I need a monkey. A small one. A can-do monkey who doesn’t mind getting his paws soaked in white vinegar, dish soap and Windex. No. That’s not the Friday Businessman’s Lunch Special Cocktail at the COC Faculty secret underground speakeasy. It’s what I use to clean the windshield of my Prius.

There. I said it. For all the world to know. I. Own. A. Prius. And? The windshield that comes with it.

As you’ve probably noticed from the column mugshot — Four-figure 1,000-X O’Farrell hat, custom handmade for me in Durango, Colorado. Scared o’ Bears Ranch one-of-a-kind grizzly black diamond (aka, onyx) bolo tie. Fancy Sunday snap button cowboy shirt that would last three minutes on an actual dirt trail. Forever stern and disapproving How Far America Has Fallen stare. Championship rodeo antique belt buckle, boots, pants, tobacco pouch hanging out the pocket.

Alas, you can’t see the last four items from my wardrobe ensemble. The management at this newspaper feels that a full-length yard-tall mugshot of me is a waste of valuable space (as is the mug in “mugshot”). May I share something? It’s not very inspiring to see yourself in your local paper (259-1000 for subscriptions), year after year. Like a victim of some twisted magician’s trick, you don’t have a southern hemisphere. I run, frequently, to the closest bathroom mirror to see if my lower torso is intact.

Excuse me. Be right back. Phew. Still there.

Saddled with a O Bury Me Not On The Lone Prairie background, I’ve attracted the wrong kind of friends. They think they’re........

© Santa Clarita Valley Signal