My Evil Twin and I

By Daniel P. Grote

Since mankind has existed, he has had an evil twin. Today, evil twins call themselves Othro-Americans and seek the same rights as their counterparts, or good twins.

My Evil Twin and I is the story of four Othro friends-Drake, Steve, Mickey and Quincy-who are unwillingly thrust into a watershed period for Othro rights. As New Jersey and the rest of the country marches toward the 2006 midterm congressional elections, a young Republican congressman drafts legislation that could force them to move out of the state, when all the 20-somethings want to do is hang out at their local chain restaurant and drink.

Along the way, Drake's new girlfriend attempts to turn him into an activist hero, Steve illegally adopts an Othro child from China, and Mickey and Quincy try to beat their latest assault rap with help from the ACLU, all while simultaneously dealing with the problems brought on by their good twins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 11, 2008
• ISBN: 9780595618613

Daniel P. Grote

Daniel P. Grote has also written the novels Of Robots, God and Government and My Evil Twin and I. He is an editor for The Press of Atlantic City and a regular contributor to the Matt Signal comics blog (mattsignal.blogspot.com). He lives in Egg Harbor Township, New Jersey, with his wife, Hillary, son Logan and dog Chewie. He’s a lucky guy. Follow @danielpgrote on Twitter.

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Prologue

Just as every atom of matter in the universe has a corresponding atom of dark, or anti-matter, every human being has an opposite number. American soap opera writers call this person the evil twin. This is not to say that evil twins are made of anti-matter. It is also not to say that all evil twins are inherently evil. But they exist, and they are not from another dimension or the Bizarro World. In fact, you and your evil twin came from the same place—your mother’s womb.

If you’ve ever rubbed a pregnant woman’s stomach and felt the baby inside kicking, you’ve been witness to the greatest battle since time began.

The struggle for dominance between good and evil twins begins well before birth, before humans are able to process hatred toward other living beings. When the zygote first forms, it splits in two, and the two resulting entities each carry a chromosome that predisposes one to hate the other. Put simply, evil twins and their counterparts are genetically programmed to attack each other, and the womb is the ultimate Thunderdome: In more than a few cases, two fetuses enter, one fetus leaves.

Combat can begin as early as the third month of pregnancy. The losing fetus, if there is one, is then miscarried.

It is not a given that in any set of twins that is carried to term, one is evil and the other is good. In the cases of many sets of twins, four fetuses enter and two fetuses leave the uteral Thunderdome. And the math of course varies for triplets, quadruplets and so on. Four can enter and three can leave, five can enter and two can leave, etc. Let’s face it, there’s only so much room in there.

The whole thing makes for some rather horrifying scenes in the delivery room. Babies have come out of the birth canal with their hands around each other’s necks. They’ve come out stillborn, having been killed in the moments before the mucous plug breaks. The umbilical cord is a popular weapon during the third trimester. And many a fontanel has been punctured by adorable little baby fists.

Scientists believe that more than one-third of all evil twins and good twins do not make it out of the womb. These pre-birth casualties are another example of Earth—and the universe—balancing itself out by making living organisms battle each other as a method of population control.

Many evil twins have sought therapy to control their feelings of hatred toward their counterparts and try to lead normal, productive lives. Others are not so lucky and end up fueling zealots on the religious right with their sometimes anti-social, sometimes sociopathic behavior.

Regardless, many parents who give birth to both good and evil twins instinctively put one of the babies up for adoption. This is not mandated by the federal government, but most parents are smart enough to know that if they keep both, there’s bound to be trouble. The wealthiest parents are able to find a way to get one child adopted somewhere on the other side of the country or even by Canadians, but many have to settle for the opposite end of the state or even just a neighboring county.

For you Jesus fans out there, evil twins explain original sin. Forget that whole Adam-and-the-apple thing. Man is a sinner at birth because he has already killed or attempted to kill someone, regardless of whether he can remember it or not. The fact that you can’t form conscious memories until well into your second year of life doesn’t excuse the fact that you tried to suffocate your brother or sister with his/her own umbilical cord during baby’s first power grab. In many cases, though, you were probably doing the world a favor. If only Hitler’s good twin had tried a little harder …

The history of combat between good and evil twins extends from biblical times—Cain and Abel—to modern-day gangbanging—Bloods and Crips. Listen to these lyrics from a CD released by Killa Clone, an evil-twin Crip:

I almost died once/bust a cap in da womb/now I’m gonna take my twin/ place him deep in a tomb/Got my niggaz by my side/rollin’ up on a clone/rollin’ down the windows/droppin’ bullets and bones.

Not the best rhymes, but really these guys were always more about pushing crack and guns than droppin’ hot wax in the studio.

John Wilkes Booth is another popular evil twin (Booth was not Lincoln’s evil twin. Booth’s genetic other was a spice merchant named Silas Hickens). Even better, the legendary second shooter on the grassy knoll was the evil twin of Lee Harvey Oswald. And they were both trying to kill Kennedy, unbeknownst to each other.

The list goes on: Caesar Augustus, Kublai Khan, Vlad the Impaler’s nephew, Mr. Rogers. Basically everybody Cobra stole DNA from to create Serpentor, if you remember your G.I.Joe.

Claistoticles, a fifth-century B.C. Greek philosopher, once wrote that the time, place and manner in which one meets his evil twin as an adult determines the path that person’s life will take.

Today, evil twins—especially the ones who have been to therapy—are making a major push to change an image marred by thousands of years of rape, murder, genocide and tire-slashing. The American Civil Liberties Union developed a campaign in the 1990s encouraging people to call evil twins Othro-Americans. The prefix Othro is intended to be a polite way of saying other. When the term was originally suggested, several groups of orthopedists, orthodontists and ornithologists brought a class-action suit against the civil-rights organization, claiming the moniker sounded too much like their respected professions/ hobbies. The suit failed due to what the president called activist judges who hate freedom. Ironically, a Quinnipiac poll showed that less than half of all Othro-Americans prefer to be called Othro-Americans, as they find the term bulky and awkward.

The Chinese government has a program whereby evil twins are hunted down and exterminated as part of a program to decrease their billion-plus population. Female evil twins are targeted first. Many Chinese evil-twin children are snuck into the U.S. via Hong Kong to be adopted by loving parents, many of whom ironically put their own Othro children up for adoption without blinking.

Any Chinese Othro boys who are not adopted or put to death by the government are secretly forced to fight other evil twins for sport, in a style very much reminiscent of cockfighting or Bumfights. All the more reason for sympathetic Americans to want to adopt Chinese children, and all the more reason for Washington to want to put a stop to it.

Congress enacted legislation in 2003 to stop Othro-Chinese adoption, which it started calling an epidemic after SARS began grabbing headlines early that year, despite the fact not one Othro-Chinese child had ever tested positive for the disease. Several adoption-rights groups have challenged the law on the bounds that it is discriminatory, but none has yet to receive an injunction.

Although the White House would never admit it, America has much to benefit from China’s policy of killing Othro children. All outsourcing concerns aside, the U.S. government fears what would happen if and when China and India become economic superpowers to rival or surpass the United States, especially when oil reserves become scarce and the three nations, all of which have nuclear capabilities, are forced to battle over every last drop. To the U.S., it was guaranteed population control. Have you ever seen China’s military? It’s huge.

Of course, if it is true that everyone has an evil twin, then that means that roughly half the world’s population—some 3.25 billion people (give or take a few million)—is someone’s evil twin. As a result, evil twins are the largest cultural subset the white man has ever persecuted, bigger than all the Jews, blacks, illegal Mexican immigrants and gays combined. Which means that almost half the world’s population claims to feel like second-class citizens.

Cable news is ripe with liberal lawyers and hippies in suits screaming for evil-twin rights (Excuse me, Othro-American rights) and conservative congressmen who don’t even try to be politically correct in badmouthing what could otherwise be a significant portion of their voting block. Some politicians go so far as to call Othro-Americans the new terrorists. Which is stupid, because evil twins have always existed and therefore are by no means the new anything.

Actually, most of the reason non-Othros are so scared of Othro-Americans is because they can’t tell who’s who just by looking at them, just like after Sept. 11, you couldn’t tell which Arabs in your neighborhood were in a sleeper cell. You just knew they existed and assumed you shouldn’t trust anybody in a turban, even though most people who wear turbans are Sikh, not Muslim.

But you didn’t pick this up to listen to a bunch of theory and back story. Enjoy the show .

Monday, July 17, 2006

Drake Garrison stepped off El Toro, Great Adventure’s new wooden rollercoaster, with the exact same opinion of it he’d had before he stepped onto the ride. He always said that wooden coasters were nothing special compared to their metal counterparts. But as wooden coasters went, it got the job done. He would’ve ridden Kingda Ka first, just to get a good base buzz going, but it was shut down. It was always shut down.

The great thing about not having to work on Mondays was that he could tour the park and not have to deal with the ridiculously long lines of children he would normally have to wade through on the weekends, an activity that felt too much like work. It allowed him to take his time and explore the park. It also afforded him the luxury of being able to ride every coaster in the park at least once, from Nitro to Medusa to the Great American Scream Machine to Batman: the Ride. He’d ridden each one countless times, but some things just never got old to him.

Upon finishing his tour of the park, Drake found a shady spot to sit and enjoy a churro and Pepsi. He then sought out a manager at the park he used to work with on the pier in Seaside Heights and slipped him a list of suggestions and constructive criticisms, as he did at least once every summer:

1. El Toro was a copout after Kingda Ka.

2. Reopen Kingda Ka.

3. Blow up the Scream Machine and one of the Batman rides and build bigger coasters on their ashes.

4. Lower the price of churros.

Some of these suggestions he’d been making for years. His friend took the list with a smile and a pair of rolled eyes.

Don’t ignore me this time. This place could be like five times better, Drake said to his manager friend before getting his hand stamped on his way out, in case he forgot to ride anything. Once Drake was out of eyesight, his manager friend balled up the napkin upon which Drake’s list was written and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Drake or that his ideas were invalid; it’s just that the park’s overseers didn’t really give a shit what Drake thought. They make enough money that they don’t need to listen to somebody who’s going to buy another season pass next summer anyway.

Outside the park, a group of protesters were holding a demonstration against Six Flags for its practice of hiring Othro-Americans.

I know for a fact that God hates both fags and evil twins, the Rev. Kenneth Hopewell said to his crowd of faithful followers, a band of righteous Christian soldiers who travel the country spreading intolerance in the name of the Lord. "Just listen to their name: evil twins. Evil twins. It’s right there. They might try to trick us by calling themselves orthodontists or ornithologists or whatever, but we won’t be fooled by fancy words. Revelation says that’s how the Antichrist comes to power."

Hallelujah, brother Hopewell, one of Hopewell’s parishioners yelled out.

Control, sistah, control. We mustn’t let them get the better of our emotions, Hopewell said. We are here to rid this park of the evil twin menace, to make it safe for normal good Christian children to run and play and ride the roller coasters. And so long as evil twins are overseeing the rides, your children are not safe. Sure, they may not be after you now, but the Bible says they will be.

Oh no! Oh no, Reverend, the parishioners yelled.

Take it easy, brothas and sistahs. We shall not let that happen. God will hear our prayers and strike down these vile subhumans. And maybe then, we will all be truly free.

Free at last! the crowd yelled in unison. Hallelujah!

Across the parking lot, another group paraded itself in a circle with its own message and forests’ worth of hand-painted picket signs.

Othro-Americans deserve the same love and respect as anyone else, yelled a matronly looking woman from the other group.

How many people have died at the hands of their evil twins? one of the reverend’s group yelled.

We will not be made to suffer for the sins of our ancestors, the other group’s apparent leader yelled. Many Othros lead normal lives without the urge to kill their counterparts!

Do not be deceived by this beast-woman, Hopewell retorts. In the end times, the Bible tells us Satan will gather his army of evil twins to destroy the world. It’s right there in Revelation Chapter 20. He took a deep breath, allowing him to cite Scripture as loudly as possible: Verses seven and eight: And when the thousand years are expired, Satan shall be loosed out of his prison, and shall go out to deceive the nations which are in the four quarters of the earth, Gog and Magog, to gather them together to battle: the number of whom is as the sand of the sea. He paused. Gog and Magog shall battle. Good and evil. Guess who loses? Magogonites such as these! He points to the opposing group.

There is no mention of Othros in Revelation; you’re just interpreting it to fit your beliefs! the lead woman from the other side shouted back. You’ve been misinterpreting chapter and verse since you left L.A.

Go back to your hate hole, another protester from the pro-evil twin side yelled.

Drake ignored the protest and counterprotest operating on either side of him as he made his way to the Tweety Bird section of the parking lot. He’d seen this scene before. Six Flags was guaranteed to play host to an anti-evil twin rally and its subsequent counterprotest at least once a summer. One time, representatives from either side of the issue approached him simultaneously with clipboards convincing him he should sign their diametrically opposing petitions. The anti-Othro petition sought to force legislation that would punish employers for hiring evil twins. The pro-Othro petition sought to create an incentive program for employers to hire Othro-Americans. Drake signed both petitions just so he could get some free T-shirts, completely comfortable with his speciously reasoned belief that his signatures would cancel each other out. Balled up somewhere in the dark recesses of his closet lay a pair of never-worn shirts, one of which said Let Othros work, the other of which said Let Othros rot.

For the most part, Drake never felt like the target of persecution. The average person couldn’t tell he was Othro, especially when you consider the fact that he’d only been arrested once in his life, for possession under 50 grams, but he only had to do community service for that.

Regardless, most of his friends were Othro, although he assumed this was always just a coincidence.

That night, Drake met up with three of his friends at their usual meeting place, the TGIFridays on Route 70 in Brick.

Rode El Toro today, Drake announced as the waitress arrived with their first round of beers.

How was it? Drake’s friend Steve Foley asked.

Meh, Drake replied. It was good for a woody.

Don’t call it that, Drake’s friend Quincy Fosterburg replied.

Sorry. I know you guys don’t like it when I use theme-park jargon.

No, we don’t like it when you toss the word ‘woody’ around like it’s not a synonym for ‘boner,’ Quincy’s twin brother Mickey, who was also Othro, said.

Touche, Drake replied.

So, I got Edna’s Krotchrokket a gig playing a sweet sixteen party tomorrow, announced Steve, an agent for a handful of local cover bands.

Yeah, good luck with that one, Quincy said. Steve’s friends were not big fans of the Krotch. To be fair, even Steve considered the five-man ‘party-rock band’ to be his least successful act, which is a rough statement to make, seeing as any band willing to play other people’s songs is almost guaranteed steady work during the summer in New Jersey.

No offense, Quincy added. Steve shrugged.

Honestly, dude, maybe you should move back to L.A., Mickey said. Weren’t you like, 10 times more successful there?

Steve, who had spent several years out West as an agent for C-list talent, didn’t want to go back to Los Angeles. His friends knew that, and they all knew he’d get pissed if it were suggested to him. At least they all should have known. Quincy found a way to change the subject before Steve could respond.

Check out the girls at the bar, he said, nodding east northeast toward four women of varying levels of attractiveness sipping varying flavors of martinis. One of them’s looking at you, Drake.

Drake looked toward the bar. One of the women was indeed looking at him and was indeed his type, which is to say that she was a woman and she was looking at him. Those were about his only requirements, as beggars could not be choosers. He knew there really wasn’t a lot of room in the market for a 26-year-old white male with dreadlocks in 2006, but he liked his hair, no matter how much of a turn-off it might have been to most people.

Actually, Drake thought she was quite beautiful. She had long, brown hair that curled its way ever so slyly down to her chest, and she wore her khakis conservatively, unlike most of the girls he saw in bars, who wore their jeans as if to say, Hey, look at me, I like to think I have a nice stomach, but I really don’t. Plus, she had a nice ass.

Dude, advance on that shit, Quincy said.

I don’t know, Drake said. What am I gonna do, just go up there and start talking to her, like ‘Hey, I think you were staring at me; tell me you’re name and maybe later we’ll have sex.’

If you don’t get up right now and go talk to that girl, you’re paying for all our drinks, Mickey threatened. And I plan to get piss drunk.

Copy that, Drake said. He got up from the table and headed toward the women. Excuse me, Drake said, half-pretending like he was looking for an opening along the bar through which to order a round of drinks for his friends. It was a horrible ruse, as the bartenders were currently tending to customers at the other end of the bar. Not to mention the fact that Drake was sitting at a table and therefore did not need bar service.

Hey you, the woman said to Drake, making eyes at him. She then hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.

Hi, I’m Drake, Drake said to the woman, whom he assumed could only be easy if she was already peppering him with kisses.

I know who you are, she said. How’s tricks?

How’s tricks? Do people still say that?

People? I thought you made that phrase up, she said, looking at him puzzled.

Drake had never met this woman before in his life, unless he had been high when they first met and he just didn’t remember, which was a strong possibility. Either way, there was ass to be had, and he’d best not fuck it up.

I’m just kidding, he said, doing his best to hide his embarrassment and the fact that he was about to engage blindly in an intricate series of lies in order to obtain sex. How’ve you been since we last crossed paths?

Good, real good. I’m living here in Wall now doing marketing stuff for 102.5 the Panther.

"Oh, the home of Fourplay Fridays and Growler and the Gooch," Drake said. He hated that station, as he did any classic rock station that played the same five Led Zeppelin songs day after day after day, but he figured at least acknowledging that he knew what station she worked for would score him some points.

That’s the one, she said. She then nodded toward the three girls in her company. These are my friends from work, Donna, Stacy, and Alice. Ladies, this is Dan Garrison.

Hi, Dan, they all said, nice to meet you.

Dan? Ummmm …, Drake thought.

"The pleasure’s all right