this is not our gas goodbye, but...

This weekend’s revelations by the Gas Guy have me feeling a bit guilty, for I, dear reader, am also a bit of a fraud and have not been entirely honest with you. I am going to step out of character here and come clean as to my real identity and purposes for this blog.

I am actually Jan Michael Vincent, and I have been doing this blog to get extra credit towards achieving my GED.

You might remember me from the film “White Line Fever” or as the tortured top-secret helicopter pilot Stringfellow Hawk in my TV series “Airwolf”, but my fame and fortune has quickly faded over the last few years. I had been lobbying hard for a reprisal of the series, but that Ernest Borgnine bastard keeps claiming to be “too old” to costar in an action series at this point in his life.

But I ask you: How hard is it to just sit in the back of a damn helicopter for half the episode? I mean, back in the days of the original series Borgnine was always half-loopy on crystal meth and spent most days in his trailer with an assortment of transvestites and dwarves. There are worse ways to make a living.

I suppose I shouldn’t be too angry, as he agreed to read my blog to you, dear reader (though I just don’t have the heart to tell him that I lack auditory capabilities, and that everyday he just comes in and reads into a broken Mr. Microphone that I picked up at the Salvation Army when I was there buying pants).

But I digress.

I’m afraid that I must also inform you, dear reader, that I, much like the Gas Guy, live nowhere near the Nashville area. I am actually in a small west Texas town near the gulf. I managed to survive the recent hurricane, but the satellite dish atop my mobile home did not fare so well. It was gone when I emerged the next morning, and I have yet to see it while driving around the trailer park in the AMC Pacer. I think the Mexican family next door actually stole it, but I can’t prove any of that. Besides, I sort of took their AMC Pacer without asking.

Anyway, I know many of you big-hearted folks out there have already given until it hurts in the wake of the hurricanes, but I hope you still have enough left in your hearts to contribute to the “Help Jan Michael Vincent Get A New Satellite Dish To Replace The One That Either The Hurricane Took Or The Mexican Stole” fund. Former President Bush has refused to help me solicit donations, but Clinton has said maybe. I’ll update you on where you can send the checks when I get a post office box.

Is there anything else you should know about the real “Rex”?

Yes. I hate martinis. I don’t know why I pretended to like that crap. In those times when I seemed a little drunk it was because of the peyote. In the lean times it may have been paint thinner, but it was mostly the peyote.

This is not goodbye, dear readers, but I felt as though I should be up front. I hope that you continue to read because I still have quite a ways to go before reaching high school equivalency.

Also, I would appreciate it if you lobbied your local CBS affiliate to bring back “Airwolf” in the meantime. Those gambling debts will not pay for themselves, and the AMC Pacer will be utterly useless to me when both my legs are broke.