I just ate lobster with drawn butter. Life could be worse. No one is attacking me with machettes, hand grenades, or knives. No vicious snakes have been stuffed in my sleeping bag. I have not been shot at, stabbed, thrown from a cliff, or tossed from a moving train all week.
True, my pay is overdue, and my life is like one of those 1965 radio commercials for Credit Advisors: Ring Ring Knock Knock "OH NO! NOW THEY ARE AT BOTH DOORS!" Except I don’t have any doors.
Once I get paid, things will be much better — I’ll get health insurance, a place to live, my dog out of the kennel, and some new socks. I’ll take beautiful women out to dinner, lovely women out to lunch, = charming women out to breakfast, and then there will be some women I’ll never take out in public<<< element of humor.
I LOOK FAMOUS: My daughter doesn’t believe me, but I look famous in Santa Monica. Everywhere I go, people say "Hey, aren’t you….???" and i say shhhhhhh….no, you just think I am…" They ask if they have seen me on television (i tell them that’s possible, because it is…albeit remotely) or if they have seen me in the movies (I say probably, i go to a lot of films). There must be some way I can cash in on this peculiar situation. Maybe I can carry a sign: "Will look famous for food"