Name: Greg Gutfeld
Job: Editor, Maxim
Professional mission: Come up with a mantra
Personal mantra: Must have professional mission
10.00am My desk is outside the publisher Bruce Sandell's office. At Dennis, publishers have offices. People like me have desks. Because mine is outside Bruce's door, strangers assume I'm his assistant. "Hey, is Bruce in?" they ask. I smile, and say: "Doesn't look like it, does it?" They say: "Can you tell him I'm looking for him?" "Sure." I never do.
10.30am Bruce tells me I look great. It made my day!
11.00am At my desk reading proofs.There's something smelly in my waste bin. It's a sandwich. I eat too many sandwiches. My favourites: beef, red onion and dijon mustard, beef, salad and mustard mayo, beef and horseradish sauce and ham, pineapple and coleslaw.
12.45pm Fifteen minutes to kill before lunch. Time to Google the names of old girlfriends. I woke up last night thinking of one. Her name is Lisa. Or Linda. Last name is Lupchick, or Lipchick. I try Lisa Lipchick, Lisa Lupchick, then Linda Lipchick, then Linda Lupchick. What if she's dead? Weird to think you may have slept with a dead person. But I guess it's better than the opposite - her Googling you and you being dead. If you're dead, and you're Googled, do you feel it? Is it like a tickle?
Lunchtime Most editors have a favourite restaurant they go to with other media insiders. They sit and talk about their exciting lives, over a grapefruit and jicama salad with tofu and rau rum. If I was there, I might sample the local blue fin tuna. But I'm not. Instead I go alone to Sainsbury's, pick up egg mayo spread and eat it with a plastic spoon in an empty corridor.
2.00pm I go through my voicemails. There are none. So I daydream about throwing Peaches Geldof into a river. I jot down a story idea: "Peaches Geldof - why she should be thrown in a river."
4.00pm Frank PR arrives with a rhesus macaw monkey, to promote Monkey Shoulder Whisky. I hate monkeys. I prefer the lesser-known primates, such as lemurs, bonobos, lorises, galagos, sifakas, tarsiers and Ian Brown.
This monkey looks like a little old man in a tiny fur coat. I want to take him to Frinton.
7.30pm Employees leave. I ask them where they'll be. They say: "The Lamb and Whistle." But when I get there all I see are some young men with tight pants and short haircuts. One buys me a "babycham". It tastes funny.
Next week Waking up in A&E.