69th Blog Entry!

Being busily bombarded with mountain high piles of priorities underneath the warm California sun has rendered my creative abilities spent. All and all things have been good, the heat touching on 81 degrees outside, the five mile away beach probably hovering at 75.

This has remained consistent throughout my compulsory hiatus. I’ve been to the sandy beaches too many times to count, the night life has welcomed me with open arms, and I even hung out with Basher Mark Cuban of Dallas Mavericks fame.
I told him his reality program "The Benefactor" got the short end of the stick, although I’d never seen one episode. He was in L.A. promoting his new Landmark Theatre in the Westside Pavillion, a remarkable glory to behold. It’s one of the few movie theaters that feature a bar, probably because Cuban likes to booze. Getting caught up in summer, like I have, means seeing unruly bands at a relentless pace, like crashing Ray Argyle shows for the free liquor and influence it presents.
When it gets really hot inland, like it does in Silver Lake, it’s nice and pleasant to enjoy some time in the shade with lovely Miyong.
At her impressive headquarters, she has a very strange and perplexing cat named Leo.
On the animal tangent, The Colonel has been doing great and still loves me.
He states firmly that he’s not a Michael Vick fan anymore, that he should be inhumanely electrocuted or hung by the neck until dead. Wayne Maxwell’s been taking good care of The Colonel, and he's been joining the clan for regular visits to the legendary Del’s Saloon.
Del’s is featured in a scene in Knocked Up, which I finally saw the other night with some broads. I give it a B; Hot Fuzz was funnier. Here's Roxie posing where the actors were drinking.
Del’s is still the same, with the newest addition to the squad a certain Harry, being flanked on the left by Holly Paige and on the right by Katie.
They also acquired a new bartender that laughs at my stupid jokes.
She loves my upcoming philosophy book entitled “The Art of Bashing,” a masterwork five years in the making.
I now have an official attorney at law named Mr. Stevens that I recently met and bonded with. We mostly just talk politics and raise timeless questions related to ethical behavior patterns.
He buys me drinks whenever I surprise him with wit. He recently handed me a "get out jail free card," which I hold close to my vest in case the law bears down on me. Lucky I’m like Teflon. Someone suggested putting a $100 bounty on this mug that can be seen around the bar.
One night after throwing back a few, we went to the Malibu Inn to see Hyper Crush perform. Holly Valentine is Roxie’s homie, so glorious Bashing is constantly a factor in play.
That night was before Holly cut her hair, and Wayne tagged along for good measure.
It also happened to be the night Wayne decided to karaoke for the first time. Roxie was stunned at the far-fetched revelation, as was I, so he was forced into action and performed exceptionally well.
Considering how excitably wasted I was, not sure what song was hit up, but I'm sure Roxie picked a winner.
That also might’ve been the first night I met Harry, an insurance salesman for State Farm who drinks heavily, probably an alcoholic.
He’s a great singer with pipes, and his duets with Roxie are fantastic.

But the real singer is on Hyper Crush.
I’ve seen Hyper Crush a couple times now, and I've been highly entertained by each outing. My favorite song of theirs is called "The Delorian." The sass and swagger Holly brings to the collective is a marvel.
She’s a great singer and dancer, gets the rolling crowd into it. I met the enchanting Steffany for the first time at the mythical Malibu Inn show.

She dances well and completely agrees with me that Hyper Crush rules.
She's a recurrent attendee, which, obviously, makes me one too. We’ve also spent time posted up on Zuma Beach.
I like laying out on the beach during the summer, reading Raymond Chandler or Bukowski, watching the ocean, relaxing, knowing that riptides are no match for Baywatch.
The girls always love to pose in front of the camera, which is lovely considering the many shy people who never achieve conclusive supremacy in front of my keen lens.
That was the same day I saw someone put a cute heart in the sky, a sure sign from the Gods.
Roxie and Wayne have become closer from the heat, a twosome that follow the ordinance of Bashing rough.
Wayne was called Matthew McConaughey that day, but has been called Josh Lucas twice since.
The Josh Lucas reset never gets old. I recently hung out with Gloria at the Farmer's Market to gauge the level our minds have set on each other. She's a wonder and still the best bartender east of Bundy.
And for a bonus, I added a night hanging out with Devon Ahmad on her 24th birthday.
She shoots a mean game of pool, unrelenting in her quest for dominance, especially over the frail male species. Most cower with fear, the kind I happen to be immune from. She still pockets the most balls. That was a double feature night, and the Bash that immediately followed was at Skip’s Hideaway at Lake Hollywood, where he was up to his usual trickery and shenanigans in seducing unsuspecting females.
Most of the Bashers were faded. By the time I arrived with Absolut Vanilla, the night had already run its course for Lance, who proclaimed a bewildering victory.
Of course, they aren’t really parties without party fouls.
And when there’s party fouls, you’ll usually find The Detonator lurking about.
The Detonator has been doing damage on a scale rarely measured accurately considering the incalculable trails of carcasses he’s left behind since early June. I respect that The Detonator never minds testing ambitious creations.
The bong owner wasn’t messing around, viciously destroying people through and through with low-brow threats and an abundance of alcohol.
One night The Detonator targeted this girl named Stephanie, went for the gusto with his wicked charm and pointedly obscure closing techniques.
The very next morning he text messaged me with: “Three words: Always wrap tool.”
His ribaldry never ceases to amaze. Raj Vasher, of course, has remained uncharacteristically stoic during these magnificent times underneath the sweltering heat of the night.
Our adventures together have been, to some degree, etched onto the walls of the holiest Basher shrine, although later, on that particular night, Natasha gave Raj the Heisman.
I’ve also been to Comedy Carhole a couple times, and there’s one coming up this Friday at 2566 S. Bundy Ave, $5 all you can drink beer the draw. Since Collin was recently disbarred, he's taking the stage ever more routinely.
It’s always pretty cool, yet sometimes you get funny looking people, the kind Mantooth consorts with effortlessly. I've been lobbying Mantooth to have another Bash at his abode.
He demanded that No Pants Day become a definite nominee for "Bash of the Year." With the steady stream of new people around, there seems to be no shortage of BBQs. Other recent additions to The Circle are Amaury Guerrero and Marvin.
Amaury and I partied at this one stellar spot in Venice for Jen’s birthday.

Amaury was initially floored by the dynamic experience, and he met his alleged soul mate that evening.

He relocated to Los Angeles a month ago from Millville Jersey, and thus far he's having a blast. Amaury is an Ares, and all the Ares in attendance took a lucky photo together.
Apart from gaining the confidence of arguably the best looking girl at the Bash, he failed in the crucial category of maintaining balance. For his achievement he earned a jewel encrusted crown fit for a Queen.
He became the immovable object, the thwarting impediment that blocked all comers and goers. It was his first Bashing examination, and the results were decidedly mixed. His devolution hasn’t been repeated, and he’s sworn that his skills will be up to par for future engagements. I trust him.
The spread that night at Jen’s was incredible, with yummy do it yourself cupcakes being the natural highlight.
That night I bumped into Crazily Obsessed with Morrisey Guy.
To clear my head, I went away camping for two weeks, to get away from the urban jungle of Los Angeles, to experience nature and become one with the sea and forest.
We began by roving the lands in an RV that was guarded at all times by fierce animals.
The seals were kickin' it out in the distance of our campsite.
It was cool to wake up each morning to check out the tide pools. You’d have to hit low tide, which is about 6:30am. Tough to roll out of a tent after a day and night of drinking Captain Morgan.
This inevitably led to drunkenly leading a minor along through the darkness of nightfall.
This is what I’d walk up to at about 10am every morning. By now I’d already have a slight buzz, more from the bacon than beer.
The place just beamed with life, each morning like a new episode of some National Geographic show or Discovery Channel blather.
Carpinteria is definitely recommended since there’s a supermarket close for meats and beverages, and the shower situation isn't trailer park terrible. All we did was hang out on the beach, grill, drink and boom head-bobbing jams.
To finish off this past week, I managed to hitch a ride aboard Mike Godfrey's Bachelor Party. He will be marrying partner-in-crime Lara at Long Beach's Earl Burns Miller Japanese Garden, so she's officially off the market. We rented a stretch Hummer to commemorate, allowing us to check off the entire list of what must've been consummated in order to have a praiseworthy bachelor party.
It worked out perfectly. To protect the innocent, the majority of the photos have been thrown in a secret file, stored away to vanquish potential political careers of anyone willingly attempting to cross me. Although he "wasn't there," I'm sure Casey didn't mind his photo being published.And to wallop all before, last night I Bashed gloriously at Del's with two of Roxie's friends that I'd never met before, Peacock and Nixx.
Roxie will be Raj's guest at the wedding next weekend, and it'll certainly make for an entertaining debacle.
In other words, I'm the inferno.