Guess whose back… Back Again,
Sup kiddos, Lazlo awaking from his post holiday haze here. I know it has been a while, and you will all be glad to know that after a very strenuous holiday season that had me seriously contemplating various ways of paying off the admission board to Promises (I am way too Hollywood for Betty Ford), I made a spattering of New Years Resolutions. Of course I broke them all in the one Saturday Night/Sunday Morning/Sunday Afternoon/Fuck I Shouldn’t Have Done All That/Why Am I Bleeding, Good Time. Who knew that saying things like “I Vow Not to Head Butt the Wall in the New Year,” or “I Promise To Not Almost Dislocate my Shoulder Tackling the Tree in the Front Yard” would prove so difficult.
Speaking of Resolutions, (Segue anyone), the author/wannabe badass James Frey failed to keep his New Years’ better life statement to not let anyone know that he lied his ass of in his new book and now his publishing company is offering a return on his money. “Wait Lazlo,” you say, “How the hell would you know about a book, and 500 page odd book with very little in the way of pictures at that?” That is a damn good question.

You see, most of my non-work related reading consists of wondering down the booze isle at Vons, checking labels for the highest proof cause my daddy always used to say, “The more sting in the bee the more likely you are to fuck a fat chick that evening.” Which brings me to my mother. For Christmas this year my mother gave me a copy of Mr. Frey’s (if that is his real name) book A MILLION LITTLE PIECES. I saw that it was an Oprah Book Club selection and thanked her as I tossed it onto the pile of other non-booze related gifts as I attacked the several bottles of wine my sister got me.
Then I started reading… It was a gripping tale of a diseased man at the end of his rope who enters rehab to save his life. That is right folks, it is a story of a man going to Rehab. MY MOM GOT ME A BOOK ABOUT GOING TO REHAB FOR CHRISTMAS! Yes, I was fascinated by the subject matter and the pages were turning faster then the pages of a fresh copy of Barely Legal at The Crackhouse. But what was Momma Lazlo trying to say? Was she trying to convert me away from my much boozing and much less womanizing ways to a clean in sober very anti-Lazlo lifestyle? She had better not…I WILL CUT HER.
The moral of this rant-esque post is this. Going to rehab is bad and no one should go. Mr. Frey found out the hard way. He goes 15 some odd years of boozing and drugging and then he finally cleans up his life up the hard way and what does he get in return, people all over calling him a fibber because he pumped up the facts on his book a little. WHO GIVES A FUCK? If he was half as loaded as I was this Sunday the fact that he got his own name right on the cover should get him a Pulitzer. James, I loved the book buddy. And if you ever feel like relapsing (Lord knows that you should after all of the shit you have taking this week) Old Lazlo here is your guy.
This is Lazlo Saying, no sir, I AM AN ALCOHOLIC, I AM A DRUG ADDICT, I AM A CRIMINAL
P.S. HAPPY NEW YEAR (late, natch) EVERYONE and of course LET’S GET FUCKED UP.