Contrary to popular belief, I died. I’m really quite dead. I’m sorry to inform you - really sorry - but I can’t stand living this lie any longer. As long as we’re on the topic, allow me to clarify: Jim Morrisson is also gone. Please forgive me if I’ve hurt you. Try to accept it. There’s nothing I can do to change the situation. The first time I thought I had gone to the other side was even before I died. I remember it like yesterday. I responded to a classified ad seeking three Elvises to perform at events and graduation dances. At first, I took it badly. Three Elvises, what’s up with that? Priscila, who couldn’t stand to see me sitting around Graceland lately with nothing to do, said “Go for it, it’ll be a good distraction.” Big mistake. I didn’t even make the first cut – I was rejected for being too heavy. I tried to convince them that the more bizarre the Elvis, the better for the audience. I’m more of a cultural caricature of Elvis, I said. But the selection committee found my obesity rather morbid. Priscila insists that I went too far with my outfit, that my Elvis impression was exaggerated and grotesque. To boost my spirits she called a “personal Presley” in from L.A., the kind that trains the rich and famous to improve their Elvis skills.
The guy is very serious and well-respected for his work, according to Priscila. He even gives Elvis trainings for businesses, a sort of integration workshop for people to improve their hip flexibility. Well, I found the idea somewhat idiotic, but since I was not putting out recentlyI accepted her offer so as not to get even further onto her bad side. Which was a big mistake. My personal Presley turned out to be quite impatient with the problems I had playing the character. He was quite refusing my offer of special cocktails. One of his recommendations was for me to dance without kicking the bucket, which I then proceded to do on purpose just to bug him. As you might expect, things didn’t work out. Two days later, he told me right to my face that even Dr. House had more balance than I did, packed his bags, and returned to L.A. to continue his work with Sara Palin.
Death sucks. And it’s no consolation that I’m now a pop culture icon. I’d really prefer to be back in active service. In fact, many have asked what I’d be doing if I were alive today. And I tell them: I’d be trying to break out of my coffin. Please excuse the joke, I know it’s in bad taste but it’s not mine, I heard it from Formula One driver Ayrton Senna, who told it to me in passing…in passing me on the highway, that is. (That one’s mine.)
