Greetings from Zanzibar

Greetings kids and kittens. Have no fear, for I am here
– your saving literary grace. Faster than a speeding bullet.
Scarier than Stephen King on crack. I have come to rescue
you from the ordinary, the mundane and the normal.

Whoever decided to dub me the editorial master must
have a screw loose, but for whatever reason (probably
no one else applied), I am the new opinion editor at the
CT. If this relationship between writer and reader is to
go beyond two dates and a clumsy drunken one-night
stand, I should probably tell you a little about myself.

I was born on the island of Zanzibar among the
Zanzibarbarians. I came straight out of the womb with
a shovel and went to the mine. I loaded 16 tons of
number-nine coal, but that’s another story for another
time.

I eventually left Zanzibar after seeing a broadcast of
Carson Daly on Total Request Live for the first time and
realizing my true calling – I would become a professional
tool. I found myself on the streets of Los Angeles without
the vaguest idea of how to break in. I had stints on a
few sitcoms, befriended some adult film “actresses” and
took a day job selling doors door-to-door.

All was well until I was kidnapped by a group of
women while walking down the street. I had made the
mistake of spraying an entire can of Axe body pray on
my person, and they had made a business of bottling
my sweat in a sauna and selling it on the black market.
Eventually the Axe wore out, and I woke up one morning
inside a trash bag in a ditch.

That would have been fine with me, but the ditch
also happened to be in Richmond, which explains how
and why I am here.

And it’s also why Pluto should still be a planet.