Every major city has its local celebrities, people who we cannot help but associate with their hometown, people who summon the essence of a place with a mere mention of their name – people like Jimmy Breslin or Robert De Niro of New York, Mike Royko or Harry Caray of Chicago, or . . . fuck, there are so many for Los Angeles, so I’ll just say Bukowski. My birthplace of Hagerstown is no exception. We have our favorite sons and daughters just like the big cities. There are a few that are easy to spot if you pay a little attention to TV or radio around here, but the most inescapable might just be Michael T.
“Michael T. what?” you may be asking. Michael T. Myers, but that’s no name for a star. Real stars don’t have last names. Don’t need ‘em. I’m talkin’ like Elvis, baby. But since Michael T. is only a celebrity in the area immediately surrounding Hagerstown, I guess he figured he’d better leave that middle initial. Once he shakes himself loose from this one-horse town and becomes the superstar he was born to be, he can switch to just plain “Michael.”
He has a website, which I urge you to visit for yourself. There, you will find information about how to book Michael T. to perform at, let’s say, your mentally retarded brother’s 37th birthday party at Western Sizzlin’, or your church’s Palm Sunday service. Nothing illustrates Christ’s message of love and brotherhood like twenty minutes of inept sleight-of-hand. If you have a spare nine bucks, you can even visit the site’s merchandise page and order a few of Michael T.’s patented tummy toppers. They’re like shirts for people too lazy to put on a shirt! Get ‘em while they’re hot, and if you ask real nice, he might even autograph one for ya. Won’t that be a helluva story to tell the grandkids. Don’t wait – order now. If his website’s counter is any indication (7725 hits and climbing, baby!), the star of one Michael T. is on the rise!
But back to planet earth. Of course, Michael T. will never shake loose from this one-horse town. He is the quintessential small-town celebrity, proof that America is indeed the greatest nation in all the universe, where a squat, irritating man with no discernible talent or charm, can make a living for himself and his family doing magic tricks straight out of the box and judging cow pie bingo at the county fair. Could such a thing happen in Canada, my friends? No. Because Canada is a civilized fucking country.