I’m sitting at a plain wooden table drinking a Sprecher amber out of a plastic cup and laughing my ass off with: Michael Perry.
And he is exactly as he should be, understated, wearing plaid flannel, funny and self-deprecating.
It is so nice when our heroes don’t disappoint.
Though Mike P wouldn’t be very happy to hear me call him that. He went on a bit of a (very midwesternly mild mannered) rant about how the Red Cross sent him a solicitation which said ‘If you give blood, you’re a hero. If you volunteer, you’re a hero.’ “Once I had to try three times to plunge into a burning house to get to a back bedroom where the neighbor said the homeowner was. After the third try, I was taking a breath, and someone said, ‘Oh, no, he’s at the casino.’ I’d have been a hero if I had come out with the guy over my shoulder, picture in the paper and all. So I’m not a hero if he’s not actually inside? It makes no sense.”
Later, in response to my comment that everybody should have to vote: “Oh, no! I’d prefer they stay home. It makes my vote bigger.”
And with that – I submit that Mike Perry is my hero. Or at least someone I’d be happy to call a friend. And certainly someone I’d definitely call if my house were burning.
Chicken Lit 