Chris and I were meandering along the Thames five days past, when we were stricken and struck with one of the greatest ideas known to mankind, paling in comparison only to the invention of dehydrated water (just add water!) and the sandwich cookie. We were going to take a thin, rail-like man wearing horizontal stripes of the finest red and white, and we were going to place him in many true-to-life situations. Then, we were going to have you, the reader, attempt to pick him out from the scene--much like a kid trying to find and retrieve the sole-remaining Reece's Peanut Butter Cup out of a Halloween basket full of Zagnuts and Cracker Jack. We were going to go about this mission with zeal and vigor. And we were going to call it...Where's Waldo?
Then, our lawyers informed and assured us that certain copyright laws would be infringed upon, and that Chris and I would probably end up in a great deal of trouble. With that caveat in mind, we changed our title slightly. So now, dear reader, prepare yourself for...
WHERE THE FUCK IS WALDO?
Waldo Wallington is a gangly, young British gentleman who has a certain, cockney charm about him. Born and bred in Stockhampton in 1970, Waldo's parents (Mr. and Mrs. Randy Wallington, Esq.) escaped with their child from captivity during the infamous War of 1971 between the British and the slightly-less-British, which was wreaking havoc upon and tearing apart their small community and the surrounding compost heap factories. Moving to Blarghney, Ireland, the Wallingtons began a small but successful life as potato farmers. That is, until the Great Potato Famine of 1972 forced them to move to Krakovski, Russia. There they began a small, upstart vodka-bottling facility which flourished until the Amazing Bottle Shortage of 1973. Seemingly born under a bad sign, the Wallingtons continued to bounce from town to stereotypically-named-town. In the meantime, Waldo was given no education, and oftentimes no food or tasty beverage; this resulted in a complete and utter lack of self-esteem that drove him, successfully, into his adulthood job as the entrepreneur of a successful chain of outdoor pornography booths. But nothing was ever enough for Waldo. Oh, no. Waldo wanted more out of life, for the first thirty-four years of his existence were shrouded in misery, destruction, and ennui. Waldo wanted to take a trip around the world, in a hot air balloon!
However, without the necessary hot-air-balloon-related resources, he decided to do the next best thing and just wander around aimlessly.
Never without his faithful beanie, but oftentimes without his slightly-less-faithful dog, Waldog, and his unfaithful bitch-of-a-wife, Waldetta, Waldo has ever since traversed the globe in search of fame, fortune, poontang, and pie. While Waldo is hardly a ladies' man--note especially his Coke-bottle glasses and his tight, K-Mart-brand jeans--he has managed to make a deep and profound impact from his hometown of Blokesfordshire, to the congress of the United States Of America (helping to push the creation of the well-received Waldo's Law), and all the way to the furthest-removed reaches of Upper Mongolia (where he is viewed as a corporate spokesperson and high-level deity).
Waldo's journey began in his tiny hovel at the bottom of a grassy hill. Where he'll stop...nobody knows.