Whose the Real Outlaw

Whose the REAL Outlaw

Yes, another Jesse James spotting in downtown Austin. I realize what you are saying, "Jesse James, big deal, woohooo, Mr. Tattoo'd Attitude and debatably America's most hated male (as a result of his Sandra Bullock issues). There he was in flesh and ink, the modern day outlaw, Jesse James. Pressed dickies, work shirt, hat pulled down on top of his slicked back hair and tattoos for skin. Seems like a nice enough fella to say hello to, so she approached timidly, "Well hello Mister, are you...". Abruptly he responds, accustomed to the question on a daily basis by now, "No ma'am, my name is Rich but I think you may be looking for him", pointing to the 'real' Jesse James as he exits the gym where we both train. You see, Jesse and I could pass for twins and now that he lives in Austin and we live in such close proximity, this is a daily occurrence. She responds with an embarrassed, "Stop playing, I know you're him and I hate to ask but would you mind being my personal mechanic". As Jesse passes and smiles saying, "My brother from another mother", I decide to show mercy and simply take her number and sign an autograph. The lady and I part ways and I walk to Jesse, who is now parked in his gas-guzzling, 4WD, appropriately black truck, I smile and exchange a typical, "Hello, what's been going on". After a brief exchange, discussing his shoulder surgery and my latest encounter, I promise to tweet him a shout-out and our latest pic from "@TKONutrition" (me) to @FreeJesseJames (him) in hopes that he will likely oblige a return gesture and bless me for taking shots as his involuntary stunt-double. All for nothing, as I wonder how celebrities siphon through their fan mail and why mine always goes unreciprocated. I start to walk away as he revs the engine of that beast, which likely just cost him about twenty dollars. As he begins to take off, I immediately remembered I forgot something, "Hey Jesse, stop! I forgot to give you something". As I retrieve from my pocket the latest number of a damsel in distress, I hand him the piece of paper. I briefly explain it's origin in 140 words or less and make my exit. I walk walk away with a silent pride, not because Jesse will return my tweets or acknowledge my existence but I secretly accepted that latest job offer on his behalf.


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