“Welcome to the Museum of Intolerance! Now get the fuck out!”—the doorman at the Los Angeles chapter of the Studio 54 of museums, where NO body gets in. Ever.

The first and surest sign that something is about to go ape-fucking-shit is when the hope quotient starts to redline and everybody’s all giddy about the PROMISE of everything being all great and not a cross thought crosses anyone’s mind.

Witness:
1) the first flight of the Hindenburg
2) the maiden voyage of the Titanic
and
3) Vinnie “Jesus Christ” Rose and Italian Sal going to the Erotica LA 2003 Expo.

Now, I’m not saying it WAS fucked. It was the exact OPPOSITE of fucked, in fact it was fucking great, I’m just saying that if there were stairs to be stumbling down that WE were stumbling down them.

Exhibit A: our flight to LA from San Jose getting cancelled by the Gestapo at American Airlines, “the airline that does whatever the fuck it wants to.” They then had to give us some magical, mystical voucher that took us to San Francisco airport where we were promptly escorted to the front of the line for “special treatment.”

Sal thought this meant “VIP.”

I, however, remembered all of the Nazi “special treatment” that the Jews got and knew that it meant exactly what it did mean.

The Crack Filipino Hit Squad of Anti-Terror Technicians would be extending the jelly finger up the ass of SKULLGAME.

And this they did which, of course, led to

Exhibit B: Sal wolfing down all six Vicodin he had brought for, uh, “chest pains” while we waited for them to search our luggage.

So staggering through LAX we had to phone back into MACK AVENUE SKULLGAME to even figure out where the hell we should go because in my haste to pack every single piece of fucking partyalia that I could get my hands on and tape to my body, I fucking forget almost everything else.

“I can’t believe you’re so disorganized that you don’t have this stuff.” The voice on the phone belonged to Bartleby the Scrivener, our fucking Man Friday. “How the hell were you going to get there if you didn’t get ahold of me?!?”

By following the smell of pussy, baby. By following the smell of pussy (Note: GOOD pussy).

No flashing at a goddamned porno show. The world has truly gone mad.

So we wander over to the Convention Center with me periodically having to wrangle Sal who is wandering off and mumbling and we do it up and so this whole week you’ll be reading exactly ALL about:

1) All the PORNSTARS we banged (hint: it rhymes with the word “MANY”).
2) The fucking lameasses (hint: it rhymes with “SUNRISE ADAMS”).
3) And the REAL, UNCENSORED story about NicK Nolte’s twin sister, Heidi Fleiss.

Sal, in his Vicodin-haze, followed this guy around for 5 minutes before he finally took this shaky, blurry photograph to illustrate one thing and one thing only: GAY.