In 1975 I fled Pol Pot’s Kampuchea for the cozy and mildly less Communistic shores of California. The world was a sweaty mess. Tragedies like Vietnam and Richard Nixon’s resignation had me in a sour mood. "Disco" was starting to corrupt the nation. I ran with a pretty fast crowd: David Crosby, Tim Curry, Wilt Chamberlain. Not all of us survived.
That July, I bought a half-stake in the Raw Stallion, a roller-skate dance parlor with a state of the art mechanical bull. Patrons loved the mirrored bathroom floors. The Stallion was where I met a cocksure punk by the name of Ron Burgundy. After reading his memoir, Let Me Off at The Top! My Classy Life & Other Musings, it’s clear that little has changed.
Chula Vista was a peach of a town. Sure, it was run by hippies and drug cartels, and the Sandinistas poked around from time to time, but damn did we know how to live. The women were tender and eager and unafraid to push boundaries. Veronica Corningstone wasn’t the only one. I broke some hearts. Some of them I regret, especially Adelita—La Reina del Barrio Lóbrego—but I try not to blame myself. A lot of the reckless behavior at the time can be attributed to the smug, Stalinist Ford regime. The Eagles had just released "One of These Nights." Love was a perilous game.
Ron Burgundy introduced himself as "Vernon Bordeaux." Now, I’ve never trusted the pinko news, so I didn’t know who this Ron Burgundy was. However, Burgundy had heard a lot about me. I was invited to appear at a Columbus Day sauna party at his duplex in Malibu. I didn’t disappoint.
So I am stunned Let Me Off at The Top! contains no mention of Burgundy’s first interaction with one of his idols. I am stunned that the entire tale has been Biff-washed. I think it’s clear whom the author has in mind when he makes passing reference to "rabid young conservatives who are afraid of change." But that’s the only whiff of Biff we get.
Burgundy fails to provide attribution for the dozens of confirmed "Biffisms" he claims credit for, such as: "Every man takes a beating and every man gets dumped back into the earth … so why cry about it?" and: "I’ve been so busy being Ron Burgundy [Biff Diddle] the legend that I never stopped to really get to know Ron Burgundy [Biff Diddle] the man."
The author claims it was he who KO’d Norman Mailer at Walt Frazier’s New Year’s Eve bash in ‘76, when it was actually I who snapped Mailer’s jaw for calling Che Guevara a "freedom fighter." He also boasts a familiarity with historian Doris Kearns Goodwin and her "enthusiasm for lovemaking" that is entirely unwarranted. These passages were lifted almost verbatim from an early draft of "Diddle Me This…," a daring memoir that will change the course of history if the CIA ever allows it to be published.
It’s anyone’s guess as to why Burgundy has decided to slight me in such rude fashion. Maybe it’s politically motivated: Let Me Off at The Top! is overflowing with noxious left-wing propaganda. "There are too many guns," Burgundy writes. Manuel Noriega was "misunderstood." I plan to speak to Ron about these flaws on my own, in private. I bet he tries to tell me about the new movie he’s just made about himself. I bet he cries when I tell him I don’t effin’ care.
★
(1 star)