I surprisingly overcame insurmountable odds, coming away intact with a bit of poise and a bit of chutzpah. Hours later my energy levels were peaking from the scrumptious stylings of Hyper Crush, who once again battered my body into dance floor heaven. To remain low-key and off the radar, I adjusted my appearance to mimic common civilian wear.
I blended in with the crowd effortlessly at first. Holly Valentine looked gorgeous; she was doing something devilishly supernatural, lowering my normally symmetrical inhibitions, and it wasn't the plentiful booze I'd consumed on the way over, but it easily could've been the sweet scent of Holly's flawless skin.
I had my two molls along for extra added protection, figuring my measly shank wouldn't be enough juice to survive the night.
I was blatantly assailed on the dance floor for being recognized as the towering Floyd Sanders, so Roxie took care of him, rubbed him out brutally.
He didn't stay dead for long and became a zombie, but he chilled the Hell out. The focus returned to the music and Donny Fontaine, seminal member of Hyper Crush. He kept the crowd moving with his crafty lyrics on dope beats.
He tore the place to shreds with wicked rhyme flow. Their party anthem "Sex and Drugs" has secured a nomination for song of the year '07. I think we all agreed that future celebrities were performing right under our noses. That called for more Bashing.
I was feeling lucky and blessed, knowing that the Way of the Bash was guiding my every move and overseeing important actions in an objective light. All this, of course, was remedied by the grim mistake of coming across The Detonator.
He was rather snappy, animated, and was speaking with a strangely constructed Cuban accent. My good friend Omar Suarez would've appreciated the stuff he had in pocket. It was then, without warning, that I transformed into the heathen of heathens, the master of disaster, ferocious and frenzied with a pure dose of carnal voltage!
With the untimely exit of Holly, her casted spell sadly wearing off, the burning appearance of Taylor instantly threw me into a lavishly welcomed relapse.
I could feel a sudden surge in my hot-blooded psyche, launching my once coherent thoughts into the proverbial tailspin of scattershot dreams and morbid foolishness. While luxuriating in her presence for a time, I neglected to notice her dog wasn't very appreciative of my big oogly eyes. The dog mauling arrived without an overt signal.
I came away from combat emotionally and physically scarred, knowing that it wouldn't take weeks, it would instead take months to recover properly from coming too close to an intense sort of majesty. I crawled, badly beaten and bloodied, to the feet of the mythical Strawberry Shortcake.
I refuse to beg for anything, but she was sincerely concerned for my well-being, so she pulled out the robust antidote and handed it over.
Minutes later I was back to normal, somewhat drained from the experience, but I needed to find glory forthwith, for the limits of my power slowly begun to surface to the delight of my enemies and foes. To help bring back my rampage, my trusted comrade Devon Ahmad was able to down an entire bottle of Merlot on command.
As I applied the sparkle of my mighty "Trickle-Down Drinking" voodoo, Devon began telling everyone to "Bash or be Bashed," the result being countless ingestions of various intoxicants by awestruck humans. The effect was overwhelming, the targets were duly blasted.
Willful subservience via Bashing is something I look up to, but it's also superior when done responsibly. I was pleased Peacock was around to assist with regulation, and she diligently followed my earlier advice. Over breakfast I told her that Halloween could become an all out war of dramatic proportions.
Some Jedi guy tried to be cool, pulling out his lightsaber haphazardly, surely intent on showing the world that his tepid tricks and marginal swordplay could dominate a place localized by Captain Excess and his minions. Peacock scoffed at his ill-timed drunken mistep.
She worked him over worse than the movingly crippled Fallen Angel.
To fuel further insult to injury, I summoned Ridge Thornway from vacation to engage in his favorite activity: causing bodily dismemberment and mayhem.
Ridge BBQ'd Jedi in special sauce. I declined the taste, as would most rational people. The only other hint of trouble came from Tina Turner of Thunderdome fame, seen here with a thugged out Raj Vasher.
He faced the wheel and won amputation, a much better prize than the reviled "gulag." The highlight, courtesy of Taylor, was forcefully gaining a sponsorship from Radioactive Energy Drink for successfully Bashing others into drunken lushes, a point of personal worth among those in the know.
Being equipped with an endless supply of Radioactive, along with a case of Smirnoff and a black light, I'll certainly be able to infiltrate hallowed lands with the vigor and confidence of a True Basher. I will win.
To quote The Ronda, "My favorite part of Halloween is that girls usually dress up as Slutty [fill in the blank]."
The party was packed, featuring every vice imaginable or not, with the sort of abundance at hand that would make a doe-eyed rookie cringe in terror.
The Detonator also receives credit for bringing along Suzy, a vivacious free spirit who laughs in the face of fear, a rad girl by all accounts.
According to legend, wearing the hat of The Detonator brings about some sort of mystically magical power, especially in those who possess limitless intangibles. That’s probably why he’s the Tom Hanks of the “Basher of the Year” competition.
Carolla, standing on the left, has been known to throw ridiculously orchestrated Bashes of insane magnitude, and this was no different.
Tremors are commonly felt days after. My new friend Spike vouched for that.
So did a buffoon named Anthony . . .
The list of characters was endless. To my most pleasant surprise, Gloria bafflingly surfaced sharking her way through novice opponents at the pool table for loose cash.
She adorably had her gentle cousin Jesse in town from Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
He progressively became friendlier and more open with each drink, reminiscing about the last big fish he caught, then claiming he’d never seen anything like this in his life.
Gloria’s skills on the pool table certainly rival that of Devon Ahmad, a battle for the ages I’d love to see, a tough one to wager on.
Her charisma during games can throw off the most competitive pool players, leaving their judgments up for second guessing and their confidence dwindled by trick shots from the end of Gloria’s cue.
I might have to make a showdown happen, if not for Posterity’s sake, strictly for the sake of humanity at large.
Meanwhile, inflatable balls in the pool became renegade weapons, often landing on heads or being the cause of distressing alcohol spillage.
Later, I stumbled upon my favorite DJ after Lance Cannon, Eric Mandini, who earned my respect in The Foundation Room for playing "Hoochie Mama."
Him and Lance are buddies, and I’d seen him before at Concorde and another time at a Labor Day soirée. It didn't stop there, acquaintances kept coming. Rex and his girl remebered me from another reckless occasion and greeted me with open arms.
He knows Eric as well, but at this Bash, the obvious focal point was DJ Scribble at the helm, above the pool pumping out jam after jam. At one point I received a shout out for the props I was dropping; there was no stopping him.
He’s a true master of turntablism, and doing damage on the block is definitely in his job description. I had a hard time standing still with the perfection of the mixes tickling my eardrums. Besides the unbelievable skills at work, the flow of the 12 kegs intricately enhanced the booming beats. We were all on cloud nine.
Meeting people is easy when the party-goers are comfortable in their own skin. I was a big fan of Red, whose sharp and tacitly pointed humor placed her up on the pedestal of greatness with the immediacy of an inflamed appendix removal. I think it was at this point I realized my drunken endeavors would be guided by pure instinct instead of contemplated rationalizations.
I forgot her name moments after the reveal, neglecting to attain proper information for future adventure possibilities. The same goes for these two lovely girls I was chatting up.
I randomly bumped into Terry from Chatsworth, a girl I hadn’t seen in nearly five years. At this point I’d reached my limit on random bump-ins. Does everyone know Carolla?
The Detonator was cold lampin, and he did a few beer bongs for the sake of Bashing.
The Detonator, for all intents and purposes, isn’t hindered by the appearance of alcohol distribution devices.
Later that night, around 2am, with the help of The Detonator, I was truly the Burrito King.
To sum up the affair, they were all Bashers. 
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. 
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.
