Episódios
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Down with the sickness. Trump won the 2024 election. Halloween. I discover definitive photographic proof of life outside of Earth; “NBD,” as the kids say. Unsolved Mystery of the mysterious refugee camp(?) behind the shitty, shitty North Hollywood Golds. That movie “Find Me Guilty” with Vin Diesel, and the realization that NY DP’s suck.
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I don’t care about Halloween this year, 2024. (Probably because Im old, and crabby. I like seeing slutty costumes, but Im just too lazy) “Girl” trouble. Smile 2 (“tWoOo?!”) Trump was on Rogan and Hinchliffe was at Trump, and people handled it as maturely and reasonably as you’d expect. I want credit for being DECADES ahead of “we all hate Mariah Carey Christmas music now.” Grave circumstances in Bevery Hills.
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Estão a faltar episódios?
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I finished The Godfather, and give my final thoughts on the fucker. (You won’t have to hear about it again. At least not for a long time. Probably.) I saw that movie “The Apprentice” about young Trump and Roy Cohn. I was lulled in by suggestions that it was “objective” and almost “sympathetic” to the man; spoiler alert: it wasn’t. I talk about the Will Haven/Strife show at the Troubador.
*Editor’s Note: The song I was referring to was “SAIL,” from AWOL Nation. Not “Air,” as I erroneously portended.
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The story of my two tattoos, esp the lousy Star Wars one that I have that I’m too much of a pussy to get fixed. (For now) The story of this guy that had his amazing scenes cut from Return Of The Jedi, and how it must have impacted his life. I met the most Evan-y Evan of all time. The Ed Wood screening, with Dana Gould.
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My sentence for being a self indulgent pig: hamburger hands. A slight reduction on my fatty sides! Things that are needlessly and hopelessly difficult and insanely expensive in Los Angeles: getting your concealed carry permit, rejoining Central Casting, getting your haircut. Rusty came to visit, we saw “Saturday Night.” (That SNL movie)
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Escape the fate on a windshield AND a door! After a two month reprieve, the daily doom and gloom is back. A homeless guy was too good for my shoes. (AND socks) Who the FUCK is "Carmela Creeper?!" Chipotle Incompetence. SOMETHING IS STILL BITING ME, DAILY. At night I can’t sleep, I toss & turn. Saturday night Date with Blood In, Blood Out. Real World Season 2 revisit. Bruce’s show, and an accidental viewing of the god awful Roadhouse remake. I complain about Penguin and the Godfather book some more, and talk about people talking about my stupid screenplay/mini series. (It’s not stupid, it’s good, why am I defenestrating myself)
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Megalopolis is quite possibly the most pretentious movie in Hollywood history. Im still watching Tulsa King, somehow. I feel like a real fraud piece of shit at the Comedy Store, and totally don’t need therapy. I’m still watching The Penguin, are you?
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I guess I’ll never see Sepultura again. Tennis in Los Angeles has a few different interpretations. (I found out the hard way) I tried to take headshots but deserved a different type of “headshot.” Sympathy for McClusky. October 1 2024, everything is just going great! Definitely still a 1st world country. Last note about “1923,” I promise. (Well, at least until another fuckin season comes out…) Hot LA comedy gos, you get the inside scoop and an ear full of poop.
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I moved to LA twenty years ago this week. They need to invent an “avocado blower” next, I guess. Chipotle Incompetence, and what’s up with the youth? Someone needs to reign in these paper towel companies, it’s out of control. The Penguin on HBO. The Montgomery Clift crash site. The making of Thriller documentary on Paramount Plus. I read the Godfather and complain about the book adaptation. (Coppola really is a fucking fraud, I’m sorry, film purists…)
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Just to round off the “hate list,” I can’t stand Rainn Wilson either. The old guy at CVS. We had a real ripe banana crisis in this city on Monday. (As if it weren’t a banana republic as it is already, LOLLL!!!) I think I spend more time complaining about the direct flight to NC and back more than actually talking about the NC trip. And the sad part is, the flights weren’t even that troublesome. I’m wound tighter than the guy from Bloodlet’s snare drum.
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I couldn’t find the picture of that Vietnamese girl from part 1, but I inadvertently sent myself on a journey of discovery into my past, and illuminated some new revelations. (One of them being “I’ve sent a LOT of dick pics in the last 15yrs”) I hate Kumal Nanjiani, but let me tell you why. I went to watch the Trump/Kamala debate live, and left dissatisfied on about 19 different levels. (Chicken tenders were involved) Trump is a bore on podcasts, and if I never hear about “the golden years of the Boston comedy scene” again, it’ll be too fuckin soon. People seem to have hated Beetlejuice 2, I held strong and instead went to see Terminator 2. Jack Black was behind me in line for it, and I have a litany of thoughts about him AND the movie. Rain globs keep falling on my car, and (also) fuck “I see what you did there” guy, a fresh scourge in the Lukester’s online life. I had a total Saturday night misfire, and I advocate for a “fats only” section of the beach. The Bureau has added “my laundromat” to their list of targets.
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I wrap up Labor Day weekend, and essentially use your ears as a repository for my vitriol. (I apologize, but it’s much cheaper than therapy) Leaf blowers! Dumb people at the beach! High prices! You name it, I bitch about it! I posit the question “Am I a weirdo for ‘stretch-talking?’” (Details inside) One more note on the A Team, one more famous Rainbow bar anecdote, the infamous ET Atari game debacle (look at ME following through on promised topics!) and the annoying, mousy weirdo at my PT office.
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West coast aint got no love for Zito movers?! Your brain can only remember 150 people, but it’s still weird to me when famous people don’t recognize me. Chipotle Incompetence™. I’m so disgruntled I don’t even like Entourage or The A Team anymore. Hurtin for a Burton. I sent in my Misfits pilot(?) for coverage. I went to the Vista for the first time (where there was a vistaview, vistas AND views) to see Strange Darling, a hot new indie hit. Stung by the Beekeep’ah. Last Samurai – does it hold up? Friday night on historic Sunset blvd (two of the four spots left, anyway) and a date with a Thai(?) chick(?).
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Ireland, here I come. More like Montgomery almost DROVE OFF a Clift. Old and burned out. T Dog’s birthday. Wheel wet got me wheel mad. The Bureau infects Gelsons. The letter “W” (I wish I was kidding, that’s how light of material I was this week) De-aging in movies is somehow getting worse. Trump on Theo Von (why) I figured out why it’s Hardees and Carls Jr on two sides of the country.
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Mr Helper, and a review of the new Aliens video game, Alien: Romulus
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Aside from the Bureau, I now have the nefarious family branched out into all my favorite products, systematically ruining them. They’ve now infiltrated the Doordash app, Bai flavored water, and Carl’s Jr. My review of “Raising Canes,” a new (alleged) chicken finger slinger around town. Why do bars and restaurants constantly reopen in establishments that have a proven track record of “not working previous to this?” T Dog & I saw Mark Normand in Thousand Oaks, then I drove to my boss’s downtown and saw all the beautiful folks. (Of which I am not one)
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A shocking turn of events in Los Angeles, breaking news. If you want to cover “I Drive A Fast Car,” I hope you get in one and drive it into a tree. I hate the driver of a Tesla, more or less-la. Travel rage-ency. Rocha and the wretched Virzis at the Ice House, with Daryl Hammond-cheese sandwich. Corrriiinnnne’s beach birthday party, and a shotgun-shoppin Sunday.
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Earthquakes! Protests! Chipotle! What a week, fam. There’s people walking around in sweaters and jackets in 95 degree heat. Ilhan Omar might be part of the Brotherhood Of Evil Mutants. I advocate for bipartisan legislation for grown adults in congress to stop referring to their grandparents as the childhood gibberish names they had for them when they were 2. (“tWoO?!”) There’s 2 astronauts stuck in space, and people somehow give less of a shit about them than they did those billionaires in that submarine. There’s a Fresh Prince reboot coming (and it’s worse than you could have possibly imagined), my own screenplay made me cry (punch me when you see me) and Hollywood once again doesn’t learn that NO ONE WANTS TO SEE CHICK ACTION MOVIES.
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*Warning,* This week, I’m stretched for material thinner than a regular sized condom on Mr Marcus’ cock. I have a neurotic panic about a potential flesh eating bacteria in my face. A whole boatload of Chipotle Incompetence™, and more shoe drama. I met Vinnie Friday night and had too many margaritas, then paid the price for it the next day. I missed the Boogie Nights screening, but got a lot of writing done. Harrison Ford talked shit about the (probably) pile of shit new Black-tain America movie coming out. I was so desperate for content I even talk about Hawk Tuah girl. (Please forgive me, audience)
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The remainder of my Buffalo trip, and a visit to my brother's compound. I went to see Deadpool 3 so that you don't have to.
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