I am especially fortunate to have known Larry and honored call him one of my best friends for over 30 years. He was the best man at my wedding, and I was best man at his. Outside of my family, he was the only person who never, not one time, forgot to call me on my birthday. We always kept in contact, sometimes via text, or Facebook, and would have periodic phone conversations where we’d catch up on life, give each other advice, and keep our decades long friendship strong. He was like a brother to me and I loved him as such.

I was lucky enough to be in North Carolina recently for work and we met up for dinner. As always, it was like no time had passed since we’d last seen each other. We talked about life, love, family, and the future. Larry was happier than I’d ever seen him and that made me happy. His career was going well, his beautiful daughter Alexis was his little princess, and his beloved wife Kara was on the verge of having twins which both thrilled and terrified him in a hilarious way. Listening to him talk about the dilemma of purchasing a min-van had me laughing so hard I almost choked on my food. After dinner we grabbed a Starbucks where he mocked me for ordering my hot chocolate “kid’s temp” and he drove me back to my hotel. Before I got out of the car we agreed to plan a trip to San Francisco to see another old, mutual friend (Tarik) and give him a hard time about his religious fanaticism. I loved Larry’s sense of humor because it was as irreverent, albeit not as public, as mine. He made me promise that I would go on the trip and we agreed to plan it in the next month or so. I promised, we shook hands, and said goodbye. It was the last conversation we would ever have.

Just over two weeks later, Lisa and I were shopping and were getting in the car when my mom called to tell me the news. I hung up the phone, told Lisa what had happened, then sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. The tears crept up on me and soon turned into uncontrollable sobbing as I pictured Larry’s face when we said goodbye that night. Once I regained control of myself, I switched seats with Lisa and she drove us to the beach while I stared out the window, occasionally breaking the silence to recount a memory of Larry. Over the course of the day, I smiled a lot through my sadness as I thought back over our friendship. I even mustered some laughter when I told Lisa about the one big fight Larry and I had as teens, where I left him in Ocean City, MD and drove the 3 hours home without him. Even in the darkest moments, Larry could always make me laugh. Later that afternoon, when the sadness was too much to bear, I broke down and cried again, both for the loss of my friend and for the wonderful family he left behind.

Larry loved his family more than anything. He adored his wife Kara and his world revolved around her, his daughter Alexis and, of course, his dog. Just days after they lost him, Kara gave birth to two, beautiful healthy twins, a boy and a girl. Although the twins will not meet Larry in person, through the countless people whose lives he enriched with love and laughter, they will understand the great guy that was their dad. An excellent father, a loving husband, and an amazing friend.

PLEASE DONATE TO THE “BLOOMER BABIES” FUND TO HELP OUT KARA AND THE NEWBORN TWINS: http://www.gofundme.com/bloomerbabiesfund

My love and thoughts are with Kara, Alexis, the twins, and the entire Bloomer family.

I’m going to miss you, Larry.

Whereas I typically have good luck with weather, traffic, and airlines when I travel, this came to an abrupt halt when US Air called to inform me, as I arrived at the Raleigh airport, that my flight was delayed by an hour. No big deal, right? No, not if my connecting flight wasn’t scheduled 15 minutes after my original flight was supposed to land. Commence kicking me in my balls repeatedly in lieu of the soon-to-be-torturous flight situation. Upon checking back with the US Air counter a second time (the first they said I was going to make my connection), they kindly put me on a Delta flight that took me from Raleigh to Atlanta where I got to enjoy a three hour layover before my flight Cincinnati Airport which, by the way, is in Kentucky. My luck changed for the not-at-all when I landed in Cincitucky Airport at midnight because, after waiting in the 25 degree cold for the Enterprise shuttle, I decided to call to find out when it wasn’t ever coming. Seems that they close at 10pm which makes perfect sense because no one flies in later than 10pm or has a flight delay that’s beyond their control. And, should someone fly in after 10pm and be stupid enough to want to pick up their pre-paid rental car, they shouldn’t expect that the business they’ve already paid would have pre-alerted them to the fact that IT WON’T HAPPEN. The tide turned slightly when I called the Hilton who promptly sent the shuttle to retrieve me and place me gingerly on the doorstep of their inn moments later where the innkeeper presented me with a delicious cookie. A motherfuckin’ delicious cookie.

Then, much to my surprise, things changed.

I drove from Cincitucky to Cleveland which was smooth sailing. Even got in a good workout at my hotel before watching Arrested Development on Netflix until my delicate, beautiful baby blue eyeballs got fuzzy and I drifted off to dreamland where I had the following dream about my girlfriend and texted it to her:

First and foremost, by “torn” I meant “to run” and by “n” I meant “in”. Secondly, and second most, why would I listen to a homeless guy, as if he knows what stores have the best sales. Thirdly, but certainly not least, my ample quads and supple buttocks would look good in daisy dukes. I wouldn’t necessarily wear them (in public), but that doesn’t negate how well I’d rock them.

Now I’m in NYC until Wednesday evening when I leave for Pennsylvania where I will be until Friday. As much as I enjoy mingling with the unwashed masses of America, I can’t wait to be back home where the people are normal. Los Angeles, I miss you.

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First, and most importantly, I am controlling your feelings which only serves to prove that I am, in fact, God. Behold my great power. (Side note: god is make-believe)

Secondly, angry you is hilarious. No matter your method of displaying your anger, it all looks to me like a Leprechaun having a seizure.

I could go on and on and on about how the anger of others fuels me, fulfills me, brightens my life in the darkest of hours. How when I’m being tailgated, and I slow to a crawl then watch the driver of the car behind me turn red and start screaming. Or how when someone is waiting for a machine I’m on at the gym and, instead of asking to work in, they just glare at me and I pretend not to notice until they stomp off like a petulant child. Or how when my girlfriend is yelling at me and I just smile and roll my eyes causing hers to almost pop out of her head in a fit of rage. But no, I won’t mention those things. What I will do, however, is tell you about two wonderful experiences that I had, not just on the same weekend, but on the very same day.

Morning Glory

I woke up on Saturday morning after a restful night of sleep, soothed by the sound of pouring rain outside my bedroom window. After a delicious cup of coffee, I donned my workout clothes, ready to hit the gym and start my day off right. As I approached my car, parked on Manhattan Beach Blvd in beautiful Manhattan Beach, CA, I noticed something on the windshield. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a handwritten note, soaked from the prior nights precipitation. Because it was damp, I removed the note gingerly so as not to tear the page. Luckily, it had been folded in half which effectively doubled the structural integrity of the paper. Once I was seated in the car, I carefully unfolded said paper so that I could read what some stranger had thought so important that they must hand write it and leave it upon my vehicle.

On one side it read,

“FUCKING IDIOT COCK BREATH MORON, SHIT MOUTH ASS WIPE”

Click for full sized image!

A smile instantly plastered on my face, I could barely contain my excitement and reading the other side of the note. I turned it over as gently as I could to read,

“ASS MUNCH YOU SUCK COCK!! TAKING TWO SPOTS ON THE STREET. WE WANT TO FUCK PUNCH YOU! YOU MUST BE FROM IRAN, IOWA, OR I DONT CAREIA. THIS IS MANHATTAN BEACH NOT NEW YORK. LEARN TO PARK AND DONT MAKE LIFE HARD FOR OTHERS ASS BREATH!!!”

Click for full sized image

I was so delighted that I must have read the note five times before fear set in. Not fear of the scribe, mind you, but fear that the note might be somehow damaged either by tearing, or perhaps the ink running. How would I preserve this beautiful and unexpected gift that karma had given me? Should I leave my car taking up the two spaces it was parked in, skip my beloved workout, and take it inside to de-moisturize it with a hair dryer? Or maybe I could microwave it briefly and dry it out as if I were making jerky? Would that even work? I’ve never made jerky as I have a job and I’m not some kind of freak that makes his own jerky because I can fucking buy unlimited amounts of jerky. I panicked for a moment until it hit me that I could both engorge my ample pectoral muscles with blood using weights that are certainly too heavy for the average man, while also preserving my note that was physically delicate yet poetically powerful. I turned the passenger seat heater on my Lexus to the highest level, then gently placed my letter upon the supple leather normally reserved for my girlfriends pristine twenty-five year old ass, and drove off toward my fitness facility. By the time I arrived at my gym, it had gone from being a soggy, saturated mess, to a crisp, clean, lasting piece of correspondence that would later be given a coveted position upon my refrigerator. My day was made.

Afternoon Delight

After karma’s sweet kiss on my most delicate windshield of a soul, I thought my day could get no better. I was flying high on cloud nine and a half when I walked in to Target to acquire some new socks, underwear, and Paul Newman’s Special Blend Coffee in K-Cups which is not only delicious, but also organic or, should I say, orgasmic. Upon collecting the necessary items I began making my way toward the registers when I walked past a young black couple. Lost in thought, I barely noticed them until the man’s voice rang out behind me.

“OH, SO YOU LOOKING AT OTHER GUYS NOW, HUH?” he screamed.

She replied, “What?”

“I SAW YOU EYEBALLIN’ PEE WEE HERMAN OVER THERE!” he shouted angrily.

His volume was what made me turn my head and, as I looked around, realize three things in rapid succession:

1) There was no one else in the vicinity.

2) They were both looking at me.

3) I was “Pee Wee Herman”.

I have stated on hundreds nay, thousands of occasions that I deny the existence of god or any type of higher power but, in that moment, my conviction faltered. For something this amazing to happen after the awesomeness of the note I’d received just hours before, I almost had to allow for someone “upstairs” to be smiling down on me. This was a defining moment of happiness in my life.

It was obvious that the girl had checked me out and turned her head as I walked by, no one could deny that. In all fairness, she couldn’t be blamed for I am extremely, undeniably, excessively attractive on so many levels but let’s not belabor how handsome I am which is so very, very handsome. That was flattering enough. To make matters infinitely better, her boyfriend was so threatened by her gazing upon my visage that he felt the need to publicly and embarrassingly scold her while simultaneously attempting to insult and belittle me with his “Pee Wee Herman” remark. I can only assume that his reference to the beloved character created by the gaily masturbating genius that is Paul Rubens was meant as an attack on my height, because I in no way resemble Mr. Rubens or his Pee Wee character. In fact, I believe Paul to be a very slight gentleman, physically speaking, and I was looking particularly buff on this day. I already possess a high degree of muscularity but I was also still slightly pumped from the aforementioned pec workout this morning. I was virtually busting out of my extra-medium shirt. This could only lead me to conclude that he was insulting my height which he assumed would somehow either upset me or detract from my beauty in his girlfriend’s eyes, or both. I can’t speak for the girlfriend, although I think we can all agree that she was, how do I put this lightly, “all up on my shit with her eyeballs”. As for me, it only serves to bloat my already massive ego when a young lady risks a vicious public berating from her man just to scope me out. I probably should have tried to make him feel less threatened by explaining to him that I would never try to steal his girlfriend because A) I have eyeballs which enables me to see her face; B) Because she was the type of girl that would be with the type of guy that would scream about another dude in the middle of Target; and C) Because I am 42 and already have a smoking hot 25 year old girlfriend that, on her worst day, is better looking than any chick he could get to speak to him. But really, I didn’t feel like it was my duty to alleviate his concerns or relieve his stress, so I simply laughed and kept walking.

The point I’m trying to make here is that I’m thankful. I’m thankful for who I am, and my ability to elicit such strong emotion in strangers with virtually no effort whatsoever. It reminds me that I am all powerful, basically controlling the world and everything in it. More so, I am thankful for the angry people who have a complete inability to control their outrage and resulting actions. But mostly, I am thankful for the knowledge that I am really super hot coupled with the unwavering belief that all parking spaces are mine, no matter what.

I thank me. I thank me from the bottom of my heart.

NOTE: I am neither as big or as tall as I look in this picture.

My goal is to get rid of that fat around my waist, lean out some more in the rest of my abdominal area, and to stop taking photos of myself in the gym bathroom while twisting sideways, flexing, and trying to look all hard.

1) Halloween is awesome, but it’s much better as an adult than it ever was when I was a kid. All the neighborhood children come to my door dressed in their adorable costumes squeaking out, “Trick or treat!” to which I happily respond, “Obesity or diabetes!” Then I fling a king sized Snickers at them as if they were an attacker I was trying to impale with a knife. It’s easily more fun than Easter where you have to actually go out and find kids to throw hard boiled eggs at.

2) It’s also one of the more educational holidays, since kids learn that it’s perfectly acceptable to go door to door begging strangers for food under the veiled threat of doing something fucked up to them. “I will create paper mache out of old eggs and toilet paper which I’ll glue to the front of your house and all of the foliage in your yard unless you give me something delicious with nougat. Oh, and my mom said to say, “Thank you!”

3) Pedophiles with ambulatory problems don’t even have to leave their houses. Rather than stalking children throughout the neighborhood in their windowless vans, they can simply relax while watching Justin Bieber videos and wait for their doorbell to ring. If they’re smart, they don’t rape and murder the first five or ten kids. They give them at least a dozen pieces of premium candy then let them spread the word to all of the other youngsters in the area. That’s called “viral marketing,” and it’s not just for Herbalife anymore.

4) Children who would normally be called dorks can wear super cool garb and change public perception of them. Nothing gets bullies to back down on the beatdowns like an 8 year old boy wearing a Katniss costume. I, for one, will always dress my child as either a pirate or a ninja, because those are two figures that demand respect, even from the older kids. Or maybe it’s just that my little ones outfits will be accessorized with real swords.

MY KID: “Daddy! Mean Billy from up the street tried to take my candy.”

ME: “What did you do?

MY KID: “I cut off his fucking head with my sabre!”

ME: “Good boy. Let’s have some treats.”

5) Slutty nurse outfits.

And there you have it. While your fat ass is binge eating all of your kid’s candy under the pretense of “checking it for poison,” remember the true message of this exciting and wonderful holiday.

Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat.

Or I’ll kill you.

What I’m saying is that there are plenty of reasons to vote Republican.

Here are 5.

1) You’re a racist. – This one should be pretty obvious but, if you’re a racist or a bigot, don’t vote for Obama. He’s black and, in all likelihood, will remain so indefinitely. In fact, never in any debate or policy speech has he ever once implied that he might consider turning white. What I don’t want to hear is you complaining that you voted for Obama because you were under the impression that he was going to turn white; now you’re all pissy and accusing him of unfulfilled promises. Just vote for a Republican who is most certainly white already.

2) You’re a homophobe. – All gays are Democrats, even the ones that aren’t. You’ll never catch Mitt Romney at a wedding ceremony that ends with, “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the grooms.” Marriage has nothing to do with love. It’s a legal contract in the eyes of god between a penis and a vagina. That’s really the only way it make sense. If you don’t vote Republican, we will all surely get AIDS.

3) You believe god should influence policy. – Because Jesus saves—-you money on your taxes. America is the greatest country in the world and only because god allowed us to slaughter the Indians, build a slave based economy, and make Ford trucks. Amen.

4) You think a zygote should have a social security number and pregnancy from rape is because god loves you enough to bless you with a child. – Ignorant liberals are just going to keep letting women get away with making their own decisions, and you can’t abide by that. We need to allow every teenage girl who gets knocked up, victims of rape, and ladies who might die during childbirth, the opportunity to be forced to have an infant child that they can’t care for, needs to be visited by it’s father/rapist, and/or might kill them. The lord wouldn’t deprive them of that, nor shall you.

5) You’re a rich old white man. – Because unless you get richer, the rest of us will never survive. We need you to keep buying mansions, yachts, private jets, and high priced hookers so that we can achieve the American dream.

Those are just some of the great reasons to vote Republican this election. I could list countless more but I have to get up early for work tomorrow. I don’t have any kids to support, but there are those 47% of Americans that are lazy as fuck and someone’s got to feed them.

If you’ve been following the saga of my dental adventures of late, you’ll know what you’re getting into here. If not, I strongly suggest you read both:

Teeth Don’t Fail Me Now!

and

Teeth Don’t Fail Me Now! The Pictures!

Those will bring you up to speed and allow you to understand what you are about to see. If you don’t, proceed at your own risk. Might I suggest you chew on some tin foil while you’re reading? Bwahahahahahaha!

When we left off last episode, I had my new temporary plastic teeth. These are designed to hold one over until their new veneers are created by elves, down at the center of the earth. The plastic temps, however, are created by blind, mentally retarded Malaysian children out of old, recycled, Scooby Doo Shrinky Dinks. They’re actually just one solid piece of material bonded to your teeth so you don’t look like you’re from Appalachia whilst you wait for your real choppers. That said, no one mentioned to me how porous they were and that, if I drank a cup of coffee, I’d suddenly look like I’d been eating the yellow snow. So, after day one, I had pee pee teeth which were evident in the pictures from Episode 36 of my show. Then, to make matters infinitely worse, I broke one of them off while grinding my teeth in my sleep. So now I’ve got three yellow teeth and one little white nub of a tooth. I look like a tweaker who went crazy, obsessively brushing just one tooth.

I’m sorry, did you need a closer look?

Here’s a series of modeling pictures for a popular dental magazine. Can you pick out which one I call Yellow Steel?

Shortly after my sexy photo shoot, young virgin quadruplets were sacrificed and one tooth was wrenched from each of their mouths. In this ceremony, I am presented with my freshly harvested virgin veneers.

Suprisingly, the virgins all once played for the LA Clippers.

I know I mentioned earlier that veneers were created by elves at the center of the Earth. Turns out the elves are part of the Writer’s Guild and were on strike when I got my teeth done. Learn something new every day.

Remember in my first dental picture blog, when they ground my old veneers off in order to put the temps on. Well guess how they get the temps off, in order to put the new veneers on. No seriously, guess.

Wait, is that too far away for you to see?

This battle was slightly bloodier than the first.

Kiss me you fool!

I just can’t get enough! I just can’t get enough!
(sing it)

And rinsed!

This is where they start to implant my titanium skeleton. Wolver-who?

The dental work wasn’t near as traumatizing as ET’s screams when they ripped off his finger for this. Phone home now motherfucker.

The Lord toucheth my gums and said, let there be light. And let these veneers bond to his natural teeth which begat these nubs.

Sonia, my sweet angel of oral pain.

(please note that I can make people laugh even when they’re torturing me in my mouth hole)

Aaaaaaaaand ta-motherfuckin-daaaaaa!

Finally, the new veneers are in place. Granted, I’m still wearing the protective goggles and I’m more baring my teeth than smiling, but my entire face is paralyzed from the novacaine. Point is, I got some kick ass new choppers, thanks to the efforts of Miss Sonia, the incredible Dr. Sam and, most importantly, the man who’s little bad ass sperm battled it’s way to a lonely egg, creating both another teenage mother and me. Thanks for the teeth dad!

I hope you’ve enjoyed my dental experience as much as I have. But now that my teeth are finished, don’t worry that there won’t be any more fun picture adventures. Next month I’m getting some hemorrhoids lasered off! Stay tuned.

That said, the previous entry left off at my visit to Dr. Sam, the dentist extraordinairre who is giving me my new veneers. He is, to the best of my knowledge, the dentist for some celebs including the LA Clippers basketball team and our esteemed governer, Arnold. Of course all that is trumped by the fact that he’s being featured in one of my world famous blogs.

Anyway, this isn’t going to be one of my notoriously wordy blogs. It’s going to be mostly pics, so you can enjoy my agony right along with me. Ready? Let’s begin…

Here I am in the dentist chair. Those are NOT my sunglasses. They’re protective goggles so tooth schrapnel doesn’t blast into my cornea. What’ll they think of next? Peep the old veneers. They look like regular teeth but if you saw them in person they’re ugly. At least I think so. And they’re more cracked out than a crack whore.

Here is a disturbing close up of my gums and nose hair.

This is my version of a grill. Bling bitches!

Ok, if you thought the nose hair was gruesome, check out the choppers as they start to remove the old veneers. Can you imagine if I bit you?

Wanna make out?

This is what the underlying nubs look like once the old veneers are removed.

I feel so…so British!

The next few pics are for every person who’s ever emailed me said things like, “You’re hot.”
It’s time to reconsider your feelings.

Incidentally, I do not use hair product to go to the dentist. My hair is goofy looking and quite fluffy.

Back in the shades and my grill. Gangsta!

Ever wanted to get up close and personal…with my gums? Here’s your chance. I learned that your gums turn white when injected directly because the anesthesia has no where to go. It just builds up in that one spot. Sexy!

The reason that they numb your gums up directly is because they have to yank them back and shove a bunch of yarn up there. I know it looks like there’s just a piece of string running along the edge of my gums, but that’s the THIRD piece. Two others of equal thickness are jammed up INSIDE my gums. This is to create a hollow space when making yet another mold. Today, my gums are bruised. It feels really good. No, really. Like an orgasm. If an orgasm felt like you’d been punched in the gums.

I believe I mentioned another mold, no?
I look like a retarded dog with my tongue hanging out. Mr. Winkle anyone?

The resulting mold of my jacked up mouth.

And finally, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…
my temporary plastic teeth!

They actually look even better than my old veneers. Pretty sad isn’t it? I only have to wear them for a week or so. I’ll go early next week to the lab to do color matching and then they’ll create my new veneers. Once they’re ready, it’s back to Dr. Sam for more torture and to get em installed. If all goes well, I’ll have pics of both. Hell, maybe Doc Sam will let me take some video. One can only hope. Nothing entertains like the sound of a dental drill and me screaming like a girl.

Stay tuned and stay toothed!