shitona stick
On Location in Los Angeles, California
16/07/1999
Los Angeles is a city full of bountiful opportunities. Movie stars linger in cafes and rock stars casually stroll down Sunset Boulevard, deals are made and contracts signed. Beautiful people are everywhere, but underneath it all, lies a seedy underbelly that exposes itself to many, yet lets in only a few. Let me back track to the more innocent days of this Los Angeles trip, Friday. I arrived here on my own Friday evening, rushing straight to my hotel to shower and change and get ready for my date with so called movie star Benny Suave. To spare the details of the date, which I will go into later, I had a great time and despite the bad taste in clothing and rash theories on the Lindbergh baby kidnapping, he was a great guy and a lot of fun. We hung out until the wee hours of the morning until he had to leave for Utah to shoot his new film. Waking up in the late morning, Tomtom arrives, and we prepare ourselves for a day of rash spending on useless items on Melrose. The evening approaches and my sister Andrea arrives for a fun filled evening of debauchery with my crazy friend Klaus. Apparently, the bar in our hotel, the Whiskey, is one of the hottest in town. It is here where we start out our night. Things get a bit fuzzy here because as I write this, I am crouched on my bed in Tomtom's boxer shorts which conveniently come with a mean hangover. After last night, Saturday night seems rather tame. The evening was spent in a bar which Klaus dubbed The Deuce of Beverly Hills, owned by Ian Copeland, Stewart's brother, singing karaoke in a leopard walled room filled with 40 something wanna be models. Not our scene. Tomtom and Andrea split and head for the Viper room and Klaus and I are off to a strip bar, where I am accosted by the Vietnamese stripper who looks like a man who Klaus woke up next to last week. Not a pretty site. We all meet back at the Marquis after Andrea and Tomtom spend the remainder of the evening accosting Brad Pitt (who apparently ALSO has BO. What is it with these stinky young movie stars?) and Jennifer Annisten in the hotel bar, and then crashing the bungalow of Third Eye Blind. After my sister so cautiously pays $85 for a bottle of Stoli at the bar so we can have some hooch in the room, we sit on the balcony to drink ourselves further into oblivion. The party of four is quickly shut down by the front desk as apparently we are being too loud. Now let me just say that Aerosmith and Motley Crue stay at this hotel and I cannot imagine what type of noises were possibly coming out of our bodies in order to be shut down by hotel security. OK. Last night. After agreeing to have a casual night and see a movie, Tomtom and I see American Pie. Now, if you know either of us, you know how easily we succumb to peer pressure, and if we even see someone smoking a cigarette on the screen, it makes us want to go out and drink. So alas, a bar close to the hotel will do, even though we only have an hour before last call. We quickly make friends with the bartender and are given free shots. Healthy. Random people are asking Tomtom if I am Gloria Estefan and the liquor is flowing generously. Not wanting to stop because neither of us have mastered the meaning of the word moderation, we agree to hang out with these 2 FREAKS. One is a stinky man from Glasccow who is seeminly homeless as hands slightly reminiscent of a circus dwarf, and the other one is a fat, forty something bald man with the body of Brian Denehy and a rather embarrassing facial tic. Next thing we know ( the eternal victims) we are in a cab headed to the Hollywood Hills to continue this unmotivational party. The guy has a great house, I must admit, but the madness was just beginning. Both are trying to score with either of us, and judging by the way the dog was acting, no one was safe. I promptly find a water gun, thus my protection because the second either of them came near me, they were squirted in the face with a stream of warmCalifornia tap water. Tomtom wasn't so lucky. After innocently using the head, in the midst of fixing his hair, greasy Glasgow boy comes sliming into the bathroom, looking for some nookie. Tomtom would not have this, and mustering all of his machismo, slams the slime against the wall several times and makes a mad dash for the spiral staircase. Here I am fending off bald turettes man. I can tell by Tomtoms face that something is not right, and we do our best to throw out the slime. As fat man and I are bum rushing him out the door, Tomtom disappears. Where do I find him? As an olive floats, vodka saturated along the rim of a martini glass, so floated Tomtom in the wooden hot tub of the fat man's lair. Fuck it, I say, and get in. Trying to relax, we fend off the fat man by pretending we are a couple, but how more obvious can it be that there is no chemistry there, and the fat man is not fooled. His German shepherd is licking his bald head as his face twitches in gleeful delight. As his bloated fat feet came creeping through the water, scaled like an alligator reaching for any orifice, male or female, to accept his sophomoric advances, I hear pounding. Now, this is not my heart I hear, but the eternally dreaded words......"THIS IS THE COPS! OPEN UP" Now, could it get any worse? As we are scrambling for our clothes, the cops are interrogating the fat man. We are in a panic. We have no clue where we are or what we got ourselves into. The cops leave and we make a mad dash for the door. In doing so, Tomtom busts the straps off his sandals that cradle his size 13 feet, and he trips breaking his watch. As we run off down the street, in the distance we hear "Hey guys, don't leave! Where ya goin? Come back! Please!" So there we are. As I turn to look at Tomtom for some consolation, the Hollywood sign glimmering like a rusted out dead end sign in the headlights of a lost car, I find no peace in Tomtom's face. We, my friends, are fucked. Me in my platforms, and Tomtom in his broken sandals, set off walking into oblivion. Drunk, tired and stinking of hot tub chlorine, we search for a cab ever descending deeper into the bowels of the town where stars are born and dreams are shattered. So there, we find ourselves, on the corner of Heartattack and Vine.
part 2
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