Wrong Tom

As is very often the way with my blog posts, this one starts with the line, “I was in the pub the other night…“. And as is also too frequently the case, it is also primarily concerned with the topic of “egosurfing“.

So anyway, I was in the pub the other night and I made some comment that might have been slightly disparaging about some of those members in our community who are less advantaged, or perhaps it was something sexually inappropriate, albeit in a good natured kind of way. It might have even been a combination of both, but that’s not important to the story.

That’s wrong, Tom…“, my friend replied.

Followed by: “That should be your name – Wrong Tom! Or maybe it was the wrong Tom who got you barred from the Hermit’s Cave?“.

We laughed at this hysterically for about 5 minutes, in that way that drunk people laugh at things that aren’t actually that funny, but it still stuck with me until after the hangover had cleared on the following day; Wrong Tom would be a suitable online alias for me to use. I’ve wanted to create a new social media identity for a while now, partly in an attempt to reduce my digital footprint, and also because I feel restricted with what I can share on my current Twitter/Instagram accounts. It would also be nice to have a change, as I’ve used by current Twitter handle – Mr Fatty Goo – for quite some time now (which is simply an anagram of my name).

I set about registering the same, only to find that’s it’s already taken (along with every variation of the name) – by a DJ based in Peckham no less! Also taken were the domain names, which I had also planned to nab. And if I’m honest, I also had a Worse Tom tattoo in mind too, so it’s just as well that I checked before heading off to the local ink jabber. What a complete and utter arsehole.

This led to me doing Googling my name for a bit, only to discover that there is a brand of wine that carries my moniker, brewed in California by that other Tom Fogarty bastard, who actually died last year but still manages to usurp in the Google rankings (as does Tom Fogerty – also dead – who can’t even spell his surname properly). Having discovered this I tried to order a bottle, only to find that they only sell it by the crate and they don’t post internationally, even to people called Tom Fogarty. The slags.

I then found there is a band called the Tom Fog Band, which scuppers any future plans I might have for world domination through the formation of my own super group. Wankers!

I do wish people would stop stealing my completely original ideas before I’ve even had a chance to think of them myself; it beggars belief and makes my blood boil. It’s bad enough having the likes of Count Macula nicking my identity on Instagram, without being preempted by a bunch of chancers. And let us not forget this sod, who always used beat me to the top of everyone’s friend lists back in the MySpace years:

mstom

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