So You've Swapped Bodies With Your Mortal Enemy
What!? Where am I?
Calm down. This is the Internet. You'll be safe here.
Here, a typical Internet user (or "blogjock") surfs on over to Backslash Dotcom at Good Times.
That's not what I meant. I meant where am I physically, right now, having just woken up? Because it sure isn't my bedroom.
Do you like to ... I'm going to say "party" here, and I'm going to hope you know what I'm talking about.
No, I don't like to party.
OK, now, I'm not entirely sure you picked up what I was putting down. Do you like to get trashed on needle drugs and cram your body up, on, and in and around strangers' bodies?
No. In fact, I'm alone right now, wherever I am.
That doesn't necessarily mean anything. Perhaps you killed your new lover while you were on the shit, and have disposed of the body elsewhere.
I've never been on "the shit" in my life.
There's a first time for anything, and statistics tells us the first time for shit-mounting occurs pretty commonly right before waking up in a stranger's bed with no memory of how you got there.
Statistics: Way Cooler Than You Ever Expected
I still don't think that's it.
Well, we'll table the issue of how demolished you were last night for now. Try looking around for clues. Can you figure out whose room this is? Are parts of their body anywhere?
No. But actually ... whoa. This feels like a guy's bedroom.
And is that a thing that you would not normally expect to happen?
I'm not gay, if that's what you're tip-toeing around.
It was, thanks. Well, this is turning into quite the horizon-expanding mystery.
Did you find a body? Did you find the shit?
No! I looked in the mirror! I'm not me!
Then who am I talking to?
Me. I ... fuck you.
I'm not me. I'm Andy. I'm in his body.
He's like my nemesis. I hate that guy. I even got in a fight with him at the bar last night.
When you were fighting Andy last night, were there any bystanders?
There were a couple of people bystanding, yes.
Were any of them fortune tellers?
If you aren't carousing in bars down by the abandoned wharf, you really aren't carousing at all.
And during your confrontation with Andy, did one of you at any point accidentally punch any of these fortune tellers in the neck?
Yes. Now that I think about it, I did punch one of them in the neck. At the time that seemed very unlikely and ominous.
That fortune teller, angry with neckhurt, has cursed you and Andy, causing you two to switch bodies.
Man, the scrapes that I get in.
Do you think I'm trapped this way permanently?
I don't. Fortune tellers are always very crafty with their curses, often using them for ironic, even instructive purposes. I bet this curse will end once you've learned an important life lesson.
Well, on the surface, this would seem like an ideal opportunity to walk a mile in Andy's shoes. See the struggles he has to deal with.
And by identifying with him, I'll start hating him less, and learn a lesson and return to my own body!
That's definitely the after-school special version of this scenario, sure. But knowing you, I will not be at all surprised if that happy path takes an abrupt detour through a terrifying world of sexual depravity.
Knowing you, that does seem like where you'll steer me.
That's the spirit. OK, just in case things go sour ...
Which they almost certainly will.
Right. Let's assume you'll have to fight Andy again in the future, which means this would be a good opportunity to catalog his weaknesses. Take a look at yourself. Andyself. Whatever. You see any scars or anything? Limited range of motion? Soft parts of the skull?
Not really. Actually, he's in a lot better shape than I am. Is that an ab? Is that what that is? He's got an ab.
See, we're already learning. So now you know. His strength is his ...
Strength. Yeah. He's even got some things around. "Weights," I want to call them.
Yeah, that's how you get an ab alright. Hmm. Does he have any weaknesses around? Like a big whiteboard on the wall with a list of his phobias or something?
Nothing like that. Everything's actually pretty nice here.
Is it tasteful?
"What's this hard brown carpet? That's stupid, Andy. You're stupid."
OK, well, that might be something. See? He's vainer than you.
Another sign of vanity! Unlike you, this guy is materialistic and shallow.
I don't know about that. I just found his studio. It looks like he's a painter. He's working on an oil painting of an English moor.
Is it transcendent?
It is. The use of color and light suggests he's coming to terms with aging and his own limited time on Earth. It's an embrace of the inevitable cycle of death and rebirth.
Wow. So your nemesis has a rich inner life as well.
What do you do in your free time again?
Is it eating corn chip crumbs and reading old Wonder Woman comics?
Also sometimes She-Hulk.
The more sensual and not at all exploitative of the Hulks.
I've got a question here. How is it you became enemies with Andy anyways?
We were in high school together. He always used to make fun of me for reading comic books.
And getting corn chip crumbs on your genitals.
I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps you aren't incredibly, rightfully jealous of Andy.
That rings kind of true.
And that your "feud" with him has been utterly one-sided, as he gets on with the business of leading a rich, successful life while you sneak up on him in various locales and punch him in the back of the head before sprinting away, perhaps accidentally knocking down a mysterious gypsy woman as you do so.
You ... you got me. I'm sorry. I'll stop bothering you.
Oh no. I need you. Guys like Andy never need my advice. You and I are bound together forever, my strange crummy-cocked friend.
It's just that ... oh crap! There's someone at the door!
Is it you?
Of course n- oh wait. It might be.
Indeed. Your nemesis, having woken up in your body, has concluded that you had done the same and were about to start stealing his things.
I hadn't even considered doing that!
Don't worry; we'd have gotten there.
He's shouting and banging on the door. What do I do?
OK. We go full Home Alone here. You take some nails and a paint can, and you hammer those nails into the paint can, and then you whip it at him.
Also, see if you can find an old computer monitor and some C4.
Wait. Won't that hurt me?
Oh right. You still want that body back, huh? Are you sure? It sounds like Andy's body is better than yours.
Still. I'd gotten kind of attached to it. Holy crap! He just kicked the door in! There's no way my body could do that.
Your forearms must be in OK shape.
What? Fuck you.
What's he doing now?
He's yelling at me. He wants his body back!
Threaten to punch yourself in the nuts!
It's called mutually assured destruction. He can't attack you without assuring the destruction of his own nuts. Quickly. Grab two of his weights, lift them above your head, spread your legs, and explain all this to him calmly, but steely eyed, like Ronald Reagan would.
This story of how Ronald Reagan defeated communism is not accurate, but it is much better than the accurate one.
He says that's nuts.
What's he doing now?
He says he wants his body back, because mine has corn chip crumbs everywhere, and everyone in my building spat on him when he left the apartment.
People spit on you?
I've got a lot of nemeses, actually.
Tell him no deal. And that if he doesn't give you the PIN number to all his accounts, you'll start whaling away at his tackle.
I really don't want to do that.
What part? The tackle-whaling, or the tackle-whaling-blackmailing?
Both? Oh God! He's coming!
No time to think! Whale yourself in the nuts!
What's he doing?
He's asking what the hell is wrong with me.
It's a trap! He's looking for weaknesses to exploit.
He's also saying that it doesn't matter what body he has. What does that mean?
He means that even in your crummy shell, he'd soon make himself a success. Meanwhile, you, having woken in a perfect body, with all the advantages in the world, are now lying twisted on the floor, having pounded your own nuts into rubble.
He kind of has a point.
He kind of does. Wait. What's that noise?
The cops are here.
I guess they're curious why Andy/you broke your door, and why you/Andy are demolishing your testicles in response.
They are wondering that. But they're also arresting Andy.
See, I told you I'd get you out of this! That might actually be a first for this column.
Poor Andy. I mean Andy/me.
Exactly. That was kind of a stupid thing he did. Maybe being trapped in your body made him just a little bit dumber. Are you feeling any smarter?
A little. I mean, wow. My old body is kind of a disaster. It's funny what a bit of perspective can do.
Yeah. Wait. Oh no. You dumb motherfucker.
STOP LEARNING IMPORTANT LIFE LESSONS!
THE GYPSY'S CURSE IS GOING TO END NOW THAT YOU'VE LEARNED AN IMPORTANT LIFE LESSON, RE: HOW AWFUL YOU ARE. AND YOU'RE GOING TO GO BACK TO YOUR BODY, RE: THE BODY NOW GOING TO JAIL.
WHERE IT IS GOING TO HAVE ITS NUTS POUNDED, AMONG OTHER THINGS. KIND OF AS AN OPENING ACT, ACTUALLY.
WHAT DO I DO?
Congratulations on completing this advice guide; you will soon no longer be trapped in your worst enemy's body. Should you require any further advice, please consult our guide, "So Your Nuts Are Being Pounded (Among Other Things) Because of a Crime Your Body Committed Without You."
Chris Bucholz is a Cracked columnist and your best friend. Join him on Facebook or Twitter and make him reconsider that.