Olivieri Manor is the new name of my apartment. It was formerly known as the Embassy of Cool, but I was watching a Batman cartoon on TV last weekend and it struck me: Bruce Wayne has a manor. That's why he gets chicks and cars and things that shoot ninja darts and grappling hooks. I'll start redecorating immediately. Manors don't have the Red Bikini Farrah Fawcett posters on the wall or those white stackable plastic lawn chairs for living room furniture. I'll need a lot of leather and dark wood. In the "den," which used to be the "closet," I'll hang the bulged-eye heads of dangerous safari animals and communist spies that I've strangled with my bare hands. And I'm going to steal a pony from East County, paint it with stripes, and raise it in my kitchen as a zebra. Of course, the kitchen won't be the "kitchen" anymore; it'll be the "zebra stables." Or, better yet, the " west zebra stables."
Oh, man, this is going to get me so many babes. I'll need a "babe grotto," a sort of rocky fountain area where they can cavort and splash -- maybe where my green corduroy couch is now.
Yes, thank you, Dr. Freud, this won't fix all my problems. I'll still be a chubby, balding, drunken degenerate who smells a little like sour milk. But I'll be all those things in a leopard-print smoking jacket and moose-hide slippers. And I'll carry a gun. A firearm, small and slim, maybe gold, that won't pull the waistband of my Asian silk boxers down too much. For someone with a manor, the threat warning is set to "red" all the time, everywhere.
Then, through Ollie Corp., my international shipping and distribution company, I'll hire a personal assistant. And, "Oh, aren't you Katie Bowery, the girl who snubbed me at senior prom? What a coincidence that you now work for me. Welcome to my manor.
"Don't mind Ricardo, my giant retarded butler and bodyguard. I rescued him from a burning orphanage in Haifa. He's harmless...as long as you don't cross me.
"Dress code for Ollie Corp. is casual swimsuit, and your office overlooks the poppy field, lake, and rustic cottage. No, I'm not the same bespectacled comic-book-reading geek I once was. Yes, I am a man of power. I have a manor.
"Step lively, and watch the zebra poop."
Thursday, April 26
NBC 6:00 p.m.
RRRRRGGGGH! Listen. No one cares about the latest talentless karaoke singer being kicked off of the talentless-karaoke-singer show. It's not news. I don't care what his hair looked like. I don't care that he was gay or straight or black or white or brown or pink or how many people voted or what Paula Abdingdong said about him or who cried. If you don't put the news back on, I'll put a clown suit on and drive my truck filled with flaming schoolchildren through that studio to give you some news to talk about.
Friday, April 27
FOOD 6:00 p.m.
Summer's arriving. I've already started preparations. I've bought a kitschy "Kiss the Cook" apron, and I'm silk-screening all my underpants with "Hi, my name is The Cook," and I'm only going to wear those two clothing items to barbecues. Ah, sizzling meat and novelty jockey shorts... God bless America.
Saturday, April 28
Car Wars with Funkmaster Flex
ESPN 9:00 a.m.
While driving, I base the "right of way" on who's not acting like an ass. You're going to drive in reverse through the intersection? You're going to wait until I go, sir. Talking on the phone, slapping your kids, and applying makeup whilst U-turning? Halt until I have passed, madam. Since I wrote this observation in my journal while driving and drinking coffee, I naturally gave up any claim to leave my stop first. However, I still held the right to shout, "Go to hell!" at anyone who glared at me. This is how the real world works, kids.
SCIFI 5:00 p.m.
Some plot is afoot. The grocery store used to pack your ice cream in a white bag that held some magical property to keep your frozen goods cold during transport. Brown bags don't do it; I'm sure of that. Supermarkets don't give out white bags anymore. I'm guessing that frozen lizard embryos are being used to create a race of super humans, and the government has commandeered all the white ice cream bags for the experiments. Follow the paper trail of the white ice cream bags, and you'll find the army of green scaly clones. Oh, you'll find them.
Sunday, April 29
WB 12:00 p.m.
Is this the movie with that blonde kid from E.T. and the ugly girl from Roseanne ? I haven't seen it, but I've got a better story already concocted. The ugly girl from Roseanne is tired of wearing those unflattering jeans that are pleated and loose at the hips. The E.T. girl swills vodka from the bottle and touches the ugly girl on the nose. Her finger lights up and a spaceship comes to take them away. More liquor. Abe Vigoda. Ugly girl, take those hideous pants off and pillow fight the blonde. Roll credits.
Monday, April 30
Spider Man 2
FX 7:00 p.m.
I like the Spider Man series, but the girl who plays Lois Lane has a forehead like a porpoise sonar dome and a snaggle tooth on the front top row of her yacker. If it wasn't for that weather balloon of a head, she could probably eat an apple through a picket fence with those piranha choppers. That's where the plot falls apart for me. Spidey shouldn't be head over heels for that odd-looking goose.
Tuesday, May 1
Funniest Pets and People
WGN 6:00 p.m.
I went on a date with a girl who talked about her cat for three hours. I say "date," but I really mean I stared at her chest, drank a quart of gin, and nodded whenever she said the name Admiral Fluffy McNapandpounce. Attention, ladies, your pet isn't as cute as you think. We're only there for the cleavage and cocktails.