New York Governor Eliot Spitzer, a politician whose rise to power was built on a platform of eithics saw his career undone amid scandal when it was discovered, via federal wiretap, that he’s been seeing a $5000/night prostitute. At least his dutiful wife, the lovely Mrs. Spitzer, is standing by his side… Poor Elliot Spitzer, another politico felled by scandal.
BRAND NEW: The LOST TAPES BLOG
Finally! You can get DRM-free downloads of the soundtrack album to PUSSY: THE MUSICAL now on AMAZON.
I’ve been told that iTunes is coming soon.
Go get it. Enjoy!
Messing around in Photoshop. Came up with this.
One of those crazy “Lost Tapes” episodes I do somehow ended up on the front page of the U.K.’s “News of the World” (9.1 million readers…. whooo!). One of the editors over there lost a bet to me about the molecular composition of Tungsten so here you go.
Oh yeah, here’s the page it’s actually on.
Tally ho, you ho’s!
Mmmmm... Hot cereal... yummy...
Clap Your Hands (ass kickin') by FOXYCOCK
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Mmmmm... Hot cereal... yummy...
Clap Your Hands (ass kickin') by FOXYCOCK
NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET - GET YOUR COPY TODAY!
GoDaddy coupons - promo codes!
PCH1 = save 10% off your entire order
PCH2 = $5 off any $30 order
PCH3 = $6.95 .com domains - $3 off!
UC Radio LISTEN NOW
Episode 84: Here Comes the Rain Again, Episode 85: Start Me Up, Episode 86: Let's Hear it for the Boy, Episode 87: Every Breath You Take, Episode 88: Doctor, DoctorEpisode 80: Eye of the Tiger, Episode 81: Meet Me Half Way, Episode 82: One Thing Leads to Another, Episode 83: In the Air Tonight
Time Remembers by Artificial Intelligence in Texas
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Episode 84: Here Comes the Rain Again, Episode 85: Start Me Up, Episode 86: Let's Hear it for the Boy, Episode 87: Every Breath You Take, Episode 88: Doctor, DoctorEpisode 80: Eye of the Tiger, Episode 81: Meet Me Half Way, Episode 82: One Thing Leads to Another, Episode 83: In the Air Tonight
Time Remembers by Artificial Intelligence in Texas
Subscribe to THE ART OF SURFACING
Also check out TRANSISTOR RODEO
PCH1 = save 10% off your entire order
PCH2 = $5 off any $30 order
PCH3 = $6.95 .com domains - $3 off!
Okay, anyway, last night my wife and I go to this sushi restaurant that’s on like La Brea or La Cienega or La “fucking something” and we’re the second couple up to sit down, so we figure five to ten minutes tops before we get seated. Then in walks some actor dude who I recognize from TV but have no fucking clue what his name is. I think he was on Mr. Belvedere for half a season or was the guy who got butt implants on Nip/Tuck last year. And he’s with some chick who I’ll assume is his wife because she had a wedding ring on. But let’s be honest, in Hollywood that doesn’t mean shit. So this actor puts his name in with the hostess and no more than a minute later they are seated. I almost fucking tore off my own testicles right there, okay just the left one, my wife loves the right one and would kill me if I lost that one. So, I didn’t know if I should punch the snotty hostess right in her turned-up nose or chase after C-list actor and give him a good old-fashioned beat down with chopsticks and a handful of wasabe. My wife tells me to calm down, but I’m more fired up than a Great White concert.
So I hunt down the manager at Coochie Sushi or Sushi Wooshie or Schwartz’s Sushi or whatever the fuck this place is, and ask what the fuck just happened. After giving me that “me no understand what you’re saying” look for fifteen seconds even though I know he probably was born in Sherman Oaks, he finally tells me that Mr. I-Have-A-Sag-Card and his wife are regulars so they were seated first.
I tell Unagi Jones or whatever his name was that’s bullshit and I want the table now! My wife finally intervenes, thinking this guy’s gonna pull some Jackie fucking Chan shit and scissor kick my ass right back to the nine dollar valet parking. She pulls me aside and says, “this happens all the time,” and she reminds me that if you’re an actor or someone well known in Hollywood you get seated before anyone else no matter how many people are ahead of you. That’s when it hit me. Ouch! Intern Guy, it’s a phrase it’s not literal. Now you definitely don’t get to use my cell phone to call your ten sisters and brothers back in Cockistan or whatever mud-stained peninsula some triangle trade slaves for molasses merchant dumped your great grandfather on. Sorry’s not good enough… punch yourself in the sack if you want to apologize. Thank you. And no, peninsula is not the Armenian word for penis though I’m not too unsure your grandfather didn’t land on one of those either.
So, where the fuck was I? Right, that’s when it hit me, that even going out for a meal in Hollywood is different than other cities.
Yeah, there are some political heavyweights and local power players who might get seated before people in other towns but in Hollywood there’s a million assholes who think because they are on TV, or were on TV, or have ever looked at a TV, they can get a table before anyone else.
Fuck, even the guys at Circuit City in Beverly Hills get seated ahead of me. Now, I don’t even go to the super uppity, “We’re so expensive you can’t afford our appetizers, excuse me, I mean hor’doerves” restaurants and this shit still happens. I mean, come on, who do you have to blow to get a table these days in Hollywood? Well, I guess the answer is the higher up you go and the harder you suck you will get a table. Oh, wait, now it makes sense. That’s exactly how Hollywood works. Fuck or blow the executive producer and you might actually get some work. Fuck or blow an associate producer and you might get to hang out on the set for a day. Fuck or blow a production assistant and you’re just a stupid slut with a future cold sore.
But I’m not blowing anyone just so I can sit down and eat ahead of other people who played by the rules and put their name on a list. Yes, I know Intern Guy, you’ll blow whoever to get a table, or a job or even stick of gum. Now, I wonder if most Hollywood hostesses even write down names of customers or if they just wait and see if any celebrities or well-to-do show up for an hour or so then finally seat the next couple who looks the wealthiest and who will spend the most money. Okay, so I won’t blow my way to get a table and I’m not a celebrity, so what the fuck can I do? I have an idea. How about I start hanging out with celebrities or power players so I can actually get a meal when I want one? Yeah, I know it’s fucking ridiculous and besides, the only celebrity I know is a guy who claims to be one of the Wayans Brothers… Wayne Wayans, and I have a pretty good idea he’s lying. The fact that he’s actually funny and lighter skinned than me, might be a clue something’s fishy. Intern Guy, seriously, stop pinching my ass and pretending it’s not you. Remember, it’s only you and me in the car and if Goldberg were here you’d go to the back of the bus. That’s right, he might be Jew, but he’d pull out his Hassidic Martial Arts on your ass and go all Jew Fu on you. He is a black belt you know… well that’s what he told me. He got it on sale and he’s not afraid to use it. Last week he protected his father from having to pay retail.
Really, here’s my point, Hellway listeners. Don’t come to Hollywood if you want to get seated at a table according to where your name is on the wait list. It just won’t happen. It’s like having a tug-o-war with Rosie O’Donnell over a double chocolate- layered fudge cake shaped like Martina Navratolova – it’s a lost cause. See, when restaurant employees are trained, before they learn the menu, they must first memorize actors’ headshots. So, I guess I’m done eating at restaurants and will go back to good ol’ greasy, deep fried, fast food in L.A., where celebrities only dine when they’re completely wasted or don’t want to be recognized – and then and only then I might actually get waited on before Kato Kaelin, or the fat dad from The Fresh Prince, or the guy from season 14 of The Real World or Joey Lawrence, or I might get waited on by Joey Lawrence. But it’s Hollywood, kids… so to tell you the truth, I won’t be surprised by anything.
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