It’s a sad moment when you realize that you are an egotist with low self-esteem. When I get into a pessimistic mood, I commit the most narcissistic act of Googling myself. Unfortunately, Dan Allen is a owned by 3.66 x 10 to the sixth power other human beings(Google provided this information in 0.16 seconds). Oddly, the majority were scientist, pastors, and coaches. An enigmatic triad.
Here’s are fellow comrades:
“I’m Antler Dan Allen and, as my name implies, I am an antler artist.”
Antler Dan Allen
I normally do not judge people, but this Dan Allen seems extremely ethical and has a profound respect for woman.
Sleazy Dan Allen
In order for me to get a glimpse of me on the World Radar, I’m forced to use quotation marks to pigeon hole the web pages pertaining to yours truly.
ie “Dan Allen” and “loser”
Inanimate objects also lay claim to the blandness of Dan Allen.
North Carolina decided to dedicate an entire highway to the already over used name
“The average vehicle speed on Dan Allen is 28 mph, exceeding the posted 20 mph speed limit.”
“With the approval of the city of Raleigh and the N.C. Department of Transportation, 1 million dollars will be invested into Dan Allen.”
Great!!
I decided to feed my ego and visit this stretch of pavement in the South. It felt wonderful seeing your name honored everywhere. Your name embodied in the community’s vernacular. I felt an ebb of power flowing through my veins. It was intoxicating. My judgment was impaired, and my foot was heavy on the accelerater. My ethereal feelings of ownership ended, when a siren overpowered my glorious dream. The state trooper’s floodlights blinded me in my rear view mirror. I took my foot off the pedal, and decided it would be in my best interest NOT to slam on the brakes. My car took its sweet time to decelerate. I had to have been going over a hundred. My car finally came to a stop miles down the road. I heard the police officer get out of his car and slammed the door. The gravel crunched under his hard hitting knee high leather boots. He materialized next to my window with his hand on his 9mm Beretta 92FS. I could see my reflection in his mirrored aviator’s sunglasses. I rolled down the window.
NC State Trooper: “I know they drive fast in New York City, but, boy, who do you think you are? License and registration!”
I fumbled for my wallet, and pulled out my driver’s license. Once I saw it, my confidence was revived. The King has returned.
Me:Officer, you are on private property. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Perhaps you know my father, I. Ninetyfive.
