Maybe They Meant "Cook"

I have to admit that one of the things of which I remain proudest is the fact that the Daily Kos, a website with scads of radical lefty followers, actually mentioned me several years back. But since the Internet is the gift that keeps on giving, whenever you Google me there it is, the first or second thing you see. Personally I think the guy running things over there, Markos Moulitsas Zúniga, is pretty damn kooky himself, and with a name like that, who knows what he's got going on. He might even know the whereabouts of that missing Malaysian jet. Anyway, the guy is only 42 and his blog is the largest mouthpiece for radical libs, so you have to hand it to him. The point is, he clearly makes some mistakes sometimes, since several years ago he labeled me a kook, and as anyone who knows me can attest, I am simply too boring to qualify for kookiness. As my grandmother would say, I should live so long.

In fact, a lot of what appears in print is wrong, wrong, wrong. For example, in our teeny-weeny, little local paper, an article that mentions one of my former business partners is completely distorted, making her ethics seem on the up and up when in reality she bent the rules to such a degree that Elton John looks straight by comparison. So I got out, not being "kooky" enough to lie to our customers.

To be honest, I wish I were a kook, which is defined as "one whose ideas or actions are eccentric, fantastic, or insane." Ha! If only, then I'd be a famous artist by now, like Damien Hirst, a cutting-edge New York artist who's 20 years younger than me and worth a fortune. Now he's a kook. He became famous for a series of artworks in which dead animals (including a shark, a sheep and a cow) are preserved—sometimes having been dissected—in formaldehyde and floating in big glass containers.

Come to think of it, Daily Kos must have meant "cook." That I am, and a damn good one too.