An Impending Disaster

I was in my office today when I got a Facebook message from someone I don't know.

"u r soo hot!!!"

Well, then. Upon visiting Facebook, the mystery admirer was a girl of about 15. Odd.

A few minutes later, another Facebook friend request. This girl seemed to be about 13.

Then another. And another. Puzzling.

Sometimes my season of The Apprentice will air in a new country -- Norway, the Phillippines, Brazil -- and I'll get Facebook friend requests from that country for awhile.

But this was weird. Was it possible that The Apprentice was airing in a nation full of American teenage girls? I was perplexed.

Then, a few hours later, I flipped on the TV and watched American Idol on my DVR. After all, it's Hollywood Week.

And that's when I saw him.

Tim Urban -- one of The Others -- singing his little heart out there on the screen.

I spit out my drink.

Now you might recall my long-standing obsession with The Others -- those 50 or so other Tim Urban's out there.

I don't like them.

And I was always irked when they had the nerve to appear in "Tim Urban" google searches. I used to have to scan for a few pages to find anything about myself, until I finally took action and spent a summer calling Donald Trump "Mr. Trump" to solve this problem. It was a long climb, but I have ascended to the top of the vast, majestic "Tim Urban in google search pages" world. I sit there upon my throne, basking in glory, being fed grapes by the other Tim Urban's.

Never getting over-confident, I've kept a close eye on the other Tim Urban's -- they're a frisky bunch. Especially that troublesome mayor of West Des Moines. I watch him very closely. Should his political career ascend to the national level, my reign will surely be short-lived. I have a seductive prostitute and a stealthy cameraman hired and ready if such an ambition were to cross his mind.

There have been clever outside threats from pairs of closely associated famous people. Tim Tebow and Urban Meyer. Tim McGraw and Keith Urban. You'd think these guys had better things to do than sit around all day brainstorming how to overtake me on google as a pair. In any case, I have thwarted their advances thus far.

And then, just as I'm getting comfortable, this little effing 20-year-old pops in out of nowhere with his guitar. Who the hell does Tim Urban think he is? Did he not get the memo? I'M THE KING OF THIS CASTLE, BITCH.

Sorry, I'm agitated.

Here's the key. He cannot make the Top 24. Should this happen, I'm doomed to be "the other Tim Urban" for the rest of my existence.

I emailed the whore and cameraman tonight to be poised for action.

We are under attack.