Six months ago I gave up my full-time employment as Head String Puller at The National Marionette Association to fly out to LA, set up in my new hillside mansion and run this fabulous new enterprise, otherwise known as The Hollywood Dog. It was a smart move on my part, after all, I make big money, have my own personal stretch limo, as well as unlimited expensive meals in a limited square block area of Pacoima. (But only after 4:00pm and only on alternative Thursdays and only in the month of December and only if it’s not raining.) And, if that weren’t enough, let me just tell you; what I’ve learned from the Big Master Guru Who Shall Remain Nameless who runs this shindig is just incalculable.
On first day at my new post I drove up the windy private mountaintop road up to the estate of the Big Master Guru Dude Who Shall Still Remain Nameless Even Though You’re Probably All Wondering Who I’m Talking About But I’m Still Not Gonna Tell Ya’. We dined on freshly captured squab and foot-pressed Humus, washing it all down with “Kardashians”, an odd combo of 2% artificially flavored milk and Dom Perignon 1903. The evening’s conversation — which started out as commonplace anecdotal analysis of the current political climate — wound its way down the twisty road of culinary and cultural differences between the folks who live on either side of the Hollywood Hills — veering quite dangerously just past the wreckage of my last three marriages — and landing quite comfortably in the bedded cul de sac of exactly what good journalism is.
Never. I mean, always. No, wait, it was never to begin with. Hang on. One second. Yeah, okay. Sorry. Ahem…. What I learned is to always go with your gut. Unless of course, you doubt your gut, then don’t go with it. Run from your gut. Your gut is out to get you and I wouldn’t trust it if I were you. That’s what I learned. As far as the rock throwing? I forgot what I was gonna say about that.
For The Hollywood Dog, this is Managing Editor in Chief, Steven Alan Green 2/15/17