Hello, fine people of
the United Kingdom. This is Dave Hill. I realise at this point that you might
already be assuming that when I say this is Dave Hill that I mean the Dave Hill
who was the guitar player for British glam rock gods, Slade. Sadly, I am not and -
believe me – no one is more upset about that than I am. Incredible outfits,
dangerous bangs, an unstoppable Christmas song- that guy pretty much had
everything. But rather than go on and on about that Dave Hill, let’s talk about
this Dave Hill, the other Dave Hill or, as I prefer to call myself in
territories outside of the UK, THE Dave Hill (I respectfully give that title to
the Slade guy in your land mass. He has earned it based on the hair alone). 
I mention all of these things both to demonstrate my working knowledge of UK-based things and also on the off chance that Keeley Hazell is reading this and totally wants to hang out with me when I come over there. And when I say “hang out” I mean “not wea 
Regardless of the
above paragraph, however, if you happen to have been sitting in front of your
television and watching Film 24 (which I am told is located on Sky channel 157,
though to be honest I am not sure what that means) at around 11pm on recent
Saturday nights, you might know that I am the star of a television show new to
UK airwaves called “The King of Miami” or, as my lawyers and I like to call it,
“The King of Miami with Dave Hill”. I was just telling my parents, who live in
Cleveland and don’t even have cable television, how my incredible television
program is now on in the UK and they couldn’t quite wrap their heads around it.
“What TV show?” they asked. Then my dad had to get something from the garage
and my mom had to go to the bathroom and the next thing I know I was just
hearing static. I am still pretty sure they are really excited about it though
and, despite all their joking around, I am in no way “completely unloveable” or
“unplanned”.
Anyway, the important
thing is my TV show, “The King of Miami” (mentioned earlier), is really
incredible and I really hope you watch it because it pretty much has everything
you could ever want in a television program, minus full frontal nudity and
crime-solving chimps. As hinted at in the title, my television program involves
me heading down to the obscure American town of Miami and doing my best to rule
the f@#k out of that place in pretty much every way one might rule the f@#k out
of that place short of having any real power or jurisdiction over a territory
and/or its people whatsoever.
Over the course of six
magical episodes, I manage to get my ass (i.e. arse, bum) examined by a
cosmetic surgeon who makes it his business to do so, get chased by a large and
angry mob of alligators hellbent on mischief, eat so much Cuban food that I
almost puke, eat so much seafood that I almost puke, try (and fail) to buy a
private jet from a man with the most incredible facial hair I have ever
witnessed in North America, get hit in the nuts by a jai alai ball, get a fake
tan so dark and thickly-applied that the stench of it repeatedly woke me in the
middle of the night, get hit in the nuts by a jai alai ball again, and get
private fitness instruction on the beach from a bikini-wearing fitness expert
who I am pretty sure came equipped with her own flotation devices. As if all of
that is not enough, I also retain the services of my very own bodyguard named
Phil, a strange bearded man with a taste for pornography, salsa dancing, and
gunplay (though not necessarily in that order). And I did mention the part
about the butt doctor, right? To be honest, we probably could have done a whole
series on that guy alone. Oh, and I get attacked by monkeys at one point too,
though to be fair, that had almost nothing to do with the butt doctor or butts
in general unless you really think about it. Oh, and they were irritable
monkeys with a taste for profanity, not the fun kind who only live to sing and
dance and pick bugs out of your hair and also maybe solve crimes when their
outfits call for it.
I know this is beyond
shameless of me at this point, but I really, really hope you can watch my
program or, at the very least, leave it on the background while you are doing
something more important. Having my own television show in the United Kingdom
has been one of my lifelong goals and, as I sit here in my tiny five-floor
walkup studio apartment several thousand miles away from your homeland, I can’t
believe it’s actually happening. And if everything goes as planned, I will
actually come to the UK in person very soon, at which point I am hoping to eat
some Scotch eggs, watch some football (the REAL kind, not this homoerotic
American bullshit), slather myself from head-to-toe in HP Sauce, drink like six
or eight cans of Ribena, and spend most of my free time with Keeley Hazell. I
mention all of these things both to demonstrate my working knowledge of
UK-based things and also on the off chance that Keeley Hazell is reading this
and totally wants to hang out with me when I come over there. And when I say
“hang out” I mean “not wear clothes” and also maybe “wrestle”.
Keeley and HP Sauce
aside, however, in the meantime before I get over to your side of the pond, you
can get a better sense of me and my plot for world domination by checking out
my website at www.davehillonline.com, you know, if you want. No pressure. You
seem nice.
Believe in the power
of your dreams,
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