Undeserving of a Title

First of all, many apologies to those of you who've tried to call me the last few days, only to find my number (1-800-ROB-TALK) is no longer in service; sorry, but I had to change it after the flood of calls that followed the leaking of Paris Hilton's address book. It's a pain in the ass, but that's the price one pays for being in the inner circle of one of the world's dumbest hotel heiresses. Needles to say, that, plus the constant mudslides devestating ever inch of this rain-plagued region, have gotten the week off to a hectic start, one that won't abate any time soon, what with the Oscars coming up and me with six gowns still in the design stage (I'm sorry, Star Jones, but you are not a size 3).

What else? Oh yeah! I completely forgot to mention--I've been selected to serve on the Michael Jackson jury (I knew owning property in Santa Barbara would pay off)! You'd think I already have some funny stories to tell about what I've seen so far, but that's where you would be wrong. Which is not to say that I haven't seen some hilarious things, just that I don't have anything funny to say about them.

All right. It pains me to do this, but I am sleepy, so bye.