"It's like this: I'm supposed to be on vacation this week, cooling my heels, and then our mayor, Willy Wonka, loses his grip in public again and that's hardly headline news in and of itself, but this time he really lets one go.
I mean, he really gasses the place up, if you know what I mean. Now, how am I supposed to sit this one out?
First thing I do, I follow the mayor's lead and call Martin Luther King Jr. Of course, it takes a while to get through because he died in 1968 so he still has one of those avocado green rotary dial phones on his kitchen counter and no call-waiting.
As you might imagine, his line was pretty tied up Tuesday morning.
"King!" I holler when I finally reach him. "What in blazes are you thinking? You're writing speeches for Wonka, and the best you can come up with is 'Chocolate City'? Meet me at CC's Coffee House, bruh. Pronto. We gotta talk."
"I'm tired," he complains. "I had a big day yesterday."
"We all had a big day yesterday, King," I tell him. "Eleven o'clock. Be there."
Then I call God.
Of course, my call gets answered on the first ring, but it's some lackey working out of a phone bank in Singapore. We tangle a bit; she's giving me the runaround about him being busy and can she help me, and I'm wondering: What's with authority figures these days?
"Just who does he think he is, he can't take my call?" I say. "What, He's Dan Packer now? PUT HIM ON!"