Stephen Dorff enters a Mexican bar somewhere in Mexico. It’s sketchy, but it’s clear Stephen Dorff couldn’t care less. He saunters up to the bar, electric cigarette dangling from his lips, and gives the grizzled bartender a look that says, “You know what I want and what I want is a delicious, ultra premium top shelf tequila.” The bartender pours him a shot from a nondescript bottle of tequila. Stephen Dorff glares at him, beyond annoyed. The bartender totally gets it and is like, “Whoa, this guy knows his tequila,” and pours him a shot of ultra-slow filtrated Avión premium tequila.

Once, in China, I asked a young friend where would be a good shop or market to pick up a new pair of shoelaces.

He paused, thought about it, and said, “You can’t. You just have to buy new shoes.”

I smiled “Have you ever been shopping on your own?”

He said, “Well no. My mother buys everything for me.”

I still wear Chinese mesh $1.99 ‘ghetto slippers’ everywhere. Shopping. To the beach. To Europe. In fancy hotels. Everywhere. Even Chinese women don’t wear them anymore. Their loss. I didn’t invent them, but if I did, I’d call them ‘Chinese Cock-Blockers,’ because men, apparently, hate them.

Friends, supporters, colleagues, distinguished guests… all people I’d rather see than the degenerates and scumbags seated before me now.

You’re at Whole Foods or some similar place somewhere else. Just being there makes you feel good, hip, organic. You walk down the wide, splendid aisle. You remember what your doctor said about dairy products and you are, once again, determined to cut them out. All that fat.