Shane Victorino + Dobby = Verne Troyer

I call this a Tripleganger. When two people blended together equals a third.

I have the most amazing time attempting to figure out the percentages. But this is about as close to a 50/50 split as you can get. You can't even delineate it into sections of the face.

It is just a perfect blending. Like the ice cream thing that impeccably swirls the chocolate and the vanilla.

I'm really no different than Claude Monet.

This one is so good that my Great Grandpap Fredrico Von Webster Kahl called me last night utterly convinced that I was cheating and that these three people share at least one parent.

"You know, like the Kardashians and Jenners," he roared. I told him that is impossible because I'm at least 80 percent sure 2 out of the 3 were created at the flick of an artist's wrist whilst facing an easel.

Now I know what you are thinking:

"But this is not craftsmanship! Any monkey can find similarities in cartoon characters. This mars the elegance of your craft.

You aren't Claude Monet! You are a 6th grader with a stiletto vandalizing an old chair.

We want comparisons of real humans! You are no different than these nuts that finds salvation in a Frito that looks exactly like the lord Jesus Christ."

Most of the time you would be right but this was a very special exception.

Also, if you thought that or anything within 45 degrees from "hey this guy is a complete asshole," please message me. I can be yours 4ever.

This all started when I was drafting my fantasy baseball team. I kept looking at the yahoo picture of Shane Victorino and thinking fuck, do I think I can get 20 steals, 20 homers out of him and then before I knew it I was thinking about Mini-Me. But no! Mini-Me looks like Mike Bibby (that's a harbinger.

And no, NOT of things to come. Harbinger is sufficient. Unless you are a redundant asshole who I hate).

My shoulders slumped. I was sad.

Then I saw The Love Guru.

Words can't even describe.... Just... Such a beautifully done, moving cinematic and dare I say poetic achievement.

A marvel even. I openly wept.

To my own surprise, despite being in utter disbelief at what I had just seen, I was able to gather myself and I quickly realized that it was Verne in his non traditional Mini-Me garb that was the puzzle piece I had been missing.

I had my Shane Victorino match!!!

But no!

Not quite!

I made it all the way to the castle at the top of the mountain only to be turned away at the gates. If this was horseshoes or hand grenades I would have happily posted the doppelganger and been done with this fiasco. But it wasn't perfect.

It lacked, to quote the French and every dipshit hipster hiding behind a beard and wearing flip flops trolling for pussy in Silverlake, a je ne sais quoi.

So, like any Empire's great Prince, I lifted my chin up, inhaled deeply, and sauntered onward. I would not go out like a sucker.

For a year I searched.

Watching. Waiting. Now my once impregnable resolve was waning. Not unlike a lush vibrant bright moon recedes into a cadaverous crescent.

I felt like I was drowning. In fact, I was on the verge of begging the tide to mercifully sweep me away.

That's when I saw it.

I was at the Warner Brothers Museum in Burbank. I was photo doubling or hand doubling or something and I was on my lunch break. They let you in for free if you have a parking pass.

I remember scaling the stairs to the second floor, lifting my gaze and finding myself face to face with the life-sized Dobby puppet.

That moment was probably the closest to heaven I will ever get. I felt like Nic Cage in Lost Treasure except w/o the look on my face suggestive of a Scooby Doo cartoon addiction and a 38 IQ.