Did you know there were still Good Samaritans left in LA? Me neither. But there they were, helping me save the dog.
The golden retriever pup hears voices that aren’t even there. She hears the whispered second-thoughts of wayward angels … she hears aphids making out in the trees.
I don’t think I could ever leave LA. You don’t quit on your team after a few bad seasons. Plus, there’s Damon’s. And Porto’s. And my attorney Billable Bob, a magnificent man and an inspiration to so many.
I lost my entire fortune in the Great Depression of 2022. Yet, like most tycoons, I plan to start over again. At the race track.
A foot-high fish sandwich ($23) arrives that reminds me of the final scene in Moby Dick, when they’re kabobing the poor whale – jab, jab, jab -- which might be a metaphor for dining out in Los Angeles.
Have you ever gazed out at LA's famous sea of lights and thought: How many of those people are making love right now?
Calamity is everywhere lately. I almost drowned the other day while installing a water filter in the fridge.
The vet told Gary he had a choice: Either expensive surgery or a painful death for Jack. Gary chose the $3,000 surgery, for a mutt he barely knew.
My dream: To date Olivia Newton-John a while, then marry Carly Simon once James Taylor lost his hair. In the words of Manilow: “We dreamers have our ways…”
Who even cares about today's crop of movie stars, the whole boring lot of them. Our actors have never been less interesting. A giant gob of forgettable goobers.