My Cousin Evan

Last week, my Vegas-resident cousin Joe and his wife Jaime welcomed their second child into the world. A few weeks ago, I had met both of them for lunch while I was in Las Vegas. It was the first time I had seen Joe in about ten years, and the first time I had ever met Jaime.

Apparently, this meeting left quite an impression on both of them. My blinding greatness must have shined especially bright that day, because I was shocked–SHOCKED–when I found out their newborn son’s name: Evan J. Serge, just like me, Evan J. Serge.

I am honored that they would name their own son after me. Quite frankly, I could not have chosen a better name myself. The name itself has a powerfully distinctive presence. I’m sure my incredible and great reputation will certainly help Evan the Smaller as he navigates the vast, wild ocean that is life. It will take a lot to live up to my namesake, but I am confident that little Evan will blaze his own way in life. I, the wise and great second cousin, will provide guidance along the way.

But wait a second…why would they name him after me? Truthfully and humbly, I admit my accomplishments would cast a long shadow over this youngster. It may be too much to ask of the kid to live up to my name. Maybe my family is jealous of my greatness. Maybe they didn’t name him after me. Maybe…they named him such so he could replace me. Oh God. Why didn’t I realize this earlier?! My entire family, spread out over the nation as they are, are involved in a vast, complex conspiracy to use Evan the Lesser as a replacement to me, Evan the GreaterGreatest!

Hold on. I have to keep a level head about this. Perhaps there’s only a very slim chance that this is their intention. Regardless, I need to communicate to my family that if they have to choose only one Evan, then I’m the one they should pick. Better safe than sorry.

Clearly, I am obviously superior in every way to this newborn baby. For one, look at the size advantage. I have a 150 pound weight advantage on this kid, as well as at least a two-foot advantage in reach. Ask the baby how much he can lift. Go ahead. You tell me who you would rather have by your side in a bar fight.

I’m also able to read and write. You want to know what happens when you ask Evan the Worst to tell you what the score of the game is? HE SHITS HIS PANTS. At least I’ll also tell you the score, since I can actually read the numbers on the TV screen. Also, where’s Evan the Illiterate’s blog? Oh, that’s right, he doesn’t have one, because the very concept of the Internet would cause his tiny brain to explode.

Which leads me to my next point. I’m clearly more intelligent than my inferior, would-be replacement. I’m sure that eventually, if you show him a ball, he’ll correctly identify it as a “ball.” Well let me tell you something. I can correctly identify multiple objects right now. I don’t need months for my brain to develop like Mr. Poopypants over there. Oh look, there’s a ball. Here’s a newspaper. There’s a towel, hanging up on a hook. There’s that one thing that tells you the whatchamacallit. I could do this all day buddy.

I’ll stop now. I’m starting to get heated.

Now that I’ve spent a couple hundred words explaining how much better I am than a newborn baby, I feel great about myself. I hope I’ve also convinced my family that they don’t want to make an enemy out of me want to keep me around. Evan the Greatest and Evan the Smaller can coexist peacefully.