Meet Uncle Mike
Uncle Mike's Baby Pictures
Even as a little crapper I knew about blue-eyed soul. In this picture I was practicing my rendition
of the "Nellie" for a school production. I was a senior in High School at the time. I made the costume myself. The make-up was the real chore - trying to knock off 17 years from my appearance. The girls in my home-economics class were a big help. I can't begin to tell you how jealous the other guys on the football team were. Trust me.
Uncle Mike, a few years back. O.K., MANY years back.
But, alas, my career as a song and dance man was cut short primarily because I had no talent. But it was fun while it lasted. If you haven't been bombarded by groupies wearing diapers you haven't lived.
So, there I was with no job. I don't mind saying I was a real disappointment to my parents. So, just to humor them I took a job as a brain surgeon. (Back then you didn't have to be a High School graduate to be a brain surgeon. I think The AMA has since changed the rules because of me). That job didn't work out either. They wouldn't let me smoke in the operating room. They didn't tell me that when I hired on so I sued the hospital. To make a long story short, I won a jillion-dollar settlement.
So, there I was again - no job. I had a jillion dollars in the bank but that wasn't good enough for my mother. I said "Mom, I've got a job. I go to the mailbox almost every day to pick up my dividend checks". She said, "look, you moron - I mean a REAL job like Martha's boy has. He wears his neat little uniforms to the Gulf station every morning and pumps gas and wipes windshields and checks oil. That's a REAL job." All I could come up with in response was "Gaaahh".
Needless to say, Mom won that argument so I got out the classifieds and started looking for something which suited my background. It was pretty slim pickings in the little town where I lived. But as luck would have it there was a big ad "Wanted - Professional, Unbiased Reporter". I didn't have a clue what that meant but it sounded impressive to me. So I dummied up a resume and mailed it off. Lo and behold, the Editor was another former brain surgeon who understood my plight. Small world. He offered me a job and I took it. About a week later I bought the paper from him and fired him. I'm sure he's found another job by now. We former brain surgeons are very resilient. And he looks much better in those Gulf station uniforms than I ever would have.
So now you know all there is to know about Uncle Mike. Trust me.