"For what reason?" I ask, perplexed.
"You're a celebrity! You're cool! You're the new Mr. Yellow Pants of Nunica," they reply.
"What are you talking about?"
They inform me.
I knew the small place out there was whacked out 21 months ago when I first moved there. But I never saw this. This is a bit much.
I'm self-employed. I work when I want to. If I don't want to work, guess what? I have never had a credit card, debit card or Bridge Card in my life. Never had a Social Security check, never been on disability, never had a workman's comp claim or unemployment check or cup of coffee. My lawn is mowed along with the 14-foot steep ditches. I would not waste a second of my precious time on earth even thinking about "diving in a dumpster" wearing yellow knickerbockers. Only if I recognize a loud, screeching, obnoxious blue jay that got trapped would I think of such a thing, because beautiful birds need to play freely.
Sure, I ride my bike around. What else is there to do? I got to have legs for my teammates on the hockey team. There's no room for a slug. And I don't wear a helmet on my bike, never wear blue jeans in summer unless I'm working because they give you crow's feet around the eyes, just swim suits. And, mind your own business.
Larry "Red" Johnson
Editor's note: Mr. Johnson is referring to a Mailbag question (Tribune, Sept. 19) about a man some call "Yellow Pants." Although the Tribune was told that the name of "Yellow Pants" is Larry, Mr. Johnson insists that's not him.