Let's go back to 1998. I remember thinking I was the only one who got this joke: A parody of Ron Rosenbaum, rhapsodizing over a genius—in this case, Bobby Goldsboro:
Longtime readers remember that I pondered the esse of Carrot Top's uniquely redheaded comedy in a previous column, and explored the quidditas of evil in my book Hitler Was a Jerk. What I propose to do in this and subsequent columns is to determine whether there is an exceptionalist Goldsboro fingerprint: Whether his genius can be said to exist on the same human continuum we all share, on the outermost extreme of heartfelt lyricism and weepy melody, or whether, as some musicologists have argued, he occupies some special category of turtlenecked sensitivity all his own - a separate realm of Goldsboro qua Goldsboro.
Not sure how I came across this, way back when—it's from a site called Simpleton.
UPDATE: Simpleton is still around. I don't even know what it is, exactly...