10:03 a.m. - November 07, 2006
So, if I may have your attention, I’d like to go over, according to Smed’s notes, a detailed history of hair bands from 1974 – 1989, with special emphasis on Sweet and Poison, specifically, their influence on mainstream society as concerns Lycra pants.
…Ok… is everybody in? Quick—shut the door. Lock it. Somebody, close the blinds. I’m not supposed to be doing this, but it’s important. I have information to convey, and I need your full attention and cooperation. If word of what I’m about to tell you gets back to Smed, that is, if he finds out that I’m the one who told you, he will exact a revenge so severe as to make a skin graft seem like a kiss on the lips from a beautiful hairdresser. So, pinky swear that you will not tell him who told you, and get ready for…
OUT OF THE CORNER: THE UNSMEDDENING!
Who is this man “Smed,” this well-adjusted, music-loving husband and father of two, living in apparent harmony in America’s heartland? You are right to ask! (Even though you did not ask, and I am telling you.)
With the help of my marine detective boyfriend the Keelhauler, I did a little digging into the history of this person we have all come to know and trust. First of all, his name is not “Smed.” I will defend the right of anyone to use an alias online—in fact, I use a pseudonym so that people won’t know I’m really Reese Witherspoon—but the reasons Smed hides behind his name are dark, and designed to hide his origins as a lesser Mellencamp.
Jealous of his older brother’s raging success, he refused to participate in a family “Paint the House Pink!” party, and was cast out, disowned, forced to drift across the Indiana plains in search of food and solace.
Our sleuthing has unearthed this rare photo of Smed being dragged away from the “Jack and Diane” video shoot by authorities. (See illustration.)
After dropping out of sight for several years, Smed reappeared in Indianapolis, where he found work at the Castleton Square Mall, staffing the Rare Imports department of the FYE music store. Embittered over a lack of promotional opportunities and adequate employee discounts, he drifted across the mall, doing a short stint at the Disney Store. Disgruntled after being miscast as Mulan, he took a job as Seasonal Stock Associate at Victoria’s Secret, only to be let go after seventeen days. (His employers officially cite the end of the holiday season as reason for his termination, but there are references to “ogling” in pencil in the margin of his HR file. Further questions to the Victoria’s Secret rep resulted only in a phone number, which when dialed led to an animal shelter in Urbana, Illinois. This is just one of many unanswered questions in the Smed legend.)
From Castleton Square, Smed went on to fake his way into a local college radio station, ingeniously setting up a desk and commandeering a slot that in three weeks rose to become the top-rated oldies show in the history of the school. At that time, he revealed that he had taken the slot only in order to promote his admiration of Richard Marx, and disappeared for another six years.
Smed is currently on the lam. Here is all the information you will need to know about him, which you may convey to the authorities:
INFORMATION YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT SMED:
That is all.
Remember: this is our secret.