Hyding Jeckyll


For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. (Romans 7:19)

There are two of me.

One is the public, devastatingly handsome, profoundly spiritual, creative genius-type dude with an incandescent intellect, sweat sculpted 3-pack, gloriously reckless sense of humor, unassailable ego, hip sense of style, thermonuclear wit, razor-sharp lexicon, unshakable integrity, disarming honesty, and enviable humility.

Then there’s that other guy. The secret guy. He keeps a way low profile. For good reason, too. This guy ain’t no saint. In fact, he’s bad. Badder than dead Michael. Badder than old King Kong. Badder than Leroy Brown. Bad. Bad. Bad. He’s an inside job. He’s corrupt, craven, carnal, covetous, conceited, contemptuous, contemptible, capricious, coarse, cruel, crooked, contaminated, cantankerous, and crass. He specializes in hypocrisy, hedging, and hedonism. He can spit in truth’s eye. He is sensual, sacrilegious, sarcastic, spiteful, and insincere. He can make God disappear long enough to do his dark desires. He’s incorrigible and uninterested in redemption. He’s also my hands down, under the table, knee-jerk, nobody’s looking favorite.

Don’t get me wrong. I kind of like the public guy too; he’s a righteous dude, even impressive from time to time. He’s the guy I want everybody to notice. He’s the guy I take to church, the guy who will stand with pride before the Burn Your Face Off Majesty on the last day. The righteous dude likes being holy; he and God are buddies. But the secret guy will have none of that pansy, goody two-shoes boringness. The secret guy wants what he wants when he wants it, which is usually now. The secret guy thinks God is a wet blanket, a guilt trip, a prudish old school marm with saggy boobs. The secret guy loves all things sordid and salacious. The secret guy’s into some serious shiitake.

I wish I could say that the righteous dude wins out most of the time. After all, the bad have a crappy prognosis. But the truth is that, head to head, the other guy usually scores. For sure, the righteous dude has his moments (and feels so spiritual about them), but his small victories are rarely triumphs over the dark side. The righteous dude usually just picks up what the secret guy doesn’t want or is just too tired to care about. The plain fact is that the righteous dude is the underdog in nearly every contest. What’s weird is that the righteous dude is supposed to be the undisputed champion of my world—at least that’s what the user manual says.  Go figure. Maybe it’s a typo.

I’m sure I would be better off siding with the righteous dude. But that would mean a life of delayed gratification. Are you kidding? Via la ready brew.

Of course, I’m of two minds on the matter.


One Response

  1. My “other” guy depresses me whenever I slow down or stop to think about how I disappoint the “righteous” dude. I don’t like the “other” guy at all but I keep inviting him over for tea. It makes no sense and my only conclusion is I have lost my mind.

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