Robert Killian

Whatever happened to that guy?


You probably haven’t heard of him, which is probably all the better for you.


Many, many years ago when I was in my perpetual college days where I dabbled in no less than four majors, I had a roommate who was all about re-engineering his image.


Robert Killian was the name he came up with for his alter ego.  He had gotten part of the name from some TV show that was running at the time about an ex-cop who was a radio show host.


The look he wanted to take on fell somewhere between a hybrid of Darkman and The Phantom of the Opera, with just a little bit of Silent Bob (sans blunt) thrown in for flavor.  Combine the dark overcoat with a slight yet purposeful limp, a superfluous cane, and the behavior of a tortured soul such as Jean Valjean, the Killian persona was one meant to attract the hot chicks who looked great in the acid wash jeans.


Yes, that’s correct.  I just made a couple of literary references in the same breath as assorted callouts to a bad movie, a funny series of movies, and various fabrics which could shine a light on a great late 80’s, early 90’s rump.


Quality is job one here at TharpSter.Org.  So is figuring out how to run queso through the chocolate fountain without getting Wifey really, really pissed off.


Big picture, Robert Killian never really materialized as intended for a number of reasons.  The first reason was that the guy who wanted to portray him wasn’t an actor.  More importantly, Robert Killian stayed in the recesses of the dudes mind because he knew deep down that I would have been ruthless with my unmitigated mockery of the whole charade.


Quality was job one with me back then.


So why the heck am I bothering to tell you about Robert Killian at this point?


Aside from the fact that I needed some blog material, I was reminded of Killian yesterday as I celebrated the 19th anniversary of the first date with Wifey.


Just for the record, that’s 19 years in a row people.


As a shout out, I mentioned the event on Facebook as a status update.  The status read:


On this night in 1993, Wifey and I packed it up to go see a flick on Imax (some period piece about the French Indian War) and followed up with a trip to Taco Cabana. All this time later, we’ve never been apart. Happy Anniversary Honey. Here’s to 19 years and a whole bunch more. Love you!


By the end of the day, the status had received 32 likes and 12 comments.  Deep down, that should have irritated me to no end.  My smart ass status updates usually don’t garner that much attention.


None the less, one of the comments came from a beloved sister-in-law.  I have a few, all of which I will refer to as beloved.  Her comment read as:


This post totally ruins the dry humor, no pancake eating, unemotional bravado that you have exuded for almost 2 decades! What the heck? Have you lost your man card? Congrats anyway!


Ok, it’s been more than 2 decades with the attitude, but I gotta tell you right now.  I love that comment.  According to Facebook, I like it, but you know.


…dry humor, no pancake eating, unemotional bravado….


I’m going to see about getting those attributes printed on a t-shirt.


If I learned anything from that dead on accurate assessment of yours truly, it’s that the various personality quirks that my own Tyler Durden has created in my psyche over the years are shining through.  Certainly they’re not on the level of Project Mayhem, but they are enough be missed when I get all serious about Wifey on a social networking site.


So whatever happened to Robert Killian?


He never really materialized into what he was meant to be, however I can assure that there are elements of him alive today which were never intended.


Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

One thought on “Robert Killian

  1. Some of us gave up on the past to pursue more worthy goals. Feel free to work towards a similar path while you still have time.

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