Again, Just Once.

Just once, Ricky could turn around and even fake that he’ll miss me when I drop him off.

AUTOMATED RESPONSE: I Am Currently Out Of The Studio Apartment. Please Do Not Come Looking For Me.

If a white woman goes on a tropical vacation and doesn’t get cornrows, did the trip even happen?

I’m not sure I’ll be qualified to answer this question, seeing as I’m heading to Costa Rica tonight with 14 dudes. It’s a bachelor party, and I’ll be gone through Sunday.

The over/under on how many guys make it back is 11. Take the under.

Fair Weather Uncle.

My nephew’s future therapist can feel free to pin all of his issues on me, but I’m watching from the car.

Vote For The Weekend MVP.

#1 seed.

Gentleman who required two stylists to trim his comb over.

Chick magnet.

Weekend. All Downhill From Here.

The older I get, the more life feels like I’m just killing time between meals.

Better make the most of it – which I did last night at Tavern in Brentwood. Above, what they call Devil’s Chicken, with braised leeks, onions and mustard breadcrumbs. Sacrilicious.

For dessert, the Snickers Bar, with salted peanut caramel and vanilla ice cream. Best copyright infringement I ever scarfed.

Clarification.

Super good weekend coming, including seeing Ex Machina. It’s the story of a sex robot, which apparently is an actual robot and not the Smarter Image massage chair. Mind blown.

Scary Good.

The best way to get over a fear is to get a younger, hotter fear.

I'm actually not afraid of heights – it’s the falling from them part that concerns me. On the other hand, I wrote a comedy sketch that takes place on the edge a high-rise roof, so I must be okay with it. I sucked it up and location-scouted for the upcoming shoot and I gotta say, it looks so damn good it’s worth it.

Eh – I’ll just “act” like it’s no big deal.

Sneak Previews Of My Upcoming Comedy Sketches.

I’ve been focusing on writing so much lately that other things in my life have reached critical mass. Like I knew it was time to bathe Ricky when his fur got so oily, I was afraid the U.S. was going to invade it.

The writing is going well, and I’ve got several comedy shoots lined up. I don’t want to tip any of the premises, so instead, I’ll offer up a line from a few of them:

• “You have no idea what it’s like to be shot in the face with a spudzooka.”

• “The graveyard shift at Circle K is killing me, bro.”

• “I should smack that kid in the back of the head.”

• “Tonight’s top appetizers: crispy marinated chicken, pumpkin ravioli with miso jam, chili crab toast and fried oysters. Let’s go to Chet with the specials.”

• “I just love good old-fashioned ‘poop.’”

Heads Up, Intruders.

I got a new prop gun, and I’m not afraid to hand over all of my shit.

A Fair To Middling Uncle.

“Hey, You Stupid Kids, Here's What This Show Is About.” – theme song for every show on Nickelodeon. Just one of the thoughts I had as I babysat my niece and nephew yesterday.


It began with me trying to map out the day’s agenda. I actually went the fun route, taking them to the park, then lunch, then ice cream.

When I brought them back to their parents’ house, and passed out on their couch, my nephew thought it would be hilarious to keep mooning me while I slept. I snapped a pic of his last attempt. He knew the risks.

Checkmate, ISIS.

Birthday cake Peeps. America – F yeah.

They Really Did Put A Unicorn On The Building.

I don’t like to be difficult, but I’m good at it. Like yesterday, when I called out SAG for hyping their building’s redesign. So, above is the SAG building before…

…and here’s the after. A fittingly dramatic waste of cash.

You know what the problem is? We’re a weak union. Bunch of actors. The Teamsters wouldn’t tolerate this shit. Yeah, let’s be more like them.

But then I read about them, and found this:

When Bravo’s “Top Chef” began taping at Boston’s Steel & Rye restaurant in June, Teamster members from Local 25 greeted the crew and stars with picket signs, verbal abuse, alleged vandalism and even death threats. By the time “Top Chef” host Padma Lakshmi’s car pulled up to Steel & Rye in the picturesque New England town of Milton just outside Boston, one of them ran up to her car and screamed, “We’re gonna bash that pretty face in, you f*cking whore!” 

You know what? I’m good. Go SAG.

My Union Dues At Work.

SAG is going to unveil its building’s revamped exterior today. If it doesn’t include an airbrushed unicorn, wizard or Aztec warrior, I swear I just don’t know anymore.

Really?

I love the Internet. And the Internet loves me back. Why else would it be offering me so much sex?

But there are moments when the web and I need a trial separation, because it’s spawned the worst thing imaginable: mock outrage.

Everybody’s offended by everything. “Saturday Night Live” recently aired a commercial parody that had an ISIS premise, and the Internet went kablooie. People said SNL was pro-terrorism, not thinking for a second that the show simply shot a funny sketch. Comedy pushes boundaries. The sketch mocked ISIS and a commercial for Toyota.

When Trevor Noah was named Jon Stewart’s replacement, people went apeshit, saying he was anti-Semitic because he tweeted: “Almost bumped a Jewish kid crossing the road. He didn't look b4 crossing but I still would have felt so bad in my German car!”

Anti-Semitic? No. Guilty of a lack of creativity? Sure. Do we really think he’s Anti-Semitic? His current job is reporting for “The Daily Show,” for Jon Stewart – the Jewiest guy on the planet.

A couple weeks ago, the sitcom “Workaholics” had an episode in which a dad smacked his pain-in-the-ass kid. Instead of showing the kid getting hit, it was seen as a shadow projected on a wall. And then before the credits rolled, this message in the above pic popped up. Was it really necessary?

The next day, I watched an episode of “The Odd Couple,” in which Felix took out his frustrations with Oscar while gutting a fish for dinner. As he chopped the real fish’s head off, all I could think was that we would never see that on a modern TV show. Imagine the backlash.

My point is this: I’ve been shooting comedy sketches recently, and was challenged a bit to cast one role because the premise was a little dark. But I’d rather push it, because that’s what comedy is supposed to do. And I would tell all actors that I’m going to write a bunch of sketches, and I’m going to make them as funny as I can, and you really should get on board. Play it safe, you lose. Internet be damned.

My Favorite Summer Replacement.

Thank God there’s a great new TV show on the air, so that I can change up my usual summer viewing habit: watching couples fight at Ikea.

Billy Crystal and Josh Gad star as fictionalized versions of themselves in the new FX show “Comedians,” and they’re not afraid to come off as douchey. Billy is especially subtle and perfect, and shows a side of himself we forget about after so many over-the-top Oscar telecasts. Plus you gotta hand it to him – he’s worth $45 million and still wants to get on the air and perform. (My new addiction: celebritynetworth.com. The lower level the celeb, the more fascinating it gets. Urkel is worth $10 million.)

Watch “Comedians.” Give it ratings. It’s really good.

Things I Learned From My Trip To New York.

After six hours with a broken monitor, I wasn’t sure if I should snap a pic of it or smash it with my iPhone.

You can Waze from 32,000 feet.

Proof that New York is just one bad episode of the “Sopranos”: an Italian deli next to a pizza place next to an Italian restaurant.

I’ve written before about my admiration for the San Francisco Airport, which continues to be under a major overhaul. Check out the new, mod light fixtures. SFO is easily the nicest airport in the country.

Meanwhile, the travelers at JFK are just animals.

I assume this guy’s San Francisco Giants shirt had “DAD” on its nameplate because “WORLD CLASS PUSSY” didn’t fit.

Fly United Airlines. At Least We Ain’t Germanwings.

I hear there is a United Airlines plane out there that actually leaves on time. I would love to ride that unicorn.

 Gotta hand it to them – they’ve completely eliminated the chances of some lunatic flying one of their jets into a mountain – by never taking off at all.

After I got up at 3 a.m. and went to the airport, my flight was first delayed two hours, then seven hours, then canceled altogether. Apparently, getting a crew together just slipped their minds.

I managed to scrounge up a flight through San Francisco much later and finally got back to LA. It was the very last time I will ever fly that shitbag airline. Not by choice; they’ll just be out of business in a couple weeks.

Springtime. (For Hitler.)

Enjoy this math: a 6 a.m. EST flight back meant I had to get out of bed earlier than when I normally get into bed in Cali. But snow on the ground in the middle of April in New York made me anxious to get back to Los Angeles, where the forecast calls for widely scattered awesome.

I Missed This Little Shit.

An unanticipated visit with my little brother is the leader in the clubhouse on this trip. He peed all over the house; I was strangely flattered.

It was a great finish to a vexing day. I found out on the shuttle to the airport at 5 a.m. that my flight was delayed two hours. Then my DirecTV monitor on the plane was dead the whole flight. So was the USB power adapter. I hope United Airlines chokes to death on the balls it sucks.

I’m Heading To New York.

There are no atheists during airplane turbulence. Or strong orgasms.

I hope to test both theories as I fly to New York today. I have a big meeting tomorrow in Stamford, CT, so I’ll be staying at my mom’s. This is a nice, unexpected trip.

The weather in NY today is 43° and rainy. Hey – looks like June came early.

I Cannot Confirm Or Deny.

In Honor Of The Holiest Of Days.

Opening Day, that is – which should be a national holiday. Had an unintentionally baseball-themed weekend, culminating with an Easter Sunday catch with my nephew.

He had a Little League game the day before on a Catholic elementary school’s field. Maybe when Jesus comes back he can rescue the dozens of kickballs and basketballs trapped in this fenced-in knoll next to the school.

I simply love this pic.

An Open Letter To The Dude On The Harley.

Don’t wave back until after you realize if it’s a pink scooter.

Small Nose And Supportive Mom – DEFINITELY Not A Jew.

I Only Have Myself To Blame. (And Chad.)

Yesterday, I ran around the corner to the local convenience store. Or, as I like to say, I ran a .003048K.

Yeah, I don’t like to do things the easy way. Which must be why my next comedy sketch is going to be shot on green screen. When my friend Chad came up with the story, and I wrote the script, we didn’t plan on needing any special technique, but here we are.

We’re shooting the first stage tonight. I regret everything.

31 Seconds Of March.

A second of video taken each day. Click below: