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

over we both felt the triumph of having worshipped at the altar of heroes. We were two proud warriors: he, the ancient Chinese samurai, and I, like some noble Greek champion of yore. We enjoyed a couple of cigarettes and lay next to each other in the quiet peace of a job well done. We were just a couple of guys.
    As I left the room that morning he turned to me and said in his terrible English, “Mr. Burgundy, we like golden boat in river that have no current.”
    “Huh?” I said.
    “My feewings to you are like night bird afwaid of light.”
    “You feel for me like a bat? Okay. See you.”
    I walked out never to see him again. He was to pass away two weeks later in Hong Kong. I miss Bruce Lee—he was a great fighter, a decent actor and a great lover. Anyway, that story gets told at least once a day, sometimes twice, to just about anyone I meet.

MY LOVE FOR THIS COUNTRY
    I don’t often talk about it because I don’t like to brag but I am a real patriot. It’s a pretty controversial opinion, I know, but I love the United States of America and I’m not afraid to say it. There was a time, from about 1967 to 1974, when I would make phone calls to people I didn’t know all across this land and tell them that I loved the United States. Imagine you’re sitting in your home, lying in bed or in the kitchen enjoying a meal, and the phone rings. Now imagine picking up that phone and the first thing you hear is “I love the United States.” It must have been great. My phone bills were through the roof! I didn’t care. It was my way of giving back. Someguys went off to war, some gave to charities and still others had red, white and blue belts. I called people at any hour of the night in cities all across this nation to let them know how I feel.
    If you don’t love this country you need to go and spend a half an hour in Canada or Mexico. Here’s two countries, literally right next to us, that really blew it. I get down to Mexico from time to time. San Diego is a just a short way from the border and it can be a fun day to drive down, hit Tijuana, take in a show, maybe watch a bullfight, and eat some tacos. I’ll usually also have a drink or two. Here’s what always happens. After the show or the bullfight I’ll have a couple more drinks. Well, that just about does it. The rest of the night is a circus blur of colorful piñatas and distorted toothless laughter. I don’t know how it happens but somehow, after the bullfight or the show, I get drugged. It happens every time. Some sneaky Mexican puts something in my drink and good-bye, Ron Burgundy. How long am I out? Sometimes weeks. Ed Harken, my good friend and station manager at Channel 4, sent a team of navy SEALs into Mexico one time to see if he could find me. In the end they did find me but what they found was a surprise to all, including myself. I wasn’t even Ron Burgundy. My name was Señor Big Jones and I was the mayor of a fishing village on the Baja Peninsula. I had been mayor for almost a month, establishing new literacy programs and public works projects, giving the town a real sense of pride. I worked like the devil, pushing through important legislation not just for well-heeled residents, of which there were none, but for the simple man in the street. I think I could have easily won asecond term—I had plans for a new light rail transit system—but Ed had me airlifted back to San Diego and the town fell back into the hands of the shitbird who ran it before. Maria, my wife during this period (go figure!), tells me that the Big Jones Library still stands, with one of the finest collections of original incunabula in the world, including two complete copies of the Gutenberg Bible, whatever the heck that is. Oh well, I have been known to do some pretty dumb stuff when I’m on a bender.
    In general, and this is only part of the problem with the country, Mexico is not a place to go on a bender. Apart from my colorful time as a mayor and the year I was a hill