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As some of you may know, in Southern California we take a pretty dim view of foul weather. If the truth be known, we simply don't know what to do with it. A few days ago I was on my way to a press about Audrey's new book, SWEET DREAM PIE (in which I played a major creative roll). When I got out of my limo, MY GOODNESS! I got smacked in the face by El Nino. True I'm from the rain forest of Central Mexico, but it's been a long time since I sank my claws into the soiled bark of the Moga Moga tree . . . my goodness, my manicurist would disown me if she knew. I'm not saying I've grown soft over the years, let's just say I've gotten more sophisticated.
Anyway, as I left my limo, I placed one foot in the gutter and was swept away like a toy boat in a monsoon. My driver came running down the sidewalk, waving his hat and screaming, Mr. Max, Mr. Max, watch out for the . . . Next thing I knew everything went dark. I felt myself falling, then heard a loud splash as I landed in a rushing stream of water. I had been sucked into the sewer. Someone was screaming, I realized it was me. Now I'm not designed to swim, I'm designed to fly and let me tell you, Websters, there was precious little room down there to fly. I figured I'd better learn to swim in a hurry. And by golly I did it. I couldn't concentrate with all that screaming going on, so I told myself to shut up. Once I calmed down, the rest was pretty easy. I just back stroked my way through the pipes and tunnels right into the sewage treatment plant where I was fished out by an elderly gentleman in overalls. His name was Morty. He cleaned me off as best he could with a garden hose and gave me cab fare home. I promised him a copy of SWEET DREAM PIE and watched his waving form shrink away out the back window. I took an hour-long shower, spent another hour or so in the hot tub and then called my manicurist.
Well, I heard the press conference fell apart without me. That's Okay, I've got plenty more ideas for books. See, I keep this Idea Box. . .
