<center><p> <b><u>REVIEW OF THE WEEK</u><p> by<p> BAO DAI OF HOLLYWOOD [this week in a channeling trance]</b><p> </center> <left> DATELINE: HOLLYWOOD [and Beyond the Universe]<p> 17 December 2000 [Pacific Standard Earth Time/Space]<p> </left> <center> <b><u>SLIMMIN' DOWN: THE HAMMER SLAMMER'S DIET</b></u><p> </center>

No, the title isn't one of those cheesy tricks designed to increase traffic during the all important www Holiday Sweeps Period. Those of you who are old enough, or who for some lame reason did a little sociological research into 60s dieting fads that didn't involve serious amphetamines probably know that the "Atkins Diet" or whatever the fuck it's called, as well as the plethora of no carb/all protein/"all fat" diets "work", I think, by causing your body to think you're a diabetic (watch out for that coma, it's a doozy especially if you're tanked up on a quart of cheap gin), were once known as The Drinking Man's Diet.

The tenets of The Drinking Man's Diet were available at 5 & 10s (the precursor to places like 99 stores and Thrifty Drugs) on every Main or State Street in America for like a quarter. There was even a song: It went "I'm on the The Drinking Man's Diet...." but no one could ever remember anymore because they were too drunk.

Which of course is why it was popular -- you could guzzle whiskey and watch the pounds melt away while you belched your way through steakhouses sloshed out of your gourd, eating filet mignon morning noon and night.

So I need to loose some pounds, frankly, and I'd give The Drinking Man's Diet a try, except being an alcoholic, I don't drink. Hence the Hammer Slammer's Diet. See, rather than "not effect weight loss", as, say, rum does when the body is forced into a totally unnatural state by forgoing vegetables and ice cream, hammer actually removes the desire (and perhaps need) to eat

Anyway, today I skipped my regular noon AA Meeting and fired up my third bag of brown powder which is sold in balloons for $10 each. Each balloon, these days, contains about a grain, 33% of which was good pure Mexican smack (not tar) in it, 66% of which was lactose and 1% or so was God only knows.

To make up for missing the Meeting, however, I settled into my haze with Suzanne Somers under the down comforter to watch the Suzanne Somers classic 1998 "On Topic" film, No Laughing Matter on the USA Network.

Suzanne had called me in tears because Roger Ebert, who himself could arguably benefit from the Hammer Slammer's Diet had refused her offer of hot buttered popcorn and a lap dance to review the flick. I told her to skip the popcorn and pick me up a couple bags of boy instead and to get her wrinkled old ass over to the Millennial Condo before I did something idiotic like try to drive.

No Laughing Matter is a movie about a woman with big tits who is lushed out and was dumped with her son, who is around 18 when the movie takes place, but from whom mom has been hiding bottles of vodka since her husband ran out on her 15 years before... see, Hollywood being Hollywood, your alcoholic middle class divorcee is going to hide her booze bottle from someone, if just to set up the scene where she drunkenly falls off a stool looking for a stashed bottle, giving sonny boy the chance to tell Mom she was going to AA.

And Hollywood being Hollywood, Suzanne goes through DTs, wolfing down sugar and seeing pink elephants and never has another drink again. Same way your Hollywood addict in a movie always screams in excruciating pain for three days while withdrawing and on the third day, much like Christ, rises from bed and insists on going to NA Meetings for a week until finally and forever cured.

Straight people a/k/a normies believe this bullshit, just like they believe that "100% Success Rate" claim of the Ultra Rapid Opioid Detox (UROD) Scammers -- a guy I knew who croaked of an apparent OD under his father's house a few years back had done a UROD a year earlier and so when he died a rumor spread among the normies that he had "just taken his father's money and never had the UROD" because, hey, they're advertised as 100% successful so if he had done it, he was cured, right?

Well that's another dead horse to kick (multiple puns intended). This is about No Laughing Matter and the Hammer Slammer's Diet and how as I fixed my fifth bag half way through the movie, just as Suzanne's ingrate son found out he'd impregnated his Laura Bush look alike girl friend, I had to get Suzanne to stop the lap dance as given sufficient levels of opioids I start channeling for spirits much like a 500 channel cable TV with it's remote stuck on the channel changer.

It starts to feel, oddly, like an acid flashback (another Hollywood gimmick to waste movie goers time) except I become possessed of ethereal entities. Fortunately I do not get as nastily possessed as was a young Linda Blair before she sprouted those gigantic breasts she supposedly let anybody with five bucks worth of cocaine manhandle in such a way that by the end of any given night Linda resembled a Bukaki Queen with a bad cold... not a pretty sight, but she got invited to a lot of parties by coke dealers I hear. No, I just start channeling away, and if one doesn't know what's happening, one might have me committed to a mental hospital, or, if one does know... well, once I came too some place in Minnesota where I'd been sold to a side show which had just kept the supply of dope coming....

Anyway, all of a sudden I was Walter Brennan calling Suzanne an evil slut, then I melded into Dean Martin and Suzanne had to keep me at bay by hurling liquor bottles at me (something she'd rehearsed for No Laughing Matter... then Socrates was on line and I found myself asking if Suzanne could fix me up with the young man who played her son in No Laughing Matter, but then, right in the midst of a rapid blitz during which I tore through the entire Rat Pack, explained the Kennedy Assassination from JFK's, LBJ's, RFK's and Oswald's view points Suzanne has the sense to give me a massive fix and after a stint as several different Elvis Impersonators, I was channeling the King. So I interviewed him and what follows is a transcript. Please keep in mind that both BDLS and I were under the influence of massive amounts of smack at the time....

BDH: Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.

BDLS: Yep, yep, yep.

BDLS:So what about that Presidential election?

Monica Lewinsky (for whom I suddenly, and oddly started channeling): Presidential Erection! Yum!

BDH:Monica, you aren't dead. How'd you get in here?

ML: I'm not dead? That's what they said about Elvis, and I've been trying to get his limp wiener up for half a year! Believe me, he's dead, I'm dead.

BDLS: You mean they had you killed! Bastards! Who was it? Clinton? Hillary? Vince Foster? Ken Starr?

ML:Nope, nope, not dead, no.

BDH:Then who? Who?

ML: That bitch Linda Tripp. She was black mailing me and Wild Bill into having hot three way sex with him. I finally arranged a meeting and he was so disgusted at the thought, little Willie went soft and actually, well, it was like a medical miracle... it actually shrunk so much it started going into him. Linda started screaming something about "Bang Utot." Except I thought the shit said "You get on top," so I climbed onto her, figuring she wanted to perk Willie up with a little Lezbo action.... Well, she started bucking like a the mechanical bull at George Stephanopoulas' house and threw me off. I ended up impaled on the Flag behind Bill's desk. It was a mess for him. But for some crazy reason he was obsessed with Glamorama -- he had a prepublication copy -- and he hired body doubles for me and Linda -- who was executed on the spot. He went through that whole impeachment just to piss that cunt wife of his off. Hahahahahaha.

BDH:Monica? You're fading.

BDLS:Grant was calling for her. Anyway, that election, yes. You do see how it all ties up, don't you?

BDH:Would I be sitting here swacked out of my mind channeling if I did?

BDLS:Well, first Bush Sr. was partners with Noriega in the whole coke thing. They had a falling out over a few grams Jr. snorted on the way up from Panama to Miami... hence the invasion and the fleeing of all those rabid alcoholics and addicts to Florida... so you got your key Republicans in place at the County Level, which elected Jeb and would have put in a slate of electors for W had the threat to hold back Clarence Thomas' weekly ounce of crack and to block Reinquist's monthly allotment of 1000 Oxycodone 160s from TJ -- God, talk about an explosive habit! He was only eating 30 Percodan a day back when he went through the whole Betty Ford scam...

BDH:Cousin, you're fading. Is that really true?

BDLS:Fading? Shit, I'm dying all over again from all the smack you've done today.

BDH:New diet. What do you think?

BDLS:You'll make a fortune... you're about to channel The Society of Deceased Obese Junkies... Belushi, Elvis, Buddha, Jerry Garcia, Chris Farley, Ulysses Grant, Charlie Parker, Mama Cass, Jim Morrison -- even Janis Joplin wants to lose a quick 10.

BDH:Quick, one of us call my agent, get a TV crew down here, think of the freaking infomercial I can do! I'll be rich! Rich I tell you... Rich as Nazis

And then i snapped out of my delirium my breathing labored which prompted Suzanne, who had returned at some point and had been busy writing a review of No Laughing Matter she forced me to submit to some Chicago newspaper under Roger Ebert's by line before she would take me to the ER where she left me in the grips of a Narcan Nightmare to turn in her, er my, er Roger's... oh what the fuck difference does it make -- the stupid movie is 2 years old and it sucked when it came out and it sucks now and I need me a shot... of heroin (no alcohol - alcoholic you know)......