My regular readers know that sometimes I’ll take a roundabout route to get to my point. Dave’s Regular Readers: “Sometimes? You pull that shit every week.” Sorry, imaginary regular readers. You want me to be brief? Maybe you should’ve fought harder to keep me on Twitter like you do for ...

Ah, the best-laid plans of mice and untermenschen. This Jew is no happy concentration camper, as the Trump assassination attempt wrecked my summer of sleep. See, I hate summer. The weather, the bugs, the AC bills. So in June I hatched a plan: I’d go off the wagon, drink from July 1 through ...

My columns are written four days before you read them. I’m not an “on the spot” reporter; I don’t do breaking news. If the Hindenburg were on fire, I wouldn’t be the whiny faggot screaming, “Oh, the humanity!” I’d be the bespectacled dumbass submitting a long-form essay ...

Did I ever tell you about the time I found myself face down in a urine-soaked stairwell with a cop’s knee on my neck? It was 1991, and black L.A. was in its Boys n’ the Hood phase. Its last years before Three Strikes and gentrification would end black communities on the Westside and ...

Let’s play a word-association game. Bing Crosby. What did you think of? “White Christmas”? Bob Hope? Chances are some of you thought “child beater,” especially Gen Xers too young to have seen Bing in his prime but old enough to remember the tell-all books and SNL jokes. Richard ...

Following last week’s column on Alex Jones and his “boo-hoo the feds are after me” Crybaby Tour ’24, I heard from several readers (via my Substack) who slammed my sympathy for the parents who won the defamation suits (there were three lawsuits, in Texas and Connecticut). One example: If I ...

With Alex Jones on a moany-moan “goodbye cruel world” tour, I thought I’d devote a couple of columns to that carbuncle on the ass of the internet as he faces the potential loss of his empire to pay off a civil judgment. Jones’ first stop on Boo-Hoo Tour ’24 was a chat with Tucker ...

Here’s a wacky anecdote for ya. April 30, 1998, 3:30 p.m. My girlfriend Sarah and I had just gotten back from lunch at Red Lobster (I’m not black, neither was she. But damn we loved fried fish), and she had to speed off to an audition for boobie bimbo No. 2 in Attack of the Zombie Drywallers. ...

This week’s column will start self-indulgently and then brilliantly segue into something of greater import. Or so I’m telling myself as I down the rum. Last week a Twitter account—I won’t link to it; I’ll never give oxygen to trolls—said that the morning I was Twitter-banned I seemed ...

As I mentioned last week, I took a Substack poll regarding my readers’ preferred topics, and the top vote-getters were “scolding idiot rightists” and “musing about Hollywood.” So how’s about this week we do Hollywood? In 1986 my high school AP history teacher—the finest instructor ...