“It’s about time to play Shiznach again. Have I ever explained that to you?” I looked at my wife. “Back when our parents divorced, when we started cussing—I guess Ian had been feeling guilty about it, so he started saying ‘shiznach’ instead of ’s***’. Modeled after Snoop Dogg’s ‘fo shizzle,’ I guess.” The explanation continued. “And ‘biznach’ is modeled on ‘b****’, obviously.” We both said the word together. I had explained this. “But then I anthropomorphized it by turning the latter term into a name: Shiznach Biznachsson. I spelled it without the ’t’, to give it a sort-of Icelandic surname character. It continued to morph, into a game where you never actually saw him. Any image, any silhouette that wasn’t in focus; any character, say, in a comic in the background whose features were obscured or otherwise unrendered; anyone whom you just missed; anyone you ran into when the other brother was not around, was Shiznatch (Ian likes to spell it with a ‘t’).” The game continues to this day. Further on into our mid-life decades, the rules are simple. Text the brother with an innocuous “You’ll never guess who” question or the like and if they’re stumped, you win. It had been a while since we played, but I was feeling it this morning. I told myself that later I would try and get a point off Ian.
She stopped me. “Have you seen that Zac Efron has a new movie?” Not sure I had. The most recent was Iron Fist, but that wasn’t new. She continued: “I saw John Cena in a spring pinstripe suit. They’re in a new movie together. You should look up the trailer.” I obeyed. Turns out I had heard about their new film, Ricky Stanicky. “The names are just so similar,” she said. We viewed the trailer and I watched as our silly little coping-mechanism game was given a sort of celluloid life. Three childhood friends are collectively hiding something from their respective families. They have invented a fourth—someone on whom they can rely to call at just the right time to get them out of a scrape, someone fictional who can be fall guy or excuse or reason for whatever shenanigan in which they want to participate. They have taken the imaginary friend trope and built up something resembling a shared paracosm extended into adulthood. I can’t say Ian and I have taken Mr. Biznachsson quite that far, though I did ask our friend and wedding officiant, Xav, to wear a tee shirt to Ian’s bachelor party on which I’d inked “I AM SHIZNACH BIZNACHSSON.” A true bro, he happily complied.
I should add that there’s also Shiznock. Modeled in name after the Mortal Kombat mort Shinnok, he came into existence shortly after Ian and I invented the hero Shiznach. In contrast to the hide-and-seek prowess of Shiznach, Shiznock sticks out like a sore thumb. Visually in the same vein as Wario and Odlaw (and Waluigi; no one’s ever seen Shiznach), Shiznock is always trying to hide and thwart and ruin the work of his archnemesis. Things weren’t bad enough we had to create an imaginary enemy? Ridiculous. And also hilarious. Each and every time he’s spied he fades away with a guttural howl.
So I actually have seen it. A serviceable plot with three clear acts, mild emotional heft and numerous well-worn tropes, John Cena/Rod Rimestead/Ricky Stanicky worms and works his way into the hearts of everyone he comes into contact with, more or less. One of the mothers-in-law is convinced Ricky’s fiction, even after he shows up at the bris in character. I looked over at Shawnah while that secondary subplot played out and remarked how silly it was. “Yeah,” she replied. “You can have doubts, but the moment you see someone those doubts will disappear.” Reminds me of the time one of my coworkers described in detail how his cousin had duped the rest of the family into thinking he was a doctor. Had a pager and everything. I think about that situation often and wonder how it could have gone on for any length of time. Alter egos work in fiction, but in real life, especially any more, seem to be harder and harder to pull off. In other words, I don’t think Xav would be able to double as Biznachsson. When it’s done, the primary subplot, where Erin finds out the truth, but instead renders the story plain, causing Dean to admit his perfidy and deception was solid. And the big reveal, that Stanicky qua Stanicky is now walking among us, was worth the price of admission. Interesting new (to me) trope. When it’s all said and done, that Cena would portray someone made up, while himself being the one whom no one can actually make out (See the meme: “You can’t see me!”), means that this idea has been fulfilled. I suppose the only way this could have hit any closer to home was to have Ian’s other groomsman, Ricky, wear the shirt.
“And somewhere in the middle of it all, the line between the mythical and the real had blurred.”
In closing, the current market on imaginary friends seems to be getting an infusion of attention. Calvin and Hobbes is perennially popular. And If, a film that sets up an imaginary friend universe has left its mark on the current zeitgeist; I’m sure a sequel’s in the works. Thing about Shiznach and, by extension, Stanicky, is that personas, names and identities have a malleability that makes them perhaps more accessible, less implausible than a large anthropomorphic rabbit. Stay real.