I Am Not Michael Landon

I admit, I look like Michael Landon. I look a lot like Michael Landon. He was a good looking guy. I’m a good looking guy. I think there’s some property of math that proves all this. I realize the benefits of looking like Michael Landon. I’ve never had any doubts about my appearance. I’ve always known that I’m good looking. It had been proven. I never grew up, like some kids in the movies do, thinking, “I wonder if I’m attractive enough for that special so and so to like me” or ask myself, “why am I so ugly?” That’s how much I look like Michael Landon. As a consequence, I have more confidence than the last remaining man on earth. You can see it in my walk. Everybody loves me. I can’t help it. I look just like Michael Landon.

Women like me. They always have. I’m a complete package, the Real Deal. I can do it all. I look good in a bolero jacket and black hat. I can chop wood, gun a man down in the town square or help you reconcile with your dying father. And I have a body that just won’t quit.

But now, as I get older, I realize, more and more, that maybe I get all this attention only because I look like Michael Landon when actually I’m not. I’m not Michael Landon. I’m Mark Podojil. Look, I have a tattoo! And from the picture on my wall, I can clearly see that Michael Landon had no tattoo, anywhere.

Sometimes they ask me, the ladies that is, if they can even call me Michael. Or Pa or Charles or Little Joe. I used to let them. Especially in bed. I used to think it was cute. But lately I suspect that they actually wish I was Michael Landon. In fact the mother of my 3rd, 4th and 6th children wanted me to call her Laura and live on a farm! She said she wanted to see me in overalls and that she didn’t care if I couldn’t find work. Needless to say, that left a bad taste in my mouth. It was just too much. I had to leave her again for a different younger woman.

This photo of me was taken back in ‘99. I work as a personal trainer. I find it fulfilling. It allows me to help people help themselves, which is, I believe, why I was put on this earth. My point, if you haven’t already guessed, is that I’m my own man. And I expect to be treated that way, not like some poser who bases his life on someone else’s. So, next time you see me in the gym, or chopping wood for my family, say, “Hey Mark, how’s it going? I like cotton too.”