Man Hooters

Here's my "All Over the Map" for next week's Arkansas Weekly:

You’ve heard this from me plenty of times, but this time I’m serious: I’ve got to get into shape.

The clincher this time happened at a local restaurant. I walked up to place my order, and the cashier interrupted me right when I said, “I’d like a…”

“Do you ever watch that show Diners, Drive Ins and Dives?” she asked.

“Um, yeah?” I said, somewhat confused.

“Well, has anyone ever told you that you look just like that guy who hosts that show?” she asked.

Let’s stop here for those of you who do not know what the host of Diners, Drive Ins and Dives looks like or who he is.

His name is Guy Fieri.

And Guy is – no offense -- a chubby, round-faced gentleman with yellowish-white spiky hair. He looks like he enjoys his job of discovering restaurants that serve food capable of fully clogging one main artery directly after consumption.

Oh, look. Here he is on the right.


Now, first – my hair does not look as if I sat in a hot tub while sticking my finger in an electrical socket. Second – my hair is not the color of a Post-It note. And third – and this is so important that I will precede it with a colon: I do NOT have man boobs.

I have a lot of buddies who have man boobs, and God bless ‘em, they could care less. I, on the other hand, would walk in front of a runaway gravel-filled dump truck than develop man boobs. Yes – I’m that shallow, pathetic and vain.

Of course, I’m also lazy, and I love fried foods, mashed potatoes and lots of warm buttered bread.

Push ups and raw broccoli are not part of Rob’s nutritional program.

Naps and a bucket of original recipe KFC are.

But, to repeat: I do NOT have man boobs. Yet.

I will admit, however, that my abdomen has somewhat softened and expanded. For instance, when I’m lounging in my bubble bath and I reach for the chocolate milkshake I’ve placed on top of the toilet beside me, my entire belly shifts and rolls over in slow motion to the side as I get the glass.

In fact, my belly somewhat resembles a large balloon filled with Jell-O.

But it’s nowhere near Fieri-size, and I will repeat for a third time: I do NOT have man boobs.

So, perhaps my physique is somewhat salvageable as I approach birthday number 44 in November (plan your gift-giving now, dear readers).

Oh, and I realize that this has become a tired subject in these pages over the years. Many of you have read this type of thing before, and I’ll admit I can write a column about my fears of becoming another Chris Farley in my sleep.

But cut me some slack.

I mean, after last week’s probable Pulitzer Prize-winning column concerning my collection of decapitated heads, I should be allowed to coast a little bit.

Heads Up!

My UNCENSORED "All Over the Map" for next week's Arkansas Weekly:


“A shipment of human heads bound for Dallas Love Field has been waylaid in Little Rock, Ark., where officials are waiting to ensure they were being shipped legally.

As many as 60 heads were found last week in the shipping area for Southwest Airlines, Coroner Garland Camper said. An airline employee spotted the package and called police.” – Dallas Morning News website, posted June 17, 2010.

***

So that’s where they are!

I’ve been waiting for over a week on my damn shipment of human heads.

The idiots at heads-b-us.com apparently addressed the package to Rob Grace – Dallas, TX instead of Rob Grace – Batesville, AR.

Well, I’ll just say this: You can forget me EVER using heads-b-us.com again. I’m just going to have to go back to nogginwarehouse.com even though I’m still irritated with their service. See, back in `04, I ordered 11 bald heads from nogginwarehouse.com, and the bastards only sent 10, and to top it off, seven had hair!

Oh, I’m sorry. By now, you’re probably thinking to yourself: I didn’t know Rob enjoyed collecting human heads.

I know, it’s crazy. Looking at me, you’d think my hobbies would include body building, tanning and restoring old Harleys. While I do like to tinker in the garage with vehicles in my spare time (I just finished putting a lift kit on an `09 Smart car), my favorite way to relax is with my collection of human heads.

I have about 150, and of course, I have a room devoted to all of them. I built some shelves that line the walls, and each of my heads has their own special place. And let me tell ya, there’s nothing more relaxing after a long day at work than going into that room with a glass of white wine, turning on some Kenny G, and lounging on the sofa surrounded by my collection of decapitated heads.

Now, some of you might think that collecting human heads is a little strange. Well, remember, at one point in history, people thought it was strange to believe the world was round. So…I’m just sayin’.

I will say that some in my family have issues with my collection. For some reason, my kids refuse to go into the room, particularly at night when I have each individual head lit from below in the dark while the theme from The Exorcist plays in the background. And I haven’t talked to my parents or siblings in over seven years because of my collection. But that’s okay – they’ll come around.

If you’re thinking about getting into collecting heads, let me just say that you will not regret it. I love taking some of the heads out for a Sunday drive or a picnic. Sometimes I’ll plop a baseball cap on their noggin, rig a rod in their mouth, and we’ll spend a peaceful day fishing. And there’s nothing more exciting than taking a head out for a night on the town. I’ll grab a couple of them, and we’ll head – no pun intended -- to Little Rock for a night of karaoke and dancing or enjoying the fun at one of those dueling piano bars on President Clinton Ave.

And let me tell you something that may make me sound crazy: There are times when I feel like I can actually talk to my heads. If I’m down, I may take a head to the pond at Lyon College where we’ll watch the ducks, and I’ll simply tell the head everything that’s bothering me.

And it feels like the head is consoling me or offering advice.

Like, for example, I’ll say out loud, “Man, I’m really down because I missed the Hee-Haw reunion special on RFD-TV last night.”

And I’ll hear the head say in a really deep demonic voice, “The spirit of the evil warlord Gorgzon commands you to begin collecting large firearms and storing rations for the end of time is at hand! Prepare for the slaughter of the unrighteous!”

And even though all the heads say that to me at some time during the day, I’ll just chuckle because I really don’t know what that means.

So, now I have to go through the hassle of getting my new shipment of heads from Dallas to Batesville. I’ll probably be on the phone all afternoon dealing with the red tape.

But at least I can look forward to a normal, relaxing evening at home with my heads.

It’s Thursday night, and we all love to pop popcorn and watch Glee.

How to Make Your Teen Daughter Jealous. Lesson #24

Join the Justin Bieber Fan Club and keep all the goodies they send you in your office.

"The jig is up, Dewey!"

Here's my "All Over the Map" for next week's Arkansas Weekly:

Many thanks going out to the readers of this column and my blog who love my idea of opening an all you can eat Mexican buffet/China buffet/nail spa & tobacco store. It’s good to see my entrepreneurial genius is appreciated by so many people. Oddly, I’m still having trouble trying to sell the concept to some banks, but I have something going regarding a new friend I’ve been trading e-mails with in Nigeria and if that goes through – fingers crossed – I’ll be able to finance the venture myself!

A few of you have suggested adding to the concept. A reader of my blog suggested I build some storage rentals, and I’m kicking myself for not thinking of that. I mean, der, this area needs at least 14 more storage rental facilities. Another person suggested I add tanning beds to the business, but I really think spray tanning is the future so that might be the route I go with that particular aspect.

Of course, there were some “kooks” who responded to my idea. One person thought I was actually making fun of the fact that this area is proliferated with Mexican and Chinese restaurants, nail salons, etc., and that it would be refreshing if we had a better variety of eateries such as a genuine Thai restaurant, a Japanese steakhouse, or a 24-hour breakfast shop.

Wow. The person who wrote that note had obviously been drinking at the time. What kind of nut eats breakfast for dinner, or at 3 a.m. for that matter? I’ve never even heard of “Thai” food. What the heck is that silliness? I can’t even pronounce it. And a Japanese steakhouse? Talk about an oxymoron. Uh, hello? The Japanese only eat rice, raw fish and seaweed. And besides, everybody knows that, der, there are no cows in Japan.

It’s amazing some people think I was being sarcastic.

These columns are serious!

***

I’ve decided to start dressing like Dog the Bounty Hunter.

Dog!

Naturally, I do not live in Hawaii, but that’s why they invented spray tans.

I’ll have to bulk up a little bit, so it looks like I’ll be making an extra trip or four to the China buffet and start doing some push-ups and a sit up now and then.

I’ve already started growing my hair, and I might start wearing extensions to move the look along. However, I’m having trouble finding “yellow page yellow” in the hair color aisle at the store. I might need some help on that.

I did pick up some mace and a pair of Oakley sunglasses with the Bluetooth headset, and my collection of leather pants and vests should arrive any day now from the International Male online store.

One of my many International Male catalogs. In fact, I'm wearing his outfit now.

I have plenty of mesh shirts, though. I wear them when I’m lounging around the house or playing with my bridge group.

I’m still deciding if I should order a bounty hunter badge to wear around my neck like Dog does. See, I dig Dog’s look, but I’m not sure I want to be a real bounty hunter. Sure, I’ll play pretend bounty hunter with my friends on the weekend. My pal, Dewey, will pretend like he’s a wanted crack head, and I’ll bust in his apartment with my mace can and paint gun. Dewey will jump off his deck, and I’ll run after him and tackle him in the grass, and while I’m arresting him, I’ll say something like, “The jig is up, Dewey!” Of course, my 12-year-old son and his pals will be videotaping this whole thing.

But, like I said, I’m not sure I want to be a real bounty hunter. See, when I do a job, I do it 110 percent. And if I’m busting some dude for skipping bail, I might use too much force and actually hurt him with my takedown moves. Just the other day when I was pretending like I was Don Johnson on Nash Bridges, I broke the collar bone of one of my son’s 12-year-old friends when she was pretending like she was an exotic dancer/heroin junkie on the run from Nash.

Boy -- it was tough trying to explain that situation to her parents and the sheriff’s deputies.

Nash!

So, I think I’ll pass on becoming a real bounty hunter.

I’ll leave the real work to Dog.