The Hat Strikes Back!

Small brained animals are generally dumber, but their instincts will surprise you. The Hat combats all of that and more with gusto!

The first annual B-Day Hat Bowl at El Dorado Lanes provided a quality showing of people, one slightly marred by the slowest bartender west of Texas. A great tasting cake made all the animosity go away.

While some Los Angeles personalities thrive on the pessimism of self-loathing, The Hat manages feats others would shudder to ponder. His list of accolades ransacked and looted represent what's right with humanity. For instance, the recent pillage on my birthday at Del's is still a mystery shrouded by rumor and hearsay.

I kind of remember him and Peacock buying me shots of something gross. Those birthday pictures showed, with glaring clarity, that when The Hat slays prey they don’t even suspect they’re getting slayed. Devon Ahmad and her sister Sharada are scholars who've analyzed The Hat's technique and managed to uncover identifiable patterns that tame the beast. Those girls are wily and cunning, as seen by their lewd display upon sabotaging my quest for bowling supremacy.

I was clearly outgunned and outbowled. The big winner of the night was Ridge Thorneway, who bowled an unbelievable 216.

Devon’s more known for her soft poker hands, much like her sharp dart throwing skills, or the slow float of her puck on shuffleboard wax. Devon stole two huge bets from me at The Hat’s poker night, effectively getting in my head.

I recommend folding when she pushes all-in. I’m glad she left for Burlingame before my shirt was removed. Overall, I managed to gain a decent cash reward while The Hat hit the jackpot. Later on, when I was feeling lucky, I threw my lighter in as part of a bet, and everyone at the table agreed it was legitimate. The key is to never throw in the nice watch, which I’ve only seen in funny movies. One thing was for certain, The Hat chose a night to shine.

His extraordinary successes overshadow my own, dwarfing almost all bar boasts by the pompous rookies. It’s probably marked by a life of athletic achievement in many sports, including many victorious co-ed tours.

He rarely sleeps alone, and his vitality is guided by sun, moon and stars. You can’t help but factor in the result oriented approach on the fly, like when he showcased adept skill at opening and operating a powerful telescope. His grasp and command of surroundings is resoundingly flawless.

On people that consistently fail, The Hat once said, “It’s like having to change your hitting style because the mechanics needed adjusting. Optimal optimism is never pessimistic.”

Hyper Crush Me

Holly Valentine toyed with my emotions yet again, pulling the puppet strings, her control over me verified by the massive stage bruise on my lower quad muscle, one which became the size of a softball. It must’ve meant Hyper Crush played at the Malibu Inn.

I was either a hemophiliac or under the spell of Ms. Valentine. Infectious sounds became dangerous, sending my body into synchronized movements, the type that take task to trollops nightly.

I’d also had a lot on my mind, aside from nightly adventures unhindered, like my recent work for the Laeken Collection and my run for president. Roxie, Wayne Maxwell and Bernadette Bender joined my press towards the front, a success we never take for granted among the rude pushers, sweat-dripping stinkers and spillers. Women tend to smell nicer. Bathing isn’t optional, a slant I wholly agree with. The people of Malibu aren’t immune to rancid fragrances, and by being up front, we effectively cut our chances of finding poor hygiene by at least 50%. Holly agrees.

Hyper Crush’s new ripping single, “Boom Box,” is a track sure to make my best of 2008, the kind of ear candy I'll gladly blast on PCH. The preposterously addictive flows, coupled with the performance art in their live act, are a deadly combination rarely pulled off so well. Their musical originality is exceptional, and the following has exponentially expanded to far reaches, a fact demonstrated by severe lack of parking outside and an upcoming tour supporting their great new album "The Arcade." It helps when you’re able to routinely produce good songs.

Holly has her many suitors, as evidenced by the slobbering glances aimed in her direction, especially during the pre-game show put on by amateurs in comparison. The wonder of her appeal is something she’ll never lose.

Donnie Fontaine, the golden boy of The San Fernando Valley, can cook up savory lyrics with the best of them, tempered by the musical wizardry of the finest wedding DJ of all-time, the peerless Preston Moronie, who sported the Terminator T proud.

He’s the greatest crate digger since Pete Rock, DJ Shadow or Premier, simply the sickest. Hyper Crush is everyone’s new favorite band.

I’ve been asked numerous times by the Inner Circle dwellers whether I would turn down an advance by Holly Valentine. There’s a level of political correctness that comes with a serious presidential campaign, something my unworthy challengers tend to practice freely and recklessly without care. The American people are smart; they don’t fall for silly tricks. So to answer the question definitively, absolutely not. I bear that in mind, knowing her mystical powers in conjuring spirits can be harmful to less resilient species.

Arnie Ultimate Soundboard

(UPDATED 12/12) I recently received a brilliant lost work from years ago, the infamous "Arnie Ultimate Board." It was solely created by the incomparable Avi Eshed, the maestro of scientific machinery, a pioneering inventor that provides mind-boggling solutions. For all you tech heads, I guess the program can be modified.

 
 

Download the "Arnie Ultimate Board!"

 
 

Sorry if you have a Mac. It is cool. Have fun prank calling people like we have. My boy Avi currently resides in Beverly Hills and has been known to cold lamp with the Flavor in Paris.

The collection of trophies on his mantle are staggering in scope, true masterstrokes in amazing. His genius is well documented, and females often speak of his hidden talents. A tour de force, Avi's rendition of "Arnie Ultimate Board" might go down as greatest creation in Internet history, or close. Like Avi usually does, I prank called all inconsequential numbers from recent Bashing.

Mangled Birthday Memory

My birthday proved many points at Del's Saloon, all of which are vaguely remembered but mostly forgotten. There is no escaping your own birthday; you can’t stop what can’t be stopped.

Even the blanks filled in later by the marvels of digital photography ceased to illuminate the memory clearly. Once real details emerged, days later, my vision of manifest destiny sharpened. It wasn’t just the vision of grandeur and cheap thrills, which are always in place as a Basher, but it was something more, something more meaningful, as if my soul opened to the sound of sirens, or allegedly Frank Sinatra.

I guess it was an important realization, powerful, like when the Gods appear vividly on a disastrous bender. I probably knew what I needed to do. The competition is fierce, yet it isn’t any worse than those that succumb to my beer pong prowess. If you put your mind towards an achievement, work hard, you will always win. In going with that theory, The Hat infiltrated an obnoxious bachelorette party.

This is nothing new; mere swaths of his verbal dexterity equate to automatic entry through any gate, even those of stuck-up harlots. His amazing command of the art doesn't stun anymore, especially when always armed with a trusty kazoo.

I dove in without caution because it was my birthday on a Saturday night, the night of champions. Within moments an adornment was pilfered.

Wouldn’t be much of a stretch to claim the title of Happiest Man on Earth that evening. I then became inundated with too many leads at once, a blessing disguised by thievery when you don't remember any of it. To feed off some spoils to the usually unlucky, I tossed a few bones for Don to chew on.

The pictures say he was handling it. Those split seconds never lie, much like you know all is well when you manage to drag the Murphy-Darling sisters across the street for partying after Del's.

Wish I remembered. This evidently led to breakfast back at Del’s, the rare occasion you’re flung through the doors with no remorse at 6am. I guess nine more hours at Del’s was Sunday's second act, one sparked by lovely Lucca at dawn. Lucca is an awesome bartender, pouring the best cocktails and making hearts melt with the ease of her welcoming smile.

Like Ingrid, I wish they served that dish daily. That's what I was probably thinking during the bout with blackout drunk.

Having no memory is such a waste, and seeing the sunrise after a Bash-A-Thon doesn’t usually register right. I’m normally overcome with traces of panic, veering off the deep end knowing every sane person is asleep, with the exception of me and my motley fools.

Cliff, Bobby and I stumbled about, mumbling nonsense to anyone who’d listen, tracking the adventure via camera while blacked out. We were experiencing cranial failure, we weren't even really thinking anymore. I faintly recall that we hit our cell phones hard in a bid to lure out anyone willing to witness fine debauchery crossed with utter stupidity. Jade was the first victim of our fiery trail of dumb.

She'll never be the same. I hope she accepts my sincerest apologies. The same goes for Jenna Wade, who I apparently couldn’t stop touching.

I can only imagine the things that spilled out my Captain Morgan breathed mouth. I heard from her unsolicited days after, so I guess all is forgiven. Jenna’s friend Kristin Shepard stuck around from breakfast until well past lunch, a feat which earns much respect on a hungover Sunday.

Kristin confided who she’ll be voting for in the presidential election. “Floyd Sanders,” she said, “because I believe in you, I might even love you.” She had been there the night before, with the sultry cheer, showing support before my plunge into the abyss of amnesia.

They would both make fine First Ladies.I probably began weighing the probabilities of making polygamy legal when elected president. My conversation probably came along coarsely with oodles of drool. Yes, my birthday celebrated loving one another, something the world could use a little more of, maybe a lot. That fact was magnified by confirmation of score taken down by Don, circa 2pm.

By hour 19 I appeared to lose steam. The downward spiral was acknowledged when I had Chinese food delivered to Del's. Then the hallucinations began.

Around three I wandered off without saying goodbye. To cap off my legendary birthday, Lucca was in the last picture taken.

Tramp Stamp

When there’s initially strong electricity you wonder if you’re dealing with a freak, the kind that forces you to seriously consider entering the witness protection program. I’d never met anyone quite like Harper O’Hara. Like the winning method tested on Katherine Wentworth and Rebecca, giving out a courteous complement carries weight. Nice shoes or hairstyle, or even if the length of their skirt is tastefully done. Among other things, Harper is another female that loves my prized blue Bamboo Mau Kangol cap.Her saucy nature was unquestionable and refreshing, and the Captain Morgan delivered didn’t undermine our progress. I began having fleeting thoughts of making a smooth assault, one without any remorse, precondition or worse. I ended up getting beaten to the punch.I was flattered and needed to act upon it. To efficiently expedite the process past the rolls of red tape, it was mandatory to perform preliminary qualification exercises. I had Cliff oversee the obligatory Bash examinations, to ensure she could truly be a possible candidate for First Lady.

This was all happening, of course, under zero detection from her end. To protect the vetting process, Cliff was the control. To my jovial surprise, Harper mastered existential balance and began racking up bonus points for extra credit.

Her graceful confidence was consummate, a feat greatly foreshadowed when she was viciously slaying every man’s ego on the Del’s Saloon pool table. Her mental and physical poise quickly went from understated to splashy.

With her alluring talents comparable to a ruthless conqueror, one floor trick was spoiled by Cliff’s naïve concentration in spectacular fashion.

Moments later, after minor injuries and insecurities were brushed away, there was a triumphant attempt. Ronda would’ve loved scrutinizing the exhibition of these advanced techniques.

Without a doubt, the most bewildering files are of photos taken while blackout drunk.

Elder Chen once said, “To marry a girl, you have to know it’ll last at least two years.”

The pictures obviously became more lurid and risqué, echoing that shady wintry night near Keith’s BBQ pit. Memories captured in digital form never lie.

Nothing could be closer to the truth, and this truth was curiously jaded by mystifying riddles wrapped in timeless questions. Harper’s high score has led to significant movement on the board.

Being an advocate for full disclosure is something all presidential candidates should champion, so I challenge all my worthy opponents to do the same. We, as a people, must leave behind the slash and burn politics of the past; we must regain our optimistic vision of hope. With your help, the politics of personal destruction can finally come to an end. Lovely Harper agrees.

If Harper becomes First Lady, she’ll have been the best of the nominees.