was the 69 in the screen name that really put it over the top.  If she'd just used a regular, non-dirty ho name, like "SweetThang87", or "AgnesCthulhu2" or even "Banthaface821"  I would have been torn between my natural suspicious nature and my nerdy desperation to have a girl find me attractive, not writing this blog, but rather a horribly different one about the futility of the hoop-stick game (there, there, I'll do that one tomorrow) But as it is, I knew right away, like William Howard Taft as he stepped into the bathtub, that this would not end without incident (William Howard Taft and the Bathtub Incident, by the way, would be a totally sweet name for a band).  And so here I sit, lost in my reverie, wondering what it all meant, where she came from, and if it wasn't just Tom getting back at me for denying his friend request (Sorry, man, I didn't you that you were the household diety of myspace at the time).  When all is said and done though, I suspect that I haven't heard the last from this, E-Skank of the Mist....

(If you're a skank, or just wish you were, feel free to send me tantalizingly unbelieveable messages anytime; I promise to take them way too seriously and make fun of them at the same time)

Most of us, I think, had in our early lives certain beneficial influences, people or things which had, though we might not have known it at the time, a profound effect on the person whom we would someday become. Today, I take a moment to pay homage to a certain group of people who did just that for me. Sure, they had their flaws and failings, but who among us doesn't? And isn't it our ever so human imperfections which, in the end, enable us to relate to eachother as equals? Without further ado, I give you, the cast of Inspector Gadget:

First, the man himself, Inspector Gadget. Now, in the world today, most of the cyborgs we meet aren't particularly nice. Even the ones who work for the forces of good are still not exactly people people, like Robocop. Which is a big part of why Inspector Gadget helped to break down traditional anti-cyborg stereotypes and prejudices, allowing cyborgs these days to step forward and claim the civil rights so long denied them. It is indeed to Inspector Gadget that men like Darth Vader and Dick Cheney owe an immense debt of gratitude. Not only in terms of human rights, but also in terms of fashion, was Inspector Gadget a courageous pioneer for progress. Can you remember any man wearing a hat with a helicopter in it before the 80's? Of course not, it was completely unheard of. But now, you can hardly go out to Donut Connection without running into at least half a dozen repectable citizens in helicopter hats. That, my friends, is what makes America totally sweet.

Next in the grand scheme of things comes Penny, Inspector Gadget's niece. Now, It's tough to imagine what happened to Penny's real parents, but I always concluded (very logically, I might add) that they were probably eaten by a baboon of some sort. Imagine for a moment the effect of an event like that on the psyche of a young girl; and yet, aside from a certain grim determination in her mien, it hardly shows at all. Penny also taught me that female cartoon characters weren't all worthless nancies, like Daphne, Smurfette and Cobra Commander. (Cobra Commander and the Worthless Nancies, by the way, would be a great name for a band). She was also kinda cute (i was five years old remember) and totally fearless. On top of all that, she had her Computer Book, which really kind of introduced the idea of the laptop computer to the world, the same way that William Shatner suggested the idea of the man-girdle.

Moving right along, we get to Brain, Penny's absolutely brilliant dog. Brain must have hated his job. Every single episode Inspector Gadget would completely give the real bad guys a miss, and end up chasing Brain all across creation while the hapless dog was dressed as Madeline Albright or something. Every single time this happened, but never did he complain
about his most undeserved place in the order of things. Also, as one of many almost-talking, completely sentient TV dogs, he was used to being treated like an ordinary dog, despite his ability to read, drive cars, and speak that weird Chewbacca language that only Penny seemed to understand. On a related note, my dog is always telling me how much it sucks that people just laugh and go on about how cute it is when he tries to use my debit card to by liquor and Slim Jims. Keep reaching for that rainbow, dogs, you will overcome.

Finally, we get to Dr. Claw. Not the lame Dr. Claw from the movie, mind you, where he looked like Al Gore in a lab coat with a big goofy metallo arm. That's scary enough I guess, but not in a badass way. No, the original Dr. Claw was so totally evil that all we ever saw of him was his cat-petting arm, which came with the most totally sweet looking gauntlet of evil ever. I spent hours upon hours in my youth trying to figure out what Dr. Claw looked like, hoping against hope that they'd do some climactic episode where we'd finally see his face (I also assumed that he was really Inspector Gadget's father, a belief I hold to this very day). He had a car that transformed into stuff, he had minions, and he had a voice that I could do a pretty good impersonation of if I didn't mind ruining my vocal chords for the next two hours. His plans were always devious and evil, yet grandiose, and classy. He really was all that I have ever aspired to be; and though it will likely be a while before my empire of the shadows approaches his in terms of awesome grandeur, I like to think I've done pretty well.

So there you have them, the heroes of my youth. Respect them, venerate them, buy them a beer sometime if you see them on the street. If you yourself, gentle reader, are adrift and without purpose in this oft mystifying world in which we live in, do as so many others have before you, and learn a thing of two from a cyborg, a precocious youngster, a mutant dog, and the most severely badass overlord to ever have a flying submarine; they won't let you down.