Let Me Off at the Top!: My Classy Life and Other Musings Read online

  If you can instill a little confidence in a child, then you’ve gone a long way to being a great parent. A ten-year-old will feel on top of the world if you can teach them to drive on a freeway. From what I understand the Chinese allow their children to operate heavy machinery making garments and fabricating car parts at a very young age. This must do gangbusters for their confidence!

  Apart from that there’s not much more I can say about relating to children. Scientifically speaking the medulla oblongata of children is smaller than that of adults, and so that’s something I’m sure.

  MY NEIGHBOR: MY BAD

  Weird development in the whole Richard Wellspar affair. I found my Craftsman leaf blower in my garage sitting on the workbench with a plate of cookies and a very nice handwritten note dated a month ago. Can you believe it? He must have returned it the day I lent it to him! What a goof. My bad. Sometimes life gets silly. Only in San Diego, folks, only in San Diego.

  WHERE I’M AT TODAY

  Don’t you worry, life’s pretty good for Ron Burgundy these days. It was touch-and-go there for a little while but counting my chips, I see I came out the big winner. When all is said and done I will walk away from the poker table of life richer than when I came in—except I will be dead, which in many ways is not richer than when I came in. Someone once said one day we all end up at the banquet of our own consequences. For many men that banquet is an unsettling and fitting end to a life of poor choices. For me I’m at the banquet of my consequences and there’s roast beef and mutton chops and red wine and cheeses and pancakes and a stack of Heath bars and creamed corn and succulent other foods like shrimp cocktail, hot dogs with sauerkraut, ravioli and three-bean salad, to name a few more—ice cream too—anyway it’s quite a banquet, really, and it’s all consequences of a life well lived. But it didn’t feel that way a few years back and I’ll tell you why.

  In 2004 I was basically retired. My day consisted of a round of golf with Merlin Olsen, a five-dollar lunch at China Buffet, some checkers with Captain Willoby Faloon, a few personal appearances and then home for dinner. If I was lucky, and frankly I’m always lucky, I got some you-know-what from Mrs. Burgundy. She’s still got it. Even at our advanced age we can still do stuff that would make a Nevada prostitute sit up and take notice. Anyway, that’s how a typical day went before the fall of 2004. Somehow through one of my many personal appearances I got involved with a gentleman by the name of Fast Eddy Keel. People in and around San Diego know the name and face of Fast Eddy as it appeared on many bus stop seats advertising home loans. He approached me early in 2004 with an opportunity too good for me to pass up. I’ve never been one to try and profit from my name unless there’s money in it, but here was a case that spoke to a particular passion of mine—namely building a high-end gated housing community. The Burgundy Estates, as they later were so named, was to be an ambitious housing development of fine homes heavily guarded and protected from the disintegrating social contract threatening our way of life. Each home would have fifteen rooms, including a screening room and a great room; a granite-topped kitchen; huge stainless appliances; a four-car garage; two swimming pools; a guesthouse; an indoor rock-climbing wall; an old-timey “make your own sundae” ice-cream parlor; his-and-her walk-in closets; koi ponds in every room—in short, only the best! Not to mention all the gadgets and gizmos the world had to offer at that time. Land clearing and building started in the spring of 2005. Each house was presold at about $2.5 million. With thirty houses to be built Fast Eddy and I were looking at a nice tidy profit. I supervised some of the building myself. I designed the houses on cocktail napkins and scraps of paper. It was kind of an indulgence but I walked around the construction site with a hard hat on and really got to know the gang working on the houses. There was Jose, with his infectious laugh, and Hernandez the happy whistler, Manuel the prankster and Jesus and Raul and Pepe—just a buncha construction guys whose names I made up every day. Here I was, retired, in my golden years, and I should have been enjoying an easy chair and Turner Classic Movies, but instead I was hanging with the guys, pouring footings and slingin’ drywall mud. I really loved it.

  One day Fast Eddy comes to me and says we should do our own financing. Now, I don’t have millions of dollars sitting around so the idea seemed too risky to me, but Eddy is one of those guys who has all the angles and he tells me how we could start financing the whole development with different types of loans and deferred payments. Before you know it Eddy Keel and I have a new business—Eagle-Eye Mortgage. Now, on paper Eagle-Eye had no assets whatsoever. There was only debt in the form of some questionable loans, but in 2005 debt of any kind meant one thing and one thing only—future money. In the very first year Eagle-Eye Mortgage had holdings worth two hundred million dollars. We quickly started buying up other loan operations all over San Diego and then jumped on Liberty-Cougar, the biggest home lender in the area. The new company was renamed Eagle Eye Liberty and we now had holdings valued at nearly a billion dollars. Heck, I was happy to walk around the development site with the fellas and grab a cold one after a hard day of roofing, but things began moving very fast. Eddy Keel was quite the salesman. He used to walk into laundromats in San Diego and get guys with absolutely no income to sign home loans for half a million dollars. Was it ethical? Was it the right thing to do? Anyway, Eagle Eye Liberty became Red White and Blue Lenders and then just as quickly became the American Fund, which we leveraged to buy SoCal Homestead, which later became Yankee Doodle Mortgage, which merged with Betsy Ross Financial, which had just taken over Hearth and Home Securities and became Stars and Stripes Money Tree. By early 2007 we had the biggest home mortgage company in the Southwest, servicing Southern California and Arizona. We named the company the Loan Barn. You probably remember the TV ads we did with the jingle “Need a home but you ain’t got the dough? Down at the barn we never say no! The Loan Barn.” We paid Donald Fagen a boatload of money to come up with that jingle! Anyway in the spring of 2008 the Loan Barn was valued at eighty billion dollars. I still didn’t quite get it. I mean, I would often sit in my booth down at the Alibis with the work crew drinking my cans of Coors and think to myself, “Ron, all the money they keep saying you have is money that’s in the future. Does it make sense that people are spending future money in the present? Shouldn’t we wait till we get to the future to get the money and then spend it on futuristic stuff like dino-bots and hover-cycles and phones with cameras?” I don’t know, call me old-fashioned but I like to see my money. I always had the news station pay me in stacks of twenties. I always bought my cars with stacks of one-dollar bills. When someone tells me I have eighty billion dollars, I say show me the stacks. Show me the stacks! Well, I don’t need to tell you what happened in the fall of 2008. All our future money was deemed un-moneyable. (That’s a word. No need to look it up.) We had nothing, and what was worse, the Loan Barn was being investigated for securities fraud, for overstating assets, for going around lending laws, blah blah blah blah, the list of infractions went on and on. When all those loan payments came due we had to come up with eighty billion dollars. That’s a lot of money. Fast Eddy Keel stayed true to his name and beat it fast. I believe he now operates something he calls a “party barge,” which is a boat full of deviants he takes out of Argentina into international waters for so many nefarious reasons it would sicken the reader to list them, but one of them involves cat glands and human scat. He called me one day—he spoke fast and maybe sounded a little paranoid—and asked if I wanted in on “the wave!” He kept saying “the wave.” And by “the wave” he meant did I want a party barge of my own. I said no and asked him where he was and told him that federal investigators had taken all my possessions and were looking for him. He said he had to go and then I heard some gunshots on his end and I haven’t seen him since.

  Fortunately Veronica had squirreled away some money for us to live on and I played a hunch that put me on top once again. After all the politicians and egghead editorialists had spun their wheels about what went wrong in
2008 I was in a heck of a lot of trouble. I found some slow-moving lawyers and set about “defending” myself but mainly stalling for time. The Loan Barn was indefensible—predatory lending and fraudulent underwriting practices were words being thrown around at the time—but I knew something all the Washington idiots didn’t know. I knew that places like California and Florida got so excited by future money that they would not be willing to give it up. They were, and are, so addicted to future money that they can’t give it up. Like any drug addiction, it would take a concentrated twelve-step program to cure Californians—heck, the whole country—of their addiction to future money. But in 2009 the country was at an all-time low. Every day a new commentator would come on TV with new gloom-and-doom scenarios. A lot of finger waving at consumers and Wall Street bankers and brokers. The home lenders took the brunt of the blame, and frankly we deserved it. Fast Eddy and I once loaned a five-year-old girl a million dollars just because we could! That money was on the books at 20 percent interest. Future money! If you listened to the facts, we wrecked Iceland, we wrecked Italy and we wrecked Greece. We almost took down Europe. It was worse than the Depression. And just like a repentant drunk, we felt really bad … for about a day. Then we got thirsty. Out of the shadows like stubborn little jackasses, a breed of News Anchor—I’ll call them “News Enablers”—started to whisper, “Hey, the economy isn’t so bad.” These guys, who called themselves reporters, began suggesting that the losses were overstated and that everyone panicked and that future money was good and real and we could start spending it again. Well, as a student of human nature I saw this coming. We are essentially a country of ham-headed idiots. We love to forget about debt and go water-skiing. I think we all can agree it’s better to live in the beautiful fable of future money than live in a boring world like adults where we pay our debts. We are not adults. We are children, and it’s just more fun! About three years ago Californians started to buy houses again with money they didn’t have—the Loan Barn held on to so many bad loans and toxic assets that it seemed like nothing short of killing everyone involved would clean it up. But that didn’t happen. Instead I was able to unload the Loan Barn to a refi company called United American Yankee Liberty First National Mortgage and Security for the tidy sum of forty billion. Now they have all those risky loans on the books and they are valued at ninety billion dollars. The country of Greece has invested its entire pension plan in the company and just can’t believe their good fortune!

  In the end I didn’t need forty billion dollars. I gave most of it away. Some of it went to my favorite charities, Candy Canes for the World and Dolphins for Children. I gave about twenty billion to Iceland because I did feel in a way that I ruined their economy, and gosh darn it if that country just doesn’t intrigue the hell out of me. It’s a whole land of ice, where ice people live in ice houses. I’ve never met anyone from Iceland but I would imagine them to be about eight feet tall with long pointy noses and blue skin. I would visit, but no way. I hate the cold.

  Today I’m as comfortable as a man of my advanced age can be. I enjoy cooking and lying out by the pool in the nude. I enjoy that my neighbor Warren Moon and his friends can clearly see me out by the pool in the raw and there’s really nothing he can do about it. Occasionally the old gang gets back together to reminisce, sing show tunes and take in a bum fight. Every Christmas I drive by Wes Mantooth’s house and throw a brick though his window. He returns the favor every Easter … with the same brick! Most mornings Veronica and I can be seen bouncing up and down the coast on our Jet Skis. Most nights we can be seen bouncing up and down by the pool. I still breed labradoodles for anyone who wants them. I’m good friends with Reba McEntire. My long-standing feud with Oscar Mayer meats is over. They were right and I was wrong. My steak knife collection is very famous. I have many honorary degrees but wouldn’t say no to a few more. There’s nothing so bad on God’s green earth that can’t be made good by a tall glass of scotch.

  MY FINAL THOUGHTS

  Well, that’s the end. I know I did a lot of bragging in the beginning about the greatness of this book. Those are just the kinds of straight-faced lies we authors tell you people to get you to read a pile of garbage. Frankly I really thought I had a huge pile of garbage on my hands but I’ve just read it over and I have to admit something to myself: I’m a great book writer. Will I get the Nobel Prize for this baby? Probably not—maybe an outside chance if a couple of guys die, but probably not. Is it worthy of a Pulitzer? You bet. It really turned out to be a great book that I’m sure will be required reading in colleges for years to come. Oh sure, somewhere down the road it will lose favor with intellectuals and go through a period of neglect, but then some smart professor will find it again and resurrect its greatness and there it will sit on the highest throne with the greatest books of all time. I can accept that fate for this little book.

  Before I end it though I thought I’d share a final thought. There’s a lot of anger out there. I feel it in the streets. I see it every day on the roadways and in the air. I guess we’re a pretty angry bunch of idiots all around. Why is that? Why does mankind hate his brother? Is it as simple as some people have got stuff that other people want? I don’t know, but I’ve got a lot of stuff—Jet Skis and trampolines and football-shaped phones—and sometimes my anger still gets the best of me. I don’t think it’s just about the stuff. I think, if you really get down to it, we are angry because we are scared. Scared of what? Well, I’m scared of children and elephants. I’m also scared of losing and, heck, I’ll say it, I’m scared of dying. When you think about lying in that mud hole and someone shoveling dirt on you, it makes you angry. You start to think, “I don’t have as much as I want! I’m not doing what I want to do! I’m not being who I want to be!” Well, it takes courage to do what you want and be who you want to be, and it takes courage to admit you’re afraid. I’m afraid all the time. It’s hard to say it but I’m afraid right now, afraid an elephant is going to come crashing into my den and crush me. It’s a very real fear. The way I deal with it is by staying classy. That’s the best medicine of all. If you’re busy going about doing what you want to do and being who you want to be, unafraid of what everyone else thinks, you’ll be classy too. Sure, the other guy has a flying car and a camera in his watch, but you can have something better. You can have class. Stay classy, America. You know I will.

  Ron Burgundy

  One other thing: The last time I wore a swimsuit while swimming was June 8, 1976. Had that in my notes and it didn’t fit anywhere in the book, so I just added it on. Stay classy.

  PHOTOGRAPHY CREDITS

  (In order of appearance)

  INSERT 1

  i1.1 © Library of Congress

  i1.2 © Lisa-Blue/iStockphoto

  i1.3 © Library of Congress

  i1.4 © Mammuth/iStockphoto

  i1.5 © PF-(bygone1)/Alamy; BrianAJackson/iStockphoto

  i1.6 © AP Images

  i1.7 © AP Images/Suzanne Vlamis

  i1.8 © Ammit/iStockphoto

  i1.9 © Mihail Dechev/iStockphoto

  INSERT 2

  i2.1 © 2013 by Paramount Pictures Corp. All rights reserved.

  i2.2 © AP Images/Bill Chaplis

  i2.3 © AP Images

  i2.4 © Tim DeFrisco/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

  i2.5 © Mediaphotos/iStockphoto

  i2.6 © Corey Ford/StocktrekImages/Getty Images

  i2.7 © Lowell Georgia/Corbis

  i2.8 © 2013 by Paramount Pictures Corp. All rights reserved; PaulShlykov/iStockphoto (falcon)

  i2.9 © Moodboard/Alamy

  i2.10 © SharpPhotoPro/iStockphoto

  i2.11 © Belinda Images/SuperStock

  i2.12 © 2013 by Paramount Pictures Corp. All rights reserved (both photos).

 

 

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