Many readers sometime stop me on the street, or in the store, or in a restaurant to inquire about one of the many fascinating columns I write in this space.
Why, just the other day, in the men’s room of a local gas station, a man knocked on my stall door to ask if Neiman Marcus is really putting a store between Sulphur Rock and Magness. I asked him, “Why would I write something that isn’t true?” and I then went back to reading the latest issue of Grit.
And yesterday, while I was soaking in a luxurious Calgon bubble bath, my neighbor came to my bathroom door to ask if I was really going to produce a reality television show called Killing the Kardashians. I removed the cucumber slices from my eyes and told Hernando, the little cock-eyed hunchbacked man from Guam who lives downstairs, “That’s it. I’m calling the authorities.”
I never should’ve given him that key to check on my pet rhesus monkey, Jimmy, when I was vacationing in Dayton.
Anyway, many readers also ask how I manage to live such an exciting life. It is true that some aspects of my day-to-day comings and goings are unique and thrilling, particularly when I put Jimmy on a leash and we go to Walmart wearing matching sombreros and flamenco outfits. But other than that, my life is pretty normal.
I usually start my day around 6 a.m. when I get out of bed and walk downstairs to get the morning paper. After I reach down to pick up the paper, I always see Hernando staring from behind his mother’s back at their front door. Hernando’s mom usually says something to me like, “Mr. Grace! Again, you’re not wearing your bottoms! I’m calling the authorities!” It’s then I realize that I forgot to put on my pants. I don’t know why this happens every morning, but I’ve simply got to put a Post-It on the door that says CHECK IF PANTS ARE ON. That should solve that problem.
After scanning the paper in my recliner, I’ll then wake up Jimmy. We’ll have a nice breakfast of beef jerky, Kool-Aid and raw garlic, and then sit back and watch that morning’s episode of Dora the Explorer while wearing our matching Dora the Explorer t-shirts.
A shower comes next, then I dress, take Jimmy to the new monkey day care center I opened next to one of the Asian buffet restaurants in town, and I’ll head to the office.
At work, I’ll usually call my accountant who is always telling me that the new monkey day care center is bleeding cash. He really doesn’t have much faith in my investment decisions, but I’ll always remind him that I made loads of money off that start-up beef jerky company in India, and he’ll scream at me that I didn’t make loads of money off that company because most Hindus don’t eat beef, and then I’ll laugh, and then he’ll scream I’m insensitive to their religion, and then he’ll tell me to never call him again.
After that, I’ll check with my secretary to see if Miley Cyrus has returned my calls and if Ms. Cyrus received those photos of Jimmy and me in our matching Speedos. She’ll always – always – say “No, but Miley’s lawyers called and said they are getting ready to file another restraining order.” And I’ll always reply in a soft voice, “Earthly laws do not apply to the eventual Universal union between Miley and myself because the Master, Gorgzon, deems it so.” Most days, I then have to call the temp agency to send another secretary because, for some reason, my secretaries usually quit after I tell them about Gorgzon.
The rest of the day is pretty boring. I’ll follow up with my sources on various columns. I’ll call the monkey day center to make sure Jimmy hasn’t taken out and swallowed his glass eye again. In the afternoon, it’s usually my daily colonic, a check-in with my parole officer and a call from my pastor trying to convince me that Gorgzon is not real – which is crazy because Gorgzon is real. I know this because Jimmy channels Gorgzon in the middle of the night when he comes into my room, stands on my chest, and Jimmy says in a very deep voice, “Judgment day approaches! Thou must taketh Miley’s hand in union so the two of you can cleanse the world of the unrighteous!”
See, I told you. Normal, everyday stuff.
Now, excuse me, I must get back to my collection of Hee-Haw DVDs. Jimmy just loves LuLu.