Armenian Assassins

OH MY GOD.

What did those Armenians do to me?

Why do I feel this way?

And why is my shit that color?  Seriously, what is that color?  I’ve never seen that color in my life.

Well, at least I can cross “sheesha night with the Armenian goon squad” off the list.

I decided to mix it up a little, and hang out with these Armenian guys I met in an alley in downtown UCLA two weeks ago.  When I met them, I had just finished on a date and was strolling down the alley when I saw these guys smoking buds out of a plastic soda bottle contraption.  I walked up to them and was like, “What’s the big idea here?” and they were like, “Here smoke this.”  And I did. And I was good.

And then the shorter and stockier Armenian guy was like, “Now smoke this 10 more times.”  I did not smoke 10 more times, but I did bend to peer pressure and smoke way more than I needed.

In other words, I should have expected what came tonight.

I met these guys at a hookah bar—again, after another date—and before I could even sit down they walked me down the alley and we just smoked a fuck-ton of buds.  I mean, I think it was buds.  I really have no idea.  It didn’t really taste like herb though, now that I think about it…

But yeah that happened.

Then one of the guys is telling me that he made a new app that is coming out in a month, one that he’s been working on for two years.  And Snapchat or someone invested in it, and he has had all these big meetings in preparation for launch, and then he showed me the website, and I was like, “Word?”  The dude looked 20.

And then we sat at the table outside and smoked hookah and observed our surroundings.  Well, I observed.  I observed the observers.  I was watching the crowd at the table as they ruminated to themselves in silence.  My attempts at conversation were met with tepid enthusiasm.  Was this an Armenian thing?

And then the big guy is like, “I got to show you a video,” and we get in his Mercedes and he shows me a 5 minute music video on his phone, with the volume so loud that even my loud, deaf ass had to request a decrease in volume.  That wish was not granted.

The video is of a cartoon pig laying in a forest getting hit in the face with giant squirrel breasts, then eating a small sugar cube and having an extreme psychedelic trip, before ultimately getting arrested by wolves, taken to jail, losing his case in court, and turned into bacon.  After the video we got out of the car and went back to the table, where I determined that everyone at the table had shared the same cartoon-in-the-car experience as I did.

By this point I think there were seven people at the table, although there was always a constant rotation of new people coming in and out.  So I had no idea who I had met or hadn’t yet.  Everyone looked similar to me.  Three of the guys looked exactly like DJ Khaled.  Well, they had the body at least.

Then the guy who showed me the cartoon video started telling me that I was “too high”.  Like, as if I was making a scene or something.  I was like, “The fuck you talking about?”

“Brother, you are too high.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.  Look at you, you have a nose bleed.  Your nose is bleeding.”

“What?” I touched my nose with my finger, a napkin, but no blood.  “I’m not bleeding.  You’re tweaking.”

But he kept insisting that my nose was bleeding.  And then I would ask someone else at the table, and they would offer a different explanation.  Some said it was bleeding a little bit, while others said it wasn’t bleeding at all.

I couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on.

Was he fucking with me?  Was I actually bleeding? 

“You know what,” I declared, after debating for several minutes, “fuck it.  Let my nose bleed.  You’re just going to have to accept me for who I am.”

So that’s still a mystery to me.

And then this weird feeling I still have right now.  This strange bubbling sensation in my stomach, in my head; what’s behind it?

You know, I was going ham on that hookah.  When all the other guys left for the forth or fifth smoke sesh in the alley, I stayed at the table and puffed the magic hookah dragon for… a very long time.

Ya know what?  That’s it.  The hookah.  That’s why my stomach hurts right now.

OR.

It could be all those chocolate-covered coffee beans I ate at lunch today.

OH.  God damn, I felt like I was a coke fiend at work today.  I was wired out of my fucking skull.  And I had only eaten coffee beans!

…But I did eat a fuck ton of coffee beans.

Anyways!

I had a fun Saturday night.  I got to go to see my favorite DJ in the world play downtown at Exchange, a really cool LA club.  The DJ is called Claptone, and if you are wondering, why yes, he does wear a golden bird/medieval torturer mask, a top hat, and Mickey Mouse gloves, but that’s okay because the music is so good he could be wearing a radioactive suit and you’d still dance near him.

Which one is the real Claptone?

I went to the show by myself, which is something I don’t really do too often.  But it’s a good way to experience shows, I think.  An alternative way.  You’re more likely to be about the music.  Since, you know, there’s no annoying friends there to distract you.  Ugh!  Friends.  They’re the worst, aren’t they??

So I didn’t really meet any body there, but I still had a blast.

There was one chick who came up, and she kept like bumping into me, in a kind of “notice me now!” way, but I didn’t want to notice her, but she kept bumping me with her hips, and I didn’t have any where to go, so she continued bumping me, and I was very uncomfortable.

Even if I was into this girl, the truth is… I have no idea how I’m supposed to meet a girl that way.

How do people do it?

How do you even meet someone on the dance floor?

I can’t remember a single time I met a girl on a dance floor.

Wait a minute.  I can think of a time…  OH fuck me, yeah, there were definitely some times!

But still—it just seems like a really awkward way to meet someone.

I can make a girl laugh on the dance floor, which has led to conversation and fornication.  But I can’t pick her up without talking to her first.  Just can’t do it.  Not in my nature.

I have a friend, who’s a tall black feller like me (tall like me, not black like me), and this guy is just an absolute animal on the dance floor.  He just slides in and out of girl’s hips and puts on an absolute SHOW.  I’ve always been fascinated by it.  It’s like watching a nature documentary.  Like watching an animal mating dance from Planet Earth.  I do the commentary, of course, in my best Sir David Attenborough voice.  Lord knows Sir David makes any thing sound nicer.

After the show I went to say goodbye to my friend’s awesome place in the mountains of Silver Lake, which had a sweet party patio and was one of the best places to watch a sunrise in LA.  But, since the party itself was an eviction party, I will be treated to that visual spectacle no more.  Now I’ll just have to return to my old ways of live-streaming the sunrise on the internet (if only there were a greater way!)

My favorite moment from the party?  Doing shots of Jager for the first time years out of these cute little jar-shaped shot glasses.  Just look at how cute they are!

So yeah that was my week.  How was yours?  Post in the comments.

I’ll be going to a virtual reality medical conference at Cedars Sinai hospital tomorrow to film.  I’ll tell you all about it later.  But VR has some amazing potential in the medical field.  Plus, who doesn’t want to be living in a VR world?  I’m already over this one.

Oh and one last thing, Japan is currently considering repealing the law that mandates that all of the media in Japan stay impartial.  Which would really fuck my job up.  I can’t be working for the Fox News of Japan.  I don’t even know why this is up for discussion.  Who the fuck looks at our shit-circus of media in the US and says, “I want that!”

Anyways, nothings certain yet.  But I’m on alert.

As you should be.  ICE is coming for you.

…Vanilla ICE.

Okay this isn’t funny anymore.

Go home.

Party’s over.