Betty Booze

Foreword by Stan Lerner: so people have asked for the female counterpart of Downtown Oliver Brown—HERE IT IS!

Adventures of Betty Booze…

“A LITTLE BAD TASTE IS LIKE A NICE DASH OF PAPRIKA.” – Dorothy Parker

Look at the word ASSISTANT. What do you see? Since you’re the listener in this interaction I’ll tell you what I see. ASS. The fact that THAT word begins with ASS, can’t be a coincidence. Either you’re made to feel like one, treated like one, or constantly kissing one… with very few exceptions.

Pardon me while I pour a glass of whiskey….

Before starting this gig “dialoguiqly  accosting” the “privileged”, or as you may refer to them “celebrities”, I was ASS-isting them. Notably, Gunner Blaze, of the BAMBOO PALACE TRILOGY… With a name like Gunner Blaze, had I not been from earth, my initial deduction would have been: this f*cking guy’s a firefighting porn star. The latter I was correct about… got more ass in a week than David Hasselhoff does in Germany ALL year. That’s saying A LOT.

Excuse me while I prepare another glass of “juice”…

Okay…So… I’ve been trying this new whiskey called Bulliet, VERDICT…? Fongule’n heaven. Goes down easier than Paris Hilton. I first tried Bulliet at Seven Grand downtown… I THINK… had I not consumed enough to get the old version of Star Jones drunk, I may, right now, be able to recall the night, and give you a sufficient review of the drinkery. My apologies. I’ll go back, and give you the full breakdown.

Someone keeps liberating my glass of its companion… hold on, I’ve got to fix a new one… sorry.

Don’t worry, I won’t be getting that drunk when I do my next interview. I learned my lesson when interviewing Andy Dick… I wound up coked out of my mind, wearing a tutu and surrounded by midget strippers, who were by no exaggeration the CUTEST f*cking things I’ve ever seen.  It was like waking up in a David Fincher film, but not that cool because, as I said, I was with Andy Dick.

 Okay, sorry… sometimes I ramble… BUT, to get back to Gunner. Turn on your t.v., or flip through a magazine. The first twenty women you see, he’s “noodled” at least ten of them.  Married women, older women, “proper” women, virginal women, dumb women…  just about every kind of woman that Los Angeles has to pitch… they all lined up to get a taste and I’m just not sure why…. Granted… my man, I’ve been loyal to in everyway for eleven years now, so maybe that’s what generates my confusion.

 Gunner has more money than Tommy Lee has STD’s, and he’s not shy about pissing it away in increments that would make you want to tie your tits in a bow… tightly. What he spends in ONE day is equivalent to what Joan Rivers spends a week on plastic surgery. The woman looks like a f*cking wax sculpted Animaniac.

Excuse me… the thought of her is FORCING the whiskey down my throat.

You may be asking yourself, why the f*ck is she telling me all this…. And here’s the answer. I will be bringing you interviews with celebrities, whenever I can best fit into their “insane” schedules… SCHEDULES… well in the celebrity world that term means something very different than in the layman’s. To wake up at the crack of noon, get 40,000 dollars for taking a sh*t… Go eat at a restaurant that charges thirty three dollars for a f*cking pickle, come home, “fall into” a few hot women, take another sh*t, make another 40,000, nap, get ready and go out… now at night is when the day actually begins… it’s hard being young and famous, I know, I saw it first hand. Tough, tough life, right?  Now, don’t let me mislead you, I am not speaking of anyone in particular, especially not Gunner, because that would place me in breach of my disclosure contract… did I mention “he” f*cks A LOT of women? Contradiction serves as the legs I stand on, get used to it.

The thing about me and anti-sobriety is that I don’t care what I say, I don’t care what kind of trouble it gets me in… I just say it. So stay tuned, I promise, when I’m interviewing, you will get answers you’ll never expect, because I’ll be asking questions that will make your balls leak… eyeballs that is… induced by laughter. 

 By the way… my man’s name is Walker, Johnny Walker. Only man who could ever love me as much as I love him.

 Signed, Sealed Delivered,

BETTYBOOZE.

 

 

5 thoughts on “Betty Booze”

  1. Girl, AWWWWWWWWW SIT BITZ! You be crazy talented- this is hilarious and when I read this I can literally picture you acting it out! Your comments about Joan Rivers are f’in hilarious and so spot on! Go on with your bad self.
    xoxoxo
    AL

  2. ah, betty booze! keep telling it like it is. i love the humor. your writing is is like a thunderstorm in eternal sunshine; a little slice of heaven.

  3. Whuddup, Bulldawg. Diggin’ your contemporary composition. Glad to see your pen is finally paying you. Be sure to forward the next entry. In which issue of People was this printed? Missin’ my Betty. Didn’t my grandfather always call you Betty? No wait, you were “The Ball Player.” If only he knew how true that was…

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