Joel Stein has asked LA Times readers to submit columns to see if anyone can take his place. Mr Stein asked:
Do you have what it takes to write a column nobody will pay you for?
Okay, first off. Let me say that he's a day late and ten dollars short.
I've been writing for the Pressmen for year and haven't received a dime.
So where has Joel been?
Oh, I know. As a beleaguered columnist for a flagging newspaper, he simply has to take second or third jobs. Pool boy for Brangelina? Call Joel. Phone repair for Naomi Campbell? Call Joel. Social Secretary for Ed Padgett? Call Joel.
Yes, he's a busy man. It hasn't dawned on him to drag his hurried little tush over here, where we've been carrying on since Ed nabbed me in an email: "Have blog, need help, will pay via dinner." As you can imagine, this puzzled me. I had no idea what to do.
I considered trashing the email, however, this wasn't your typical scam email from Nairobi or an offer for penis extensions. No, this was a request from something called the Pressmen's blog. So I did what any other clear thinking Southern Californian would do: I grabbed my Ouija board and asked the question and here's what the spirits replied: DWEPA.
Now, mind you, I don't have time for acronyms. I am not that type of person.
So I asked again and the Ouija board buckled and a gust of wind blew open the window and the computer mysteriously went on... and there on my screen was this amazing face:
And I am thinking ....dweeb? And this time the cat ran into the room, followed by a raven which said, "Do what Ed Padgett Asks."
And so of course, I had to. Didn't want that Raven coming back, and the Ouija board jumped off the table and flew after it.
Now in the matter of Joel Stein, quite frankly I don't want to be Joel Stein. This might involve having to double as the person who picks up George Clooney's dry cleaning. It means I would have to wash not only Ed's car, but also do Jess's grocery shopping. And compared to Joel, given the variety of odd jobs he has with these big shots, I'm pretty much unskilled labor to these folks. No, there can only be one Joel Stein, and he ain't me. He's him. I'm me. Oh, let's call the whole thing off.