The Problems Of Celebrities [FICTOID]

“The problem with celebrities,” the old timer said, “is that they poop on your lawn.”

He lived in the hills high above Hollywood Boulevard, up behind the Chinese Theater, in a bunker-like house on one of those crazy / narrow / twisty / corkscrew turn one-lane roads overlaid on ancient native foot trails back before Hollywood became Hollywood™.

“They’ll be on their way home from the studio or off to a big premiere and the traffic will be jammed up tight and they have to go to the bathroom something fierce so they’ll pull off Highland and drive up here.

“I don’t know who was the first -- maybe Mabel Normand, maybe Fatty Arbuckle -- but they found my house with its nice front yard at the end of a cul-de-sac that gave them some privacy from the prying eyes of the tabloids.

“Word spread, and soon all of them were coming up here when the need arose.

“Oscar nights are the worst, maybe six or eight of ‘em driving up here like a parade.  I saw Gwyneth Paltrow drive up in a stretch limo with a ‘Save The Dolphins’ bumper sticker and after she finished her business they ran over a possum on their way out.

“I guess possums aren’t as important as dolphins.

“Yeah, I tried putting up a fence, but they just smash through it.  

“Look, I could forgive ‘em if they were doctors on their way to a life saving emergency surgery, but these are just celebrities.  Movie stars, TV personalities, pop singers.  Nobody important.

“You try to chase ‘em off, but they just keep coming back.  And you can’t sue because they’ve got lawyers who’ll counter-sue you right out of existence. 

“Makes me mad the way they think they’re lords and masters over everything,” he grumbled, taking another drink.

Still, I said, there is an upside:  You’ve got the nicest, greenest lawn in the neighborhood.

“That I do,” said the old timer.  “That I do.”

© Buzz Dixon