Jimbob's Journal
Reflections of a Celebrity
Stalker
by Jim Harris
In July 2000, I was arrested and charged with stalking, breaking
and entering and corrupting the morals of a Poodle. My subsequent
"Letter from the L.A. County Jail" will soon be enshrined
in the Smithsonian (if they would just return my phone calls).
It is hereby presented for your edification.
First,
let me take you back to where it all started. May,2000; I'm watching
the "Tonight Show". Oh look, Deke Foster, the brooding
young anti-hero, pruned, preened and fluffed to look authentically
cavalier. I recline yet another notch in my Lazy-Boy and pop open
a family-size pouch of low-fat, organic mesquite nachos. What
delightful tidbits of personalia will we be privy to this lovely
evening?
Oooh, he's added a 1929 Doosledorfer to his antique car collection
(applause). Just finished a movie - Blood of Death - in which
he had a torrid love scene with Francina Del Foochie (salacious
hoots & whistles), AND his wife's just had a baby! The audience
now goes nearly mad with glee. It's so gratifying when celebrities
breed successfully. He explains how this blessed event has forever
changed his life (in a very special way that we little people
could probably never understand).
Suddenly, inexplicably, I am
not finding vicarious living as fulfilling as it used to be. Deke
seems to be smirking. I bet he's not cavalier at all. I bet he's
got bodyguards and financial advisors and everything. My financial
plan centers around following armored cars in case a bag falls
off. My wife has pre-traumatic fatigue syndrome, my daughter is
living with a guy who has a tattooed tongue and communicates only
through grunts, and my car has killer bees nesting in it. Nobody
cares if I make babies. I want to be loved by millions. I'm a
good person. I deserve it.
How, I wondered, could I bring
the world a bit more into balance. Several options presented themselves;
1) Become a celebrity myself
(Too much pressure. Fickle fans, crazy paperazzi)
2) Become part of a celebrity entourage (Good idea, but how do
I meet celebrities?)
3) Break into Deke Foster's home and steal stuff
Number three seemed to be on
the right track, but not quite parasitic enough. What I finally
decided to do was to hide somewhere in his house, then come out
in the wee hours, eat leftovers and bathe in the sink. "Why
the hell not", I thought, "You have to go for the gusto
in life".
By July 4, I had hitchhiked my
way to Deke's California villa and taken up residence in a modest
doghouse near the kitchen door. I wasn't able to gain entrance
to the main house, but I was finding enough to eat nightly from
the canine buffet, and bathing in the swimming pool . Of course,
I first had to establish a pecking order with the incumbent residents,
a couple of toy poodles. "Tuck" seemed initially confused
by my presence, but gradually came to accept me as a brother.
"Nip", however, never acknowledged my right to be there,
and we had it out quite a few times. It was during one such late-night
tussle that a spotlight came on, and a silhouetted figure shouted,
"Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?"
I was eminently prepared for
this. I immediately explained that I was looking for my pet mouse,
"Lothario", who had jumped out of the car while I was
in the restroom at a service station on route. . OW! Before I
could fully present my elaborate fabrication, the shadowy figure
jabbed me in the groin with what I think was a ski pole. Doubled
over in pain and unable to speak, I then laboriously produced
a note (a clever forgery) from J. Edgar Hoover giving me authorization
to be anywhere I wanted. While the man looked at it, I turned
to run but tripped over a poodle and landed face down in a bowl
of Dog-Chow. My glorious adventure had finally come to an end.
So here I sit. Although incarcerated,
I feel that my life is finally gaining some real importance. I
have the National Enquirer headline proclaiming, "Deke Foster
Captures Bizarre Dog-man" hanging on my cell wall. Dog Man,
that's me - forged in the fires of consternation and discontent,
fighting back for the forgotten little people. My celebrity lawyer
is tenaciously perusing his legal rhyming dictionary in search
of just the right couplets to lionize my cause. Dan Rather has
just finished a lovely jailhouse interview. I think we really
bonded. I understand he has a big ranch on Route 66 just outside
of Dallas.
All in all, I think I have had a positive effect on the flagging
American spirit and on the economy as well. My daughter's boyfriend
(I can never remember his name) is doing quite well selling authorized
Dog-Man T-shirts, requests for interviews and photo shoots are
coming in faster than my agent can process them, and Nip and Tuck
have landed major roles in an upcoming Al Pacino movie. Alas,
poor Deke, he had a nervous breakdown shortly after our star-crossed
encounter, but I understand he's entered an ashram and is growing
spiritually at twice the normal rate. Perhaps he needed a small
dose of humility. I'm sensing a world more in balance.
I guess if I have a message, it's this; In America, any idiot
can become famous, furry animals can earn millions of dollars,
and Dog Chow tastes surprisingly good.
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