Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that thinks Michael Jackson is a superfreak.
We only had the opportunity to see a little a bit of an interview with him, which aired last week, but it was the segment in which he was trying to convince the interviewer that “sure, it’s OK for a 44-year-old man to share his room with children. What’s the big deal? It’s beautiful to share your bed with a child. I let them sleep in the bed, and I sleep on the floor next to them.” Any parents out there in Summit Up Land lining up to send 8-year-old Billy to Michael’s mansion for a sleepover? He has a veritable zoo in his backyard and trains and snow cones and such. Anyone out there signing up to send 10-year-old daughter Misty to Michael’s place?
We ask our spouse: “Snoogs, Michael Jackson wants to jet Billy out to his Santa Barbara for a visit to Neverland Ranch. Whaddaya think?”
Our spouse quips back: “You mean Mega Mike, the guy with the melted-like nose who was recently dangling a child out the window of a Berlin hotel?”
We reply: “Yep, that’s the Mike.”
Our spouse: “Yeah, that sounds like a great opportunity for little Billy. Let’s get him packed up.”
Moving right along to the olfactory – that’s a weird word – we were the recipient of a cologne handshake over the weekend and we really think there should be some kind of warning for such a thing. You see, this guy – we’ll call him Buck – sticks out his paw upon meeting us and, having a name like Buck, gives us three vigorous pumps (one too many, in our estimation). Soon thereafter we are smelling our hand and realize Buck is a half-bottle user of cologne each and every morning, and the smell of Polo has permeated our person. And, suffice it to say, we don’t like the smell of Polo. It is now on our hand, and we have already scratched our head – wondering why anyone would ever don Polo – so now it’s in our hair. Yuck, Buck! Then, in comes our colleagues from the zoo: “Whoa Nelly – Did you get a bottle of Polo for Valentine’s Day or what?”
“No,” we say, screaming and running to the bathroom. “It was Buck’s fault. He thinks he’s Ralph Lauren.”
Cologne and perfume, we seem to remember, was invented in the Middle Ages when running water and affordable soap weren’t so available, so kings and queens and such would douse themselves with “smelling waters” and go for weeks on end without bathing.
If you’re in the mood for a real adventure this Monday morning, drop in at Wal-Mart and try to knock off your knick-knack shopping list in, say, five hours. Naturally, we were in a rush for some super glue the other day, and we walked into a place we had never set foot in before – though we have been there hundreds of times in the past. The entire store is upside-down and right-side out. We need a Wal-Mart road map to orient ourselves anymore. Come to think of it, there probably was a road map up by the tabloids, but we were too busy looking for doo-dads to ask. Good luck, Wal-Mart shoppers – and don’t forget your compasses.
We’re out howling at the moon this early morning.
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