Thanksgiving Sux
I've always hated Thanksgiving. Turkey flesh is bland and makes you fart. Football bores the crap out of me, unless the camera's focused on the cheerleaders. And usually everything is closed, so you're forced to stay home with your family. This is, in turn, why strip-club owners always say the day after T-day is the most lucrative one for them in the calendar. There's only so much of that family horseshit a grown man can take.
I'll be heading to La-la Land for a couple of days, but I'll post from there, pissing my bitter lemon juice into the bottomless pit of the blogosphere, so to speak. Hopefully, I'll be able to hook up with some of my old LA pals, including Dan Kapelovitz, my erstwhile editor at Hustler magazine, one of the many places I scribbled for back in my freelancing years. Alas, Kapelovitz no longer works for that great American hero Larry Flynt. I vividly remember the first time I visited him at LFP's swank Beverly Hills offices. It was "pizza day," and all of these editorialistas -- both male and female -- were munching on pepperoni slices, standing around watching lesbian, midget-wrestling porn on a communal TV. (Those were the days my friend, we thought they'd never end...)
Dan now freelances himself, sometimes for the LA Weekly, which the New Times currently owns, and he also busies himself with such side projects as The Partridge Family Temple, an LA-based cult that worships the early '70s musical clan. Danny Bonaduce is aware of the cult and is said to be truly frightened of them. Swedish TV recently profiled the cult in a documentary that you can watch on Kapelovitz's website, here: www.kapelovitz.com. There, you'll also be able to read a selection of Kapelovitz's wacky articles for various rags, including exposes of the Raelians, Christian headbangers, the mysterious demise of French porn star Lolo Ferrari, exorcist evangelist Bob Larson, and one of the last interviews ever with the late Rodney Dangerfield. A little reading material for the holidays...an antidote to breathing in all of that gobbler-inspired flatulence.
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