You’ve probably been wondering where I am and what I’m up to, living my glamorous life here in Hollywood — an endless round of nightclubs, parties, movie openings, and ten-buck lunches at little Vietnamese burger joints in strip malls when I’m between projects — but the truth is: nothing much. Like His Serene Majesty the Emperor Barack Hussein Obama II, Lord of the Flies, Keeper of the Hoops, Master of the Greens, Bringer of Kinetic Military Action, Vacationer-in-Chief, Slayer of Osama, Atomizer of the Economy, and Protector of the Holy Cities of Honolulu and Chicago, I am on vacation, except minus the armored personnel carrier buses, Air Force One and Two, the Blue Heron Farm, and the media horde.
Not that I’m standing in one of those unemployment lines in Atlanta, fainting from the heat. My vacation is more of a fashionable staycation, which is why I’m writing this from the pool deck at my palatial pad here in Echo Park, where the weather is always exemplary, the Dodgers are right next door, and the stillness of the California nights is only occasionally disturbed by the sounds of gunfire.
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