He's the kind of guy who will be a distinguished gray and dispense advice on financial matters. When Bentley talks, people listen.

In order to avoid the crap blogging, I will not mention that he had the runs and has been parading around with some remnants stuck to his bottom. I'm going to bathe him in the morning, because I'm too damn tired to do it right now.

Posted by Moxie at 1:01 AM | Comments (8)

July 26, 2006

on the dangers of drinking and talking

At the pool recently a friend (who redefines alcoholism) visited Los Angeles. He’s allegedly been sober for the better part of a year and ordered an iced tea. Obviously this made me happy as I was looking forward to getting to know him sober.

When he lived in LA all I knew was his bizarre behavior after 2 fifths of vodka a day. I witnessed him being forced into an ambulance via a quick wheelchair ride, complete with a martini glass in hand or calling the police over a neighbor who had hung stained, yellowed underwear to dry within his field of view.

Suddenly he was encouraging me to go swim, but there was an un-diapered baby in the pool, so I refused. Not to continue the shit blogging trend – those parents might not mind swimming with their child’s urine and turds -- but it’s something I choose not to do. Maybe when I have children of my own, their urine and turds won't disgust me.

He got impatient with our attentive server and ran over to him out of earshot to order more “iced tea” – this happened about 5 times during the afternoon. Obviously, he made his iced tea a “Long Island”.

Him: Ugh, look at that woman, she’s fat and disgusting! She shouldn’t be wearing a bathing suit.
Me: She looks thin enough to me. But you never know, maybe she’s pregnant, the early months. You shouldn’t be so judgmental.

That was the WRONG thing to say. Very wrong.

He springs out of his chair and bounces across the patio towards the skinny fat woman, with her very tall, muscular and handsome boyfriend.

Him: Are you pregnant?

Her athletic boyfriend’s veins were popping out of his neck

Her: No! Why, do I look like I am?
Him: Well, I didn’t think so, but SHE was wondering (and points at me)

I jumped to my feet, because it's better to be on one's feet if a huge guy is going to punch you. Or maybe it would have been better if I was seated, in that case I could have boxed his groin.

Anyway, before the situation escalated, some words slipped out of my mouth. Something about how my friend's vision distorts when he gets drunk. They kept walking and settled down on the far side of the pool, thankfully. The woman sat in the 90 degree heat in her clothes the rest of the afternoon.

Still enraged, I asked my drunken friend why he would ask a stranger a personal question like that.

Him: So I could congratulate her if she was pregnant!
Me: Right. Because you two are such great friends.

Posted by Moxie at 6:22 PM | Comments (8)

July 24, 2006

And I thought birds were bad...

Nothing is worse than extremely hot weather in a house without air conditioning. Well, that’s what I thought until Saturday morning, waking up in a pool of sweat to the sounds of my housekeeper.

A few years ago, Cathy described my house and imagined a salty, Thelma Ritter-like maid, who tiptoed around my 1920’s era townhouse while the occupants slept in the upstairs bedrooms. It’s not actually that cinematic and quaint, though I could lie to you and tell you it is.

The fact is, my housekeeper had arrived and as she so kindly scrubs the kitty toilet each week, I was very aware that we were out of litter box supplies.

At Ralph’s, the lot was crowded but I found a spot in the back. As I began to pull in, I saw that the spot on the other side was also open, so I pulled through. It’s always easier to pull out of a parking spot, than back out. This would make my life easier, which is something I always strive for, in the little ways.

After exiting my vehicle which described the outside temp at about 100 degrees, I was enveloped in a cloud of severe stink. It was like the barometric pressure was forcing homeless feces out of the pavement. Los Angeles is fairly clean, you’d have to be parked on a homeless man’s intellectual ass to have this kind of nasal disturbance.

Sure enough, the rear wheel of my car was covered in an unbelievable quantity of human feces (the “ass stew” variety) and a section of the LA Times. Ostensibly, someone had an emergency and used the newspaper as a potty. Needless to say, this is the official use of the LA Times in some political corners.

After throwing up in the parking lot, I wiped my mouth and wandered into the grocery store. I was traumatized and out-of-it, but it seems when the mercury reaches the 100 degree mark, everyone seems to wander around bewildered and sweaty.

“I’ll just drive it off,” I thought as I picked up the few items required by my housekeeper. If you have ever driven through mud, you know how my plan worked out.

I arrived at home, (outside temperature now 102) and saw that some stranger’s diarrhea was now spewn on the rear ¾ of my car. Yes, I threw up again.

Was too embarrassed to take it to a regular carwash, so it was DIY city at the “please insert 50 quarters for 3 minutes of suds and water” car wash. But the shit was feisty.

There is always a piece of foam falling off the space shuttle, they should just use human shit from homeless intellectuals. Because even after 10 minutes with the high pressure water spray, scrubbing foamy brush, high pressure soap – it was baked on.

Later, I told Cathy what had happened. And she said, “it’s all so unbelievable, but at least you don’t have to worry about that type of thing happening ever again.”

IMPORTANT UPDATE:

We have a caller. None other than Andrew Breitbart. I'm paraphrasing the call as I didn't have my little brown person handy to transcribe:

Susie and I escaped for a 17 hour vacation in Palm Springs. This was while she was pregnant with Breitbart offspring number four (William Buckley).

On the return trip, we were still excited about living in bohemian and cool Venice, and Susie was asleep, her head against the glass. Suddenly I saw an anus hanging in the air blocks from our house. I woke her up, asked "what is that?" and she's groggy but looks up to see a spread diseased anus peaking in the sky. The added touch was the carposi sarcoma or some like festive scabs festooning the rim area. Come to think of it, it was around Cinco de Mayo.

"what, huh, ohmygod!" Susie blurted, coming to consciousness from her post nap stupor.

And then lo and behold, it was a public gusher -- an act of civil disobedience too dark for words. At that moment his Bush anger (I assume since he fits the demographic) made a hell of a lot of more sense that the stuff coming out of the majority of his mortgage having neighbors' mouths. But it still was transcendentally nasty.

Said homeless man in a transient Pilates position exploded like Vesuvius, at once traumatizing the accidental anal tourists. He then non chalantly pulled his trousers back up. His cheeks down to ankles were now caked in his own excrement.

And reconciling in the family Breitbart, that there is no price too great to get out of Kucinich bumpersticker country. I think the average 'progressive' would have paid to have seen that and called it public theater.

Four months later, the homeless diarrhea volcano man is like a celebrity -- only more respected -- in our household. The kids call him "doodie man" and we saw him being questioned by the police the other day. I got to explain to my children why I support the death penalty that day. Venice, in the least, has been instructional.

Posted by Moxie at 9:44 PM | Comments (12)

July 19, 2006

I ate jimmy kimmel's meat

and I am NOT ashamed to admit it

Earlier in the week, journalists at the Television Critics Association press tour were complaining about the food,

"Cold ham sandwiches, cold chicken salad, cold turkey sandwiches--one jaded journo muttered that even San Quentin had hamburger day."

Well on Tuesday afternoon, it was hamburger day and a true "be careful what you wish for" moment.

At an ABC sponsored lunch on Tuesday, an aproned and perspiring Jimmy Kimmel stood proudly behind the flaming industrial grill. This was nothing less than an extreme stunt, as it was pushing 100 degrees in Pasadena, thanks to BushCo's "expedited global warming" plan. Mr. Kimmel gleefully wiped his brow with a dishrag and then passed off burgers to hungry writers. And damn it they tasted good -- for the first 3-5 bites.

Cathy and I thought they tasted salty at first. Eventually, I tasted something resembling sweat. Or sweaty male. With a really pungent "off flavor". Unwashed sweaty male?

Fortunately, Jimmy Kimmel graced us with his special recipe -- he adds teriyaki sauce to his burgers. I was both relieved and nauseated by the whole ordeal. But most disturbing was how he suggested we cook these up for our neighbors, "they'll love you".

Yeah, if they like to burp teriyaki and have feverish nightmares for two days.

This was a monumental first for ABC. Specifically, they cleared up once and for all that they are not The Food Network. Secondly, in no uncertain terms it was clear, Jimmy Kimmel best serves the masses through his comedy.

Kimmel, step away from the grill, and no one gets hurt.

Posted by Moxie at 6:52 PM | Comments (15)

July 13, 2006

true story

His hands were caked in what looked like dried shit and, well fresh shit. His hair looked thin and fine, but it had formed dreadlocks. It was hard to tell his age through the visible fog of body odor (AKA, liberal perfume).

This homeless intellectual was lecturing the clerk* at my neighborhood store about why he couldn't pay, why he should be GIVEN his 40 ounce and most importantly why he would never get a job.

I stood a good distance away until the liberal left. The man at the register quickly pulled out an aerosol can and "cleared the air" so to speak.

The clerk began ranting about how this guy was in the store for 20 minutes explaining why he never wanted to get a job.

Entitlements. Free food in a nice neighborhood. Welfare. Food stamps. Begging, apparently is profitable beyond what I had expected. I might have to try it. If you see a blonde girl outside Halliburton headquarters, it's me.

His zinger was, "I could get a job...I used to work for {big company} -- but I never want to work for some asshole in an office again."

Of course not, it's much easier to live off MY money. And walk around polluting the environment with his unwashed hairy body while blaming the right.

The clerk was ranting about our local homeless intellectual. I bit my lip.

Before I left, I looked the clerk in the eye and said, "You're a Republican, aren't you?"

He responded with a quick, "F*ck yeah! I don't want to pay for those people. He can get a job, too."

This is Los Angeles.

* he's Mexican

Posted by Moxie at 5:21 AM | Comments (26)

July 8, 2006

Cats have whiskers

As you saw in the previous post...I have some loving pets.

Just a moment ago, I felt something wispy on my leg. It tickled like Howard Dean's lefty leadership, it made me laugh like hearing a Kennedy claim sobriety after an evening at a bar.

My cats are like dogs and often rub up against my leg. Felt like whiskers. So I barely took notice until the wispy thing moved up my leg and under my skirt.

F*ck.

It was not the whisker of a pet.

It was a spider.

The past tense is intentional, it's now a dead spider. And if I ever felt Cindy Sheehan under my skirt I would squash her with with identical glee times a hundred million. Or two.

If her meal-on/meal-off celebrity diet hasn't already done the trick on her stubborn flab, perhaps she needs to consult with Keira Knightley's jaw on proper starvation procedures.

Not every woman is cut out to be anorexic.

Watch your legs!

Posted by Moxie at 6:54 AM | Comments (10)

July 7, 2006

Friday cat blogging

Posted by Moxie at 6:39 PM | Comments (8)

Quick bite

Advice: You might want to read lefty columnists while wearing a (soy-based, recycled) condom.

Survey Shows Some Columnists Get "Hot" While Writing

When asked "what writing a column is like," 26% of salaried columnists called it a job and 17% likened it to sex.

Does that make their columns spooge or an abortion? Feels like the latter while reading them. That's all I have to say.

Afterthought:
If you didn't feel dirty after reading Maureen Dowd and her cronies BEFORE this article, you certainly do now.

Posted by Moxie at 9:23 AM | Comments (8)

Recovery from Addiction

Every once in a while, unfortunately, I take a look at my spam folder. Often times, lots of good stuff ends up there. Today was not one of those days.

I found a few emails from a douchebag (don't you wish people used that term more often) from a big site who writes a column about recovering from addiction (No link for the lefties). So, somehow I ended up on this guy's email notification list.

Now, you might be like me and completely unaware that the 13th step in the AA program is "Hatred of the Bush administration and all it involves. Even America!"

I just responded.

Enjoy.

From: Moxie Sent: Friday, July 07, 2006 8:00 AM To: 'Patrick Moore' Subject: RE: Ken Lay's Ultimate Plea Bargain

Congratulations! It seems like in addition to your substance addictions, you have a new one to add to the list – writing uninformed political conspiracy theories when you are, ostensibly, paid to write about recovery from addiction. Remember, before you can get well, you have to admit you’re powerless when it comes to something greater (and more logical!) than you.

I have no idea how I ended up on your mailing list, but do me a favor and remove me.

Thanks.

UPDATE: He responded and will remove me from the list.

Posted by Moxie at 8:12 AM | Comments (3)