The Friends of the Grand Misconception, or FOG’M, as the organization is often referred, is a fraternal organization dedicated to projecting the positive message of doing good for the community. In reality, FOG’M has become a haven for men, looking for an escape from wives, mother-in-laws, and children that demand new communication devices the moment their current apparatus is deemed by their peers to be out of date (usually around three months of use).

Dr. Hannibal King is the Primary Hash Slinger at the FOG’M shelter. He is a smiling, thinker of gregarious thoughts, with a PhD in Trivial Points of View from the Ozzy Osbourne School of Cognitive Thought. Recently, he was removed from the Circular Congregation Breakfast Club for knowing more useless things than Jimmy and Harry, combined — which is a bucket load of useless.

In his role as Primary Hash Slinger, Hannibal hides from his wife and spends many of his evenings, standing shoulder to shoulder with the local criminal element, as they work off community service sentencing handed down by the local judge. Typically, these ne’er-do-wells have committed crimes akin to unlawful removal of mattress tags, consumption of lemonade beyond the expiration date, and excessive loitering. On one such occasion, Hannibal stood next to a relatively average looking miscreant, known throughout cyberspace as “wildman13”.

“What are you in for?” Hannibal’s policy is to get to know his nefarious neighbors of the food line as quickly as possible.

“Nothing. I didn’t do nothing.” Their usual first response is unabashed denial, eventually followed by an outpouring of remorse over convictions for theft of neighboring Wi-Fi, salad abuse (claiming that eating a chicken Caesar salad, swimming in dressing, is diet food), or telemarketing without a conscience.

Wildman13’s crime was anti-social use of social media. “They said I posted too many pictures of macaroni and cheese, along with links to videos about cats that sing. Who gets to decide how many is too many pictures?… and people want to see videos of cats singing. I’m not guilty.”

His punishment was helping serve meals at the shelter and banishment from the internet for 48 hours. Wildman was 12 hours into his internet prohibition and already exhibiting symptoms of withdrawal — saying, “Like,” and “Friend me,” every time he plopped an oversized spoonful of soupy mashed potatoes on a passing plate.

Hannibal took note of wildman13’s deteriorating condition and felt compelled to offer some unsolicited assistance.

“Mr. 13, may I offer you some free advice?” Even at “free,” Hannibal was overcharging. “There are many people that don’t care how many ways you can make macaroni and cheese.”

“I haven’t posted pictures of EVERY way I can make it.”

“By the way, if you are mad at your boss, do not to tell the entire world. Your boss is undoubtedly part of that world and will find out you told all of your friends, and all of your friend’s friends, and all of their friends about his dryer lint phobia.”

“What are the chances he’ll read my postings?”

“About 110 percent. Give or take 10 percent.”

Wildman13 stumbled through the math on this one, due to denied access to a phone with a calculator app.

“Pay attention to your physique. Your neck and head are starting to droop and your thumbs are getting grotesquely muscular from over-texting.”

Wildman13 dropped his potato spoon and examined his opposing digits.

“While you are at it, quit taking your handheld personal communication device into the bathroom — that’s why God created magazines.”

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.