I woke up in a cold sweat, leaned over to the night stand and lit a cigarette.

My head was pounding. Why was it pounding? I hadn't had anything to drink the night before, so it definitely wasn't a hangover.

Then I heard it. Someone. . .something was singing from the kitchen!

"I can smell eggs coooookin' in the air tonight. Hold oooon."

That's when it dawned on me: my headache wasn't from a hangover at all, it was from listening to Phil Collins music all night long.

I got up from bed and tottered into the livingroom. There were wadded up blankets and a pillow on the couch. The smell of eggs and bacon was coming from the kitchen. Dreading it the whole way, I walked into the kitchen to find Phil with his head in the refrigerator.

"Do you have any milk?" he asked, sensing that I was in the room.

"What are you doing here, Phil? Why didn't you go home?" I asked, already exhausted of the conversation.

"We've got important things to talk about, mate! I wanted to be here bright and early so that we could get a jump on things. I thought if we got the jump on the other folks, we could get me up to number 1 for fireworks display!"

My head was spinning. "Fireworks display!?! Wha-you-wha? I though you wanted to get to number one for Jeep accessories?"

Phil looked at me as if I were the crazy one. "That's old news, mate. Fireworks are where it's at! Coffee?" He held out a pot of coffee and a mug.

That was the first and only thing that he said that made any sense all day. I accepted a mug. Upon taking my first sip, however, I immediately regretted the decision. It was the most wretched, vile substance that I had ever drank. I spit it all over the floor.

"Isn't it good?" Phil asked innocently.

"No, Phil. No it's not good. It's not good at all."

Phil looked down at his own mug and took a drink.

"I made it from my own secret recipe."

That explained a lot.

"Does this 'secret recipe' contain ketchup?"

A look of utter astonishment swept over Phil Collins' face. "How did you know?"

"Just get out, Phil," I had had enough.

"But we've got to talk about fireworks, fireworks displays, and fireworks for fundraisers! I want number one on all of them!"

"Phil, you are a singer/songwriter. . .kinda. You have absolutely nothing to do with Jeeps, Jeep accessories or fireworks displays of any kind. You have better things to do. Besides, I heard that Disney was making a cartoon musical about a one-eyed armadillo that perseveres through adversity. You'd better hurry before Randy Newman gets the gig."

"Really? Oh geez, I've got to go!"

With that, he grabbed his coat, hat and scrambled out the door.

Just as the door was almost fully closed and I going to let out a sigh of relief, it opened again. Phil stuck his head in.

"Hey, before I go, do you know of any good realtors in McPherson Kansas?"

"Just leave, Phil."

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