The Rules Of Stupid

The Boss & His Employees

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 22:55:00 +0000

If this ain't crystal clear by now, you need your freakin' head examined.

Heck, even the Japanese know it. Turn it up loud.

The Boss Is The Boss For A Reason

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 22:42:00 +0000

All you people whinin' about Bruce's performance at the Super Bowl? Fornicate with something sharp and rusty.

It's kinda tough to replicate over 30 years of the best live show on earth in just 12 minutes at halftime.

So, here's a lil' taste. And I don't care if he's gettin' older. He's gettin' better.

Just like me. Despite some really crappy energy vampires vexing my soul for the holidays.

Dig It, Cats!!!!

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 12:46:00 +0000

One can never reinforce the rampant, uncontrolled genius and thrills of Elvis Costello.

Here's how I'm viewing the upcoming year. With great tunes and smokin' hot go-go dancers. Again.

Elvis Costello is on my MySpace friends list, you know, which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt how tight we are.

I'm Making 2009 My Bitch

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 15:28:00 +0000

OK, 2008 was a fucking downer. Right up through Christmas.

Isn't Christmas supposed to be really cheery and jolly and full of fairy-tale benevolence on the part of my fellow man?

Well, my fellow man didn't get the god damn memo this year.

Anyway, rather than doing even more bitching and moaning and beamoaning, I'm making 2009 my bitch. I mean, I'm putting a choker collar on it, forcing it to eat dog food from a dirty bowl, and having it do my bidding at every turn.

Thus, the freelance juggernaut will reload and emerge once more victorious.

I'm just sayin'.

Listen To What I Am Fucking Saying, Please

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 03:13:00 +0000

I have experienced a phenomenon I experienced several times this past really miserable year--all with formerly good friends.

That is, when I say very direct, very finite, very demonstrative things, THEY DO NOT LISTEN TO ONE FUCKING WORD I SAY.

I do not believe that I am vague, or generalizing, or meandering when I speak or when I write. I think I'm relatively surgical about the shit.

And, being a grown man, I believe that I am an expert on me. And my wishes.

Happy Holidays From The Rules Of Stupid

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 03:25:00 +0000

OK, folks. Lots of changes at The Rules Of Stupid.

Still doing lots of advertising. Still violently opinionated. Just too busy to post. It goes like that. A few months on, a few off.

However, I want to wish everyone the happiest holiday ever. And the best way I can do that is with this timeless holiday treasure. The baton being passed from one giant popular music icon of his era, to another.

I really dig their effortless Old Hollywood patter before they sing.

Enjoy. Peace on earth. Good will toward men. (Except Dave McLane.)

Edie Adams Times Three

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 20:17:00 +0000

She's all three of them.

Rudy Ray Moore-DOLEMITE!

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 00:11:00 +0000

The Greatness Of Rudy Ray Moore

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 00:05:00 +0000

Trailer for The Human Tornado. Rudy Ray does the voiceover. No more needs be said.

Gone But Never Forgotten-Rudy Ray Moore

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 00:00:00 +0000

This is a rough patch for The Rules of Stupid.

Rudy Ray Moore--DOLEMITE--was the king of cool. The Blaxplotation king. If you even owned one of his records--hell, if you knew the LOCATION of a Rudy Ray Moore record, your status rose immeasurably in my neighborhood.

He will be missed.

AKRON, Ohio (AP) -- Rudy Ray Moore, a raunchy 1970s comedian who played the title role of a flashy pimp in the movie "Dolemite" and influenced a generation of rappers, has died. He was 81.

Moore died Sunday evening at an Akron nursing home from complications of diabetes, said his brother, Gerald Moore.

Moore was part of the heyday of African-American "party records." His stage personality featured blunt sex routines but, unlike contemporaries Redd Foxx and Richard Pryor, he never crossed over to mainstream white audiences.

The Washington Post said in a 1992 profile that Moore was "an astounding renderer of 'toasts,' -- elaborately boastful, profane and scatological tales of life in the old-style urban subculture of pimps, prostitutes, gamblers and badmen. His husky, down-home voice is ideal for it."

Moore said he developed the style, later a feature of rap music, by listening to men sitting outside joints "drinking beer and lying and talking [expletive]."

Moore played the fast-talking pimp and title character in the 1975 film "Dolemite." In later years Moore collaborated with 2 Live Crew, Big Daddy Kane and Snoop Dogg.

Moore's other acting credits during the "Blaxploitation" era of black action films included "The Human Tornado" in 1976 and "Disco Godfather" in 1979.

Edie Adams-Gone But Never Forgotten

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 03:41:00 +0000

This is a really tough one for me.

I think I fell in love with Edie Adams sometime in the early 70's. Married to uber-genius and (one of my Top 10 idols), the groundbreaking Ernie Kovacs. Tony award winner. Muriel Cigar chick. And totally gorgeous.

Brainy. Funny. And a stunner. When I think of the perfect lady, her name comes to the top of the list every time.

She will be missed. Greatly. And frequently. By me.

LOS ANGELES, California (AP) -- Actress and singer Edie Adams, the blonde beauty who won a Tony Award for bringing Daisy Mae to life on Broadway and who played the television foil to her husband, comedian Ernie Kovacs, has died. She was 81.

Adams died Wednesday in a Los Angeles hospital from pneumonia and cancer, publicist Henri Bollinger said.

A graduate of Juilliard School of Music, Adams hoped to become an opera singer but instead went on to gain fame for her sketches with Kovacs and her pivotal roles in two top Broadway musicals.

For nearly two decades, she also was the sexy spokeswoman for Muriel cigars, singing and breathily cooing in TV commercials: "Why don't you pick one up and smoke it sometime?"

She was born Elizabeth Edith Enke in 1927 in Kingston, Pennsylvania, and grew up in Tenafly, New Jersey. She first attracted notice on the TV show "Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts." Kovacs was then performing his innovative comedy show on a Philadelphia TV station, and his director saw her and invited her to audition.

"Here was this guy with the big mustache, the big cigar and the silly hat," she recalled in 1982. "I thought, 'I don't know what this is, but it's for me.' "

When she auditioned for the Kovacs show, she knew a lot about opera but only three pop songs, she recalled.

"I sang them all during the audition, and if they had asked to hear another, I never would have made it," she said.

With her innocent face and refreshing manner, Adams became the ideal partner for Kovacs' far-out humor. They eloped to Mexico City in 1954.

Kovacs moved his show -- which appeared in various guises in the 1950s and early 1960s -- to New York, where he became the darling of critics and discriminating viewers and hugely influential on other comedians. Both Kovacs and Adams garnered Emmy nominations in 1957 for best performances in a comedy series.

Adams found success on Broadway as well.

She was acclaimed for her role as the sister to Rosalind Russell's character in the 1953 "Wonderful Town," the Comden-Green-Bernstein musical based on "My Sister Eileen."

In 1957, Adams won a Tony for best featured (supporting) actress in a musical for her role as Daisy Mae in "Li'l Abner," based on Al Capp's satirical comic strip.

"Edith Adams makes a wonderful Daisy Mae with her busty blouse, brief skirt and bare legs -- the hill-billy girl with a touch of Al Capp's Hollywood glamour," The New York Times wrote.

She and Kovacs moved to Hollywood in the late 1950s, and both became active in films.

In Billy Wilder's classic "The Apartment," the 1960 Oscar winner for best picture, Adams played the spurned secretary to philandering businessman Fred MacMurray.

Among her other movies were "Lover Come Back," "Call Me Bwana" (with Bob Hope), the all-star comedy "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World" (as Sid Caesar's wife), "Under the Yum Yum Tree," "The Best Man" and "The Honey Pot."

In early 1962, Kovacs left a star-filled baby shower for Mrs. Milton Berle and crashed his car into a light pole, dying instantly. He had been a carefree gambler and profligate buyer of unneeded things. He once telephoned his wife and said he had bought the California Racquet Club, with its nightclub, shops and mortgages.

His widow was faced with debts of $520,000, trouble with the Internal Revenue Service and a nasty custody battle over Kovacs' daughters, Betty and Kippie, from his first marriage. She and Kovacs also had a daughter Mia, born in 1959.

Berle, Frank Sinatra, Jack Lemmon, Dean Martin and other stars organized a TV special to raise money for her and her daughters.

"No," she said, "I can take care of my own children."

For a solid year, she worked continuously. She did movies, TV musical revues and a Las Vegas act where Groucho Marx introduced her with the comment: "There are some things Edie won't do, but nothing she can't do."

She won custody of her stepdaughters, tearfully telling reporters after the verdict: "This is the way Ernie would have wanted it."

Over a career that spanned some six decades, Adams also appeared in various stage productions; had a short-lived TV show in 1963 that earned her two Emmy nominations; performed in nightclubs and released several albums.

In the 1980s and 1990s, she made appearances on such TV shows as "Murder, She Wrote" and "Designing Women." She also played Tommy Chong's mother, Mrs. Tempest Stoner, in the first Cheech and Chong movie, "Up in Smoke," in 1978.

Over the years, she strove to keep Kovacs' comedic legacy alive by buying rights to his TV shows and repackaging them for television and videocassettes.

After her widowhood, she had two brief marriages to photographer Martin Mills and trumpeter Pete Candoli.

She is survived by her son, Joshua Mills. Daughter Mia Kovacs was killed at 22 in a 1982 car accident.

Kind Of A Drag...

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 12:27:00 +0000

To move.

But, this town is an advertising wasteland. At a certain point, ya just cut your losses and move on. So, I've put all my silly idealistic expectations in some Tupperware.

Moving sucks. Sitting around doing nothing all day sucks worse.

My Obligtory Paul Newman Story

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 22:24:00 +0000

The year was 1982.

I was driving to Rhode Island to go to a college. I happened to be driving a 1972 Vega. Orange. Kind of a desert assault vehicle orange. I had spray painted it orange with eight cans of spray paint to hide all the Bondo.

But, it ran. With shag carpet all over the interior including the shift column. A Sparkomatic 8-track kept me entertained all the way from Indiana.

Now, when one hits Connecticut on such a drive, it is indeed cause for celebration. Not because of Connecticut. Connecticut isn't all that great. But the low drinking age WAS.

So, I pulled off at one point. Town called Westport.

You had to park on the outside of town and walk on in, so I did. Went into the first liquor store I saw. Made a beeline to the back with my 19 year-old self and grabbed a six of Bud tallboys. Marched straight up to the counter, where there was a guy ahead of me.

I paid his back no mind, but then he turned. He was buying a case of Heineken. When his head swiveled, I saw the bluest set of eyes I've ever seen. Then my jaw dropped. PAUL FUCKIN' NEWMAN!!!!!!

I didn't know what to do. My only previous experience with celebrity had been meeting Pat Buttram at the Farm Progress Show. I was overwhelmed. Jacked up. A wave of "oh, my god, this is somebody UBERfamous" shot through me. I spoke without being conscious of the act.

"Hey, man! How you doin'???!!!?" I managed--with a huge degree of overdoing it.

Reg Dunlop, Cool Hand Luke, and Hud all turned to me, slowly. Casually. He glanced me, then the guy behind the counter, then back at me. Then HE spoke.

"You okay?" He was smiling when he said it, but there was a pretty healthy dose of "let's not overdo it, kid."

He picked up his case of Heineken and left out the door.

And, I have never allowed myself to be cowed by fame or celebrity since. 'Cause if Paul Fucking Newman didn't think it was a big deal to meet Paul Fucking Newman, why the hell should I?

Campbell Brown: Douchebagette

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 18:44:00 +0000

This crazy Campbell Brown. Less than two weeks after asking with great incredulity "How DARE Sarah Palin run for vice-president!!!??? She has CHILDREN to think of!!!" she's now claiming SEXISM on the part of the candidate.

I guess it's OK for Campbell to be sexist, but for everybody else, it's not OK.

But let's look at Campbell's OWN WORDS for a second:

I love and live by former Supreme Court Justice Brandeis' great quote: "Sunshine is the best disinfectant."

Ain't it, though? HERE's a few things we can shine a lil' light on for ya, Campbell:

1. Her first name ain't Campbell. It's ALMA. Gee, wonder why she goes by Campbell? Well, when she interviews me, she's gonna be ALMA. Alma Brown.

2. Her daddy, Jim Brown, is a lifelong Democratic flunky. So every stitch of clothing and morsel of food for ol' Campbell came off the suckling teet of the Democratic party. Bias? Naaaaaah.

3. Her daddy, Jim Brown, was convicted of lying to the FBI and sent to federal prison. How sunshiney is THAT?

4. Campbell announced that she was leaving NBC to devote time to her family and baby. Next day, it's announced she's going to work for CNN. HOW DARE SHE!!!! She will be having kids! How DARE she thrust them into the national spotlight?

5. It only took Campbell over 30 years to figure out she wanted to be Jewish, really. Strangely, that coincided with her marrying a really, really rich Jewish guy. I wonder if that was a criteria for the marriage? No, I am SURE it was an honest spiritual journey ending with her conclusion that a religious conversion--and not an impending nuptial--was in order.

Tell me another one. She'd have converted to the Church of Satan if the price was right.

This is what happens when talking heads replace journalists.

You Wanna Play, Halifax? Good, Let's Play...

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 18:02:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, some really rancid Halifax, Canada chick on the internet decides she wants to spam my mailbox.

Fine. Anyone who reads The Rules Of Stupid knows I can respond in kind. But that ain't the weird part.

This dumb bitch thinks I'm SOMEONE ELSE. Check this out:

Havent you anything better to do? I dont even read your emails,
because they say the same thing over and over "youre a cunt youre a
cunt" yeah yeah, I get it. Youre pretty angry, arent you?  Tell your
Fishhead girlfriend, I have some letters you wrote me, and slipped
under my door over the last six months. Shall I bring out the big
guns, you Over the hill sack of shit?
greg, youre pathetic.
you disgusted me from the start. Seeing you naked was a nightmare
and I would commit suicide before I'd glimpse on your mishapen, maggot
white body again. Do you realize how fucking dirty your body is? Do
you even USE soap? Are you aware of the smegma? *shudder  Sitting at
your computer all day and night, not showering until you ABSOLUTLEY
have to, perving on Adult Friend Finder, leaving desperate notes for
girls in Laundry rooms, and checking out Fag Porn.
You'll always be alone. Youll ALWAYS be fucking ugly and youll always
be worth Less Than Zero. Just like youll always be bald, have weak
features and have a stinking mouth.

My name ain't Greg, for starters. So I tell the deluded bitch that I'm NOT who she thinks I am. But that ain't the weird part. She doesn't believe me and responds with THIS:

Youre a fucking idiot, cause I know who you are. youre only pissed
because I called you shit because YOU ARE shit. Even a "low life" like
me wouldnt have anything to do with you. This is your passsive
aggressive way of making your rage @ rejection known and you can still
hide. Greg, youre plain and simply Fucking PATHETIC. youre bad
mannered, you talk to much youre a BORE and youre ugly. Not only that,
your mouth smells like a ferret den.
Youre REPLUSIVE. So ask yourself no longer with wonder..."why did'nt
she want me to touch her?" Your apartment is a filthy pit of hell. At
least I eat off of dishes and not the floor, you fucking balding loser
ass-cunt. So, ANYTHING else...or shall I dumb it down further.

So, I ENCOURAGE her to tell Greg's girlfriend about how she whored around with Greg. But that ain't the weird part.

The weird part is that GREG starts emailing me so the Rancid Chick won't narc on him.

I told him to quit bothering me. He chose not to. Then, he's chosen to try and post crappy things here on my fine forum. Not realizing I moderate it. THEN, I get some fake lawyer emails and a phone call.

So, you wanna play, Halifax? GOOOOOOOOOOOOD.

The cheating, maggot-white, balding stinkbreath guy's name is Greg Stokes. He works at Screenlevel Web Solutions in Halifax, Canada. He uses the email allpowerfulmasterofspaceandtime@hotmail.com. And that should tell you something.

You wanna play some more? 'Cause the next step is me posting your phone number, genius. Then I start forwarding emails to your company's clients. After that, I start mentioning things on over 100 radio stations.

Just A Friendly Reminder...I WRITE ADS FOR MONEY!!!

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 00:07:00 +0000

Just kinda wanted to remind the world.

I'm getting the feeling everybody forgot.

Sheesh, ya host a big talk show a couple times and people think you've retired.

Fer chrissakes, send a brief. Get great stuff and an invoice back.

'Cause I'm really bored.

(There's a little email address over to the right.)

The Poll Has Spoken: You Know What You Threw

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 23:57:00 +0000

I shouldn't have to tell you.

Hey! Which one of you threw that?

5--Threw what?
2--Not Me
1--I didn't see who
0--I don't know

What A Strange Trip...

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 15:56:00 +0000

...to go from talking to hundreds of thousands of people on the radio back to the obscurity of advertising.

Things are SLOW here at The Rules Of Stupid, Inc. VERY slow.

So, I sit here. Talking to no one. Frittering away my time, hidden from the world.

Till the next star-studded network radio thing.

Bizarre.

Radio Again, Folks...

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 16:49:00 +0000

Doggone it.

I'm sorry, but I'm hosting that nationally syndicated radio show again tonight.

Back tomorrow.

Um...keep on truckin'.

Adventures In Advertising--Book Eleven

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 19:48:00 +0000

The last days of Larry Anderson were like a ship cut adrift.

There were two or three podunkville agencies he dabbled around, but he spent most of his time on the phone.

Calling me at the agency.

Of course, Larry had to know every single thing every single person said about him every single day. And, he had to follow up on all the work he was doing. Well, the work that he was NOT doing before he was fired. Which was the reason he was fired.

And now I got to do all of it. Larry would ask me about a particular ad, then when things weren't the way he wanted them, he'd actually call the account executives and give them hell. Even though he wasn't working there any more.

But, over a period of about three weeks, Larry got kinda tired of calling me. And more interested in ritual drug abuse. Not to mention the fact that a police officer came and asked me about three million questions regarding the credit cards. (A story for another day.)

Once Larry found out that the cops were on to him, he began making plans. Called some sitcom writer friends of his--Larry was befriended by one of the greatest writer/producers in television history, Sam Denoff of The Dick Van Dyke Show.

Larry was running out of cash--as usual--and he couldn't fly on a plane because he was banned for arguing with a sky waitress while drunk.

And so it was that I piled quarters into a phone to call Sam Denoff--an idol of mine--to tell him I had Larry at the train station. Larry was all drugged out. Could hardly talk. Gave me Sam's phone number. So, being young and stupid and not knowing what to do, I called him.

Once I told him who I was, Sam was kind. Patient. Waxed on about how Larry had told him that I reminded Larry of Larry when Larry was younger. I tried to describe Larry's condition, and Sam said, "I know all about it. Just get him on the train."

So, I walked him around till he was lucid enough to get onto the train with a bag of sandwiches for the trip. I knew he didn't have any money, so I slipped him $100. We hugged. It was pretty fuckin' emotional. The guy was a daily kick in the balls, but he was also somehow endearing. And he taught me a LOT of shit.

Then Larry slumped down in his seat, pulled out a sandwich and said, "I'll give ya a call when I get settled, kid."

I walked to the door and took a last look back at Larry, opening a copy of The Fountainhead, tearing into a sandwich, and scouting the area for people to be sociopathic around. Rakish smile taking place, and comfortably slouched into his Amtrak seat.

And I never saw or heard from Larry again.

Adventures In Advertising--Book Ten

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 16:20:00 +0000

In the end, on Larry's last day, he would go out not with a bang but with a small puddle of hamburger grease.

Picked him up in the morning, as usual. We took our ritual 10 mile detour to the methadone clinic, as usual.

Then, when we got to the agency, Larry went into his office and closed the door. He yelled out of it once--around 10:45 a.m. Larry wanted his "special order" from McDonald's. As usual.

Larry's special order was pretty simple. It was a quarter pounder with cheese, plain. Just bun, burger, cheese. That's it. Larry liked his quarter pounders this way because they'd be made to order. Larry loved anything made to order.

So I tromped on down to McDonald's. Stood in the huge line. Waited for the special order and came back.

The bag was wrenched from my hand. "Hell took you so long?" Larry ripped off the wrapper and stared as his keyboard, burger in hand. "I'll talk to you later." I left him to his burger. But not before noticing six little pills lined up in a row to the side of his typewriter.

Throughout the rest of the day, The Hippie was going to Larry's door and peering in. Then the agency president started coming around and doing the same thing.

I noticed much wringing of hands. Much little huddling and talking in whispers and hushed tones. Finally, I was summoned to The Hippie's office.

"Hey, man, you know, Larry's just getting out of control, you know? We're pretty sure he took one of my credit cards, you know? And he's just all strung out all the time, you know?"

One of the account execs brought up Larry at the drug store client's place. The account execs loved bringing that up.

I didn't say anything. Especially about the credit cards.

The agency prez spoke up. "Ah..you 'get along' with Larry. We were...ah...wondering if you could...ah...take him home...."

I agreed to that. I went to get him, and there he sat. In the EXACT same position as I'd left him in earlier. Special order quarter pounder propped into the air by his elbow on his desk like the Statue Of Liberty. Only now there was a little puddle of quarter pounder grease under the burger and his eyes were closed.

I figured I'd give him a little more shuteye while I went back to my desk and tidied up for the day. While I was gone, Larry woke from his slumber. Totally unaware he'd been canned. And there was a little "Larry's Fired" huddle going on right outside his office door.

I rushed back to Larry's office just in time to hear him telling an AE he'd have that copy done in the morning. I started to usher Larry back towards his office by asking him a question. Larry responded back that he had a four o'clock meeting. I told him it had been cancelled.

Larry was getting impatient. Why had no one told him it was cancelled? I didn't know what to say. I started stammering something or other, but then Larry in his genius figured it out.

"Oh...oh, wait. I know. I know. I know why. I'm getting canned, right?"

I didn't say anything again. I was getting good at not saying anything, and it was yielding big results.

"Wait right here!" Larry instructed, then dashed into The Hippie's office, where The Hippie was nervously conversing with the agency prez. The door was quickly closed shut.

Over the next ten or fifteen minutes, sounds from the sublime to the desperate could be overheard. Larry tried every trick in the book. But they'd had enough.

He came out, tired, beaten and defeated. And I drove him home.

The Poll Has Spoken: People Crave News Women In Gale Force Wind

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 15:20:00 +0000

Favorite thing about New Orleans hurricanes?

4--News babes in high wind
3--Ray Nagin meltdowns
1--Hearing "hunkered down"
1--Bars open during storm

Nothing bestows as much joy as a tiny fledgling news reporter gal being tossed around like a tiny kite. Meanwhile, the smug anchor (cozy and dry in the studio) chuckles warmly.

Ah, sweet journalism.

Adventures In Advertising--Book Nine

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 17:24:00 +0000

Oftentimes, when I think back upon the Larry Anderson Experience©, it's a blur of me carting him around in my 1972 Pinto.

I noticed that in addition to stopping at the methadone clinic every morning, we made a lot of stops to various drug stores. Larry would run in and come out with a little sack. Then, one day, he came out all upset.

Then he asked me to go get some codine, over-the-counter, for him. Turns out that he'd gotten it so many times, they started denying him the stuff.

I sometimes remember getting a call to come over to his house and find him all wiped out and going through withdraw. Not fun. He'd be in a bathtub full of ice.

As it turns out, one of our clients was a chain of drug stores. The agency got word one Monday morning that over the weekend, Larry had claimed he needed to get behind the counter at one of the stores--"to check out some angles for a TV spot." When he left, they were missing some drugs.

Larry taught me lots of stuff. He was a genius. He was brilliant. He was antagonizing, crazy, insulting, and brutal. But he was about to get bounced from the agency. He started coming in all messed up. He'd found someone to sell him dilaudad.

He'd come in late, close his office door, sleep all day--except when he yelled at me to get his lunch. Work started not getting done. I'd cover for him, but he was involved with tons of stuff I didn't even know about.

Account executives started busting into his closed office and yelling at him. He didn't even yell back, just mutter something and make a few half-hearted promises.

Larry Anderson was burning out fast. And I had a front row seat.

Radio Killed The Ad Blog Star...

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 22:03:00 +0000

Sorry, folks. Not much time the next two days for The Rules Of Stupid.

I can't reveal my identity here (although many people who read know who I am), but am proud to announce that I'm hosting a nationally syndicated radio talk show (as fill-in host) on Thursday night.

I'll have things back up and running Monday...or Saturday...or Sunday...morning for sure.

And I'll miss each and every one of you till I'm back!

The Poll Has Spoken: Bukowski Wins, Larry Anderson Stunned

1Letterman@live.com (1Letterman) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 18:38:00 +0000

Who'd win in a fight?

6-Charles Bukowski
4-Larry Anderson
3-Superman
1-God

Charles Bukowski is the king.

Due to a late surge in the voting, readers of The Rules Of Stupid have elected him the baddest mo fo on earth. Even if he happens to be covered by six feet of that aforementioned earth at the moment.

No response yet from Larry Anderson, since no one has seen or heard from him since 1990.

God and Superman were unavailable for comment.