Let Me Off at the Top!: My Classy Life and Other Musings by Ron Burgundy Page B

days at Stanford or maybe from his work on his distillery, and with only fifty words to work with the word
thermal
came up often, as in “I smell a thermal coming,” “Look at that thermal,” “We got us a thermal,” “Us thermal look good, thermal.” He was later elected six times to the state legislature with the slogan “We gonna go thermal!”…Back to my current predicament. Maybe there’s a body decomposing? Is it fermenting flesh?I know that smell, mold mixed with infection and dead skin. Am I in the Tarantula’s Lair again? Is this Venezuela? A moment of fear surges through my usually calm disposition. For one second I am paralyzed with heart-stopping terror. Horrendous memories strike at me like coiled snakes jumping at my face, but just as quick I fight them off. No, Ron, those days are over. Look around the room. There are no guns, no cameras, no demonic symbols painted on the wall. You play it safe now. Cool down and take it easy.… Maybe I’m in some kind of whorehouse. It’s too small for a whorehouse. Stop guessing! Slow it down, Ron. Slow it down. Let the mystery unfold. Back to the weight on my leg. I can feel the smooth skin on my haunches. It’s sensual. Hello, Mr. Hammersmith (one of the many names I give my penis). He has awakened, bloated with wine and memory and possibility. “Now is not the time for you,” I say out loud. It may be the place but it is not the time. I will admit, Mr. Hammersmith has no real sense of time or space. He’s his own agent, bound to no rules made by man. Nature is Mr. Hammersmith’s lawgiver and even she grants him free rein within her strict code. For I have witnessed Mr. Hammersmith defy nature many times, taunting her with his insolence like Odysseus yelling back at Cyclops, full of hubris. Mr. Hammersmith has thus taunted nature with many unnatural acts and yet Mother Nature loves her impish man-child. I envy Mr. Hammersmith. He’s not bound to reason. I’m talking about my penis, Mr. Hammersmith. No, he’s an epicurean all the way. His morning bloat is pure joyful defiance! He’s a rascal and I love him for it!
    Unfortunately I have a head—a head filled with brain cells—and I am intrigued by the mystery that surrounds me. What is that weight on my leg? Do I have the muscle control to lift my head and look or should I continue to sleuth it out like the newsman that I am? It’s a female leg. I’m fairly certain of that, although there are men who shave their legs. World-class swimmer and nine-time Olympic gold medalist Mark Spitz shaves his legs to lose the aquadynamic drag that body hair might cause in the water. I asked him one time in a candid on-air interview if he felt more like a woman without the hair. He didn’t know how to respond to the question so I rephrased it like this: “Does shaving your legs make you feel sexy, more feminine?” Again, he laughed but did not understand what I was getting at. Here is a transcript of my interview with Mark Spitz from that point on.
    Ron
    Come on, man.
    Mark Spitz
    Are you serious?
    Ron
    I’m an anchorman with sterling credentials.
    Mark Spitz
    You want to know if shaving my legs for my sport makes me feel more like a woman?
    Ron
    Does it?
    Mark Spitz
    You’re an idiot.
    Ron
    I would think it would go a long way to putting you in touch with your feminine side. Do you wear dresses ever? Maybe a wig?
    [Long stare-down]
    Ron
    Are you not comfortable with wanting to be a woman?
    [Something begins to agitate Mr. Spitz]
    Ron
    I’ve seen men up in San Francisco in heels and dresses that I swear to God you would think are women. I did. I thought they were women.
    [Mr. Spitz nods his head]
    Ron
    I don’t know if that’s something you’re interested in but I should warn you—you can shave your legs and put on heels and the prettiest dress in the world but you’ll never even come close to what these men look like. They basically are women.
    [Spitz looks off camera, confused]
    Ron
    Hey! Over here.