As a non-union comedy writer with no credits, I know I’m ready to write for television. Truth be told, I don’t watch a lot of TV because, my god, who has the time? But what I lack in commitment to developing my craft I more than make up with in confidence and diverticulitis.

I heard that you need to be persistent to break into the entertainment industry, so I send my writing sample to whoever is on Fallon that night. It’s a spec of Malcolm in the Middle that I wrote when I moved to Los Angeles in 2005. I don’t want to give too much away without having you sign an NDA, but the plot involves Frances leaving military school to join Al Qaeda. It’s 170 pages long and fucking dark, but also a brilliant piece of writing if I do say so myself (something those idiots at NBC’s Writers’ on the Verge wouldn’t know if it bit them on the ass or was sent to them fourteen years in a row). 

One night during my evening punch up of the Malcolm script I watched Nick Kroll on Fallon promoting that Ozzy Osbourne show of his about the kids who have sex with monsters or whatever. I’ve never seen it, but know about the premise because my buddy Jaden in Florida knows one of its writers, Victor Quinaz and is always going on about it. “This is perfect,” I thought. I’ll write for Big Mouth! I called Jaden and asked him to introduce me to Victor, but he refused even though he’s read my Malcolm script and agrees it is way more violent than a normal Malcolm in the Middle episode. Fucking Jaden. “It doesn’t matter,” I thought, I’ll just send the script directly to Kroll and get on the show myself. 

Boy, is it difficult to find Nick Kroll’s email address online. I searched for hours, but the closest I could find is the information for an orthodontist named Dr. Nicholas Kroll, DDS in Lansing, Michigan who told me that he had no capacity to hire an inexperienced screenwriter at his dental practice and also that he felt my Malcolm script was “ill-advised.” Everyone’s a critic. 

I had lost all hope until I learned that Nick Kroll has what I assumed is his own production company and, just my luck, Kroll Inc. was hiring! 

Unbeknownst to meKroll Inc. is not a production company, but a high-end corporate investigation and security consultancy started by Nick’s father. Not realizing this mistake, I sent them a copy of my Malcolm script along with a cover letter in which I pitched an episode of Big Mouth based on several instances of early childhood self-discovery that occurred in the clearance racks of a Filene’s Basement. Needless to say, I was very confident I would be hearing back from Kroll asking me to write for Big Mouth.

Indeed, it was only a few days after sending in my application that I received a call offering me a job. I was with my usual confederacy of elderly men that congregate at the North Hollywood Weinserschnitzel every morning to discuss immigration policies and their love of Leonard Cohen. Kroll wanted me to fly out to their Washington D.C. office the next day and I was nervous about starting on such short notice because I’ve never actually seen Big Mouth. I was ultimately convinced to go by Moshe, an 80-year-old Holocaust survivor who told me that life is full of uncertainties and that I owed it to myself, and indeed all those who perished at Bergen-Belsen, to pursue my “dreams of writing that fakakta sex show before some Guatemalan agrees to do it for next to nothing.” He meant well.

The next morning, I flew to D.C. where I was met by someone from Kroll and escorted to their headquarters. I was tired from my flight but told that they needed me to start right away. I remembered hearing a Big Mouth spinoff was in the works and figured they were desperate for some fresh ideas. “This must be how Hollywood works,” I thought as we made our way from Dulles to Georgetown. 

When I arrived, I was met by at least 10 Kroll executives. I was a little nervous being around what I thought was a room full of surprisingly well-dressed comedy writers and, perhaps feeling the need to overcompensate, immediately started pitching story ideas. It wasn’t until around three hours into my meeting that I realized that this was not Big Mouth’s production company and that they didn’t want me as a writer. 

“I’m going to stop you right there,” said General Deepak Gundersen, as I wrapped up a very graphic story that involved a chance encounter with someone I thought was Michelle Branch but who, in retrospect, was very clearly a pre-Pasion of the Christ Jim Chaviziel. “We need you to infiltrate an Al Qaeda sleeper cell and don’t have much time.”

General Gundersen, it turns out, is not a comedy writer for Big Mouth (or a Jim Chaviziel fan, apparently. But I guess who is?). He heads Kroll’s Private Security and Risk Management team and informed me that I was hired after he read my Malcolm in the Middle Script (suck a dick, Writers on the Verge!) which although he felt lacked the “tone and charm” of a Malcolm episode (that is actually consistent with what NBC thought), displayed a surprisingly adept understanding of Al Qaeda’s western recruiting tactics. 

“This is Maryanne Frankel,” said General Gundersen as a photo of a striking woman in her mid-50s displayed on a PowerPoint. “We believe she operates one of the largest terrorist recruiting channels in the United States.” Over the next several hours I was convinced to go to Canton, Ohio to make contact with Maryanne to find out the source of funding of her sleeper network. As I made my way back to the airport I wondered if I really knew enough about Al Qaeda to complete this mission. Most of the terrorist stuff from my script was lifted directly from a 20/20 episode. Maybe Kroll would be better off hiring Hugh Downs? These self-doubts continued until, needing to take my mind off of things, I signed up for a Netflix account and finally got to watch an episode of Big Mouth on the plane. It wasn’t really for me.

I was told Maryanne ran her terrorist operation from a Bob Evans in Canton and decided to head straight there from the airport. As I drove through the Ohio countryside I was taken aback by its open space and fresh air. You always hear about how awful and ugly Ohio is, but in reality, only most of it is awful and ugly. Some of it is less so.

I recognized Maryanne as soon as I stepped inside Bob Evans and asked the hostess to seat me in her section. “I hear I have a fan,” Maryanne said as she approached my table. She was remarkably beautiful, even at her age and in her Bob Evans uniform and really stood out in a place like Canton. I couldn’t help think that with a face like hers she could have easily made it in Dayton or even parts of Cincinnati. I ordered a biscuit platter and the two of us bantered playfully throughout the meal. When she finally came around with the check I asked her if I could take her out to dinner.

“I’m sorry, hun. I don’t date customers,” she said with a genteel smile.

“You don’t?” I panicked, trying to think of anything I could say to make her change her mind. 


“Well…death to America?” I whispered. 

“Death to America,” she smiled. “Ok. Pick me up at 8:00!”

I spent the day reading a dossier Kroll prepared for me about Maryanne and walking around Canton. I was impressed with the number of monuments the city had to its kidnapping victims, and also perhaps not unrelatedly, how friendly and trusting everyone seemed to be. Los Angeles can be a hard place to live without growing jaded and I wondered if I would have been a happier person if I lived somewhere like this. Had I ever really been happy before? Certainly not since Diane left.

I picked up Maryanne at the end of her shift and had her show me around town. By the time we made our way to Canton’s nicest Walmart I decided to make my move. 

“Canton seems great,” I said.  

“Oh, it is!” said Maryanne. “When I was a little girl I used to dream about seeing the world, but when I finally got old enough I realized this place has everything that I need. We have three Walmarts, you know?” 

“So why do you hate America?” I asked bluntly. 

“Oh, that. Who are you? F.B.I.?” Maryanne asked as our hands casually touched, slowly making their way into each other as we strolled down the electronics aisle of the Super Walmart. 

“No. I’m with Kroll. I think it’s like a spy company or something. I’m not sure. I’m actually a comedy writer.” 

“I don’t hate America. I just think America could be a lot better than it is right now. You would agree with that, right?”

I did. 

“So, what’s wrong with trying to connect with others who also want to make America better?” 

“But you work for Al Qaeda? How is that going to make America better? Don’t they hate us?” 

“Oh, Al Qaeda is just an alternative! It could be any organization though. It’s just a symbol that America as we know it right now could be improved.” 

“Shit,” I thought as I realized I agreed with her. Recognizing there was a real connection developing I told her that what we said would just be between the two of us and that I hadn’t felt this way since Diane left me. We spent the next several hours discussing politics and the America of our childhood and what she called the “impending race war,” which sounded bad but I was so focused on the beauty of her eyes that I missed most of the details. She told me about how a chance encounter with a Sudanese arms dealer named Alfalaun Malah-Sadiq made her start to question things and how he encouraged her to connect with other “open-minded” Americans who believe their country could do better. “What’s so wrong with that?” she asked as she invited me back to her house where we continued to talk deep into the night. As the conversation flowed I knew we had fallen for each other. When we finally began making love beneath a bookshelf of Korans and a framed picture of Ayman al-Zawahiri I realized that fate had brought me here. As my eyes drew shut for the night she whispered أحبك into my ear.

“What’s that mean?” I asked, pretty sure I knew the answer.

“I love you,” she said. I was right. 

I woke to a loud bang early the next morning. I sprung up and saw Maryanne was not in the bed. As I ran into the living room I saw her on her knees in prayer facing west. 

“What’s going on?” I yelled out just as what must have been 20 armed men in unmarked military tactile gear stormed inside. As I watched the soldiers seize Maryanne, General Gundersen came up to me grinning.

“Great work!” he said as he shook my hand. 

“I don’t get it, what’s happening?” I asked as Maryanne looked at me for help. 

“Timothy?” she screamed. That’s my name, by the way. Timothy Penisfeldschmidt. “What is going on?”

“We tapped your cellphone and used its microphone to hear your conversation last night,” said General Gundersen. “You got her to admit that Alfalaun Malah-Sadiq is funding her operation and that she has been actively conspiring against the United States.” 

“So, it was all a lie? How could you do this to me? To us?” Maryanne screamed as they took her away. I never saw her again. 

I was flown back to Los Angeles that afternoon where I was debriefed, paid $125 for my time, and told that Kroll Inc. had a permanent job for me if I wanted it. 

“No thanks,” I said. “I’m a comedy writer.” 

“I thought you’d say that,” said General Gundersen. “As a thank you for protecting your country we pulled some strings and Nick Kroll has reluctantly agreed to hire you to write on that Ozzy Osbourne show of his where the kids have sex with monsters or whatever.” 

“Thanks,” I said as we shook hands. My dream had come true, but I couldn’t shake the memory of having love ripped away from me so quickly after finding it. 

The next day I went to Big Mouth’s production office where I met Nick and the other writers, including Victor Quinaz, who said he didn’t know my friend Jaden in Florida. Fucking Jaden. 

Ultimately, I didn’t last long at Big Mouth. Maybe it was my unfamiliarity with the show or that my scripts were what the producers described as “hundreds of pages too long and lacking in humor.” It could have also been that I found it impossible to stop thinking about Maryanne throughout the day or the way she looked at me as she was dragged away, but whatever the reason I found myself back at the Weinserschnitzel listening to Moshe and the gang go on about Leonard Cohen every morning. 

“Boychik,” Moshe interrupted, noticing I looked particularly down as the fellas discussed the lyrics to Chelsea Hotel #2. “There will be other women, you know? Don’t be so upset.”

“I know,” I lied. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself now.” 

“There is no ‘supposed.’ It doesn’t matter what you do, you have to live your life because you still have a life to live. That’s more than a lot of our people can say.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was Presbyterian.

When I went home that night I sat down at my computer and began to write for the first time since being let go from Big Mouth. Turns out Moshe was right and I found the creative process cathartic and before I knew it had completed a 220-page spec of Black·Ish in which Dre and Rainbow move to Ohio to start a terrorist sleeper-cell that will make the people at NBC’s Writers on the Verge program finally take notice.

Life is unpredictable and, as Moshe always says: “Hashem has a plan for us.” I think Moshe means specifically the Jews, but I like to think god has something worked out for all of us. That night I saw Anthony Anderson on Fallon and decided to send him a copy of my script. Soon after his people reached out about producing a spin-off based on my spec called Terror·Ish. He’s seeing if Malin Akerman is available to play a character based on my dear Maryanne. I think she’d like that, wherever she is being detained. 

California Governor and killer-in-a-90’s-Lifetime-Movie, Gavin Newsom, is under fire for hosting an indoor birthday dinner at the world-famous restaurant The French Laundry in Northern California. Speaking to reporters following his weekly manicure and schvitz, Newsom acknowledged it was a mistake to get caught attending his celebratory birthday dinner, but noted The French Laundry is his favorite restaurant and it was his birthday, after all, so just be cool guys. 

As infection rates for Coronavirus continue to spread throughout the State, Governor Newsom spoke of the need for Californians to restrict indoor as well as outdoor dining in Los Angeles and most other California counties. The restrictions begin on Wednesday evening.

Newsom’s announcement that both indoor and outdoor dining rooms would need to close was met by frustration by both patrons eager for a return to normalcy and the restaurant industry which has been devastated by restrictions aimed at stopping the spread of Coronavirus. When asked whether the ban on in person dining was absolutely necessary to stop the spread of Coronavirus, Governor Newsom said that the recommendation came directly from the CEO of the California Medical Association who, and this is true, attended the Governor’s fucking indoor birthday celebration.  

 “These restrictions aren’t arbitrary,” Newsom told the frustrated crowd, adding “I’m not doing this for my own health,” before realizing the phrase didn’t work well in this context. 

To combat the public’s anger at hypocritically hosting a dinner celebration in his honor while simultaneously restricting dining for everyone else, Governor Newsom told reporters he empathized with the public’s desire to return to normal and, to appease those still angry with him, would even permit restaurants to continue to serve customers indoors, so long as they reached no more than 50% capacity and held three Michelin Stars. 

The Avocado reached out to Governor Newsom to ask whether he thought it was fair to create a health exemption for only seven restaurants within the State, but we were unable to reach him because he was getting a spray tan before a dinner party at Atelier Crenn

The LA City Council believes that they have the perfect solution to the City’s public housing crisis and no it doesn’t involve providing housing so don’t even start.

“What we’re going to do,” said a very animated Councilmember Bob Blumenfield, “is arrest them for sitting down in public!…HEH!” He paused for a moment anticipating applause, but when none came just said “Problem solved, right?”

Councilmember Blumenfield was referring to a plan by the LA City Council to amend Section 48.18 of the City’s Municipal Code such that it would become illegal to sit, sleep, lie down, remember something funny that happened to you earlier that day, or just fucking relax in public for a moment if you are almost anywhere in the City.

“How does arresting people for sitting down help LA’s unhoused?” I asked. Blumenfield looked confused.

“I’m sorry. Help who?” he said, bewildered at the question.

“Those without a house in which they can sit,” I explained. “How does criminalizing sitting or sleeping in public help them?”

“Wh–why…would I help them? I’m trying to help my constituents,” he said.

“But the unhoused people in your district are your constituents,” I reminded him, but he said he didn’t think that sounded right. “In any event, they won’t be my constituents once we arrest them for sitting down, right?” he laughed before taking a moment to show solidarity with me as a fellow progressive by apologizing for not having asked my preferred pronouns at the start of our meeting. “He/Him,” I told him. He then let me know that his favorite band back when he was at Duke was N.W.A.. “Easy E, I mean…wow.”

“Yeah, he was great,” I said. “Didn’t this exact same ordinance get struck down as unconstitutional last year because you aren’t allowed to criminalize sitting in public?” I asked, referring to the 9th Circuit’s Martin v. Boise decision which held making it illegal to sit or sleep in public violates the 8th Amendment.

“Yes! That’s what’s so good about this amendment! We reworded the same law so it now doesn’t technically ban essential human functions everywhere in LA. It only criminalizes them in the places where they actually occur.”

As my interview with Councilmember Blumenfield wrapped up I asked him whether he had considered the danger criminalizing sitting and sleeping in public would place on LA’s 60,000 unhoused. “1 in 3 incidents of use of force by the LAPD is against an unhoused person and 40% of unhoused Angelinos are Black,” I told him. “This seems like a recipe for disaster.”

“That is just so, so true–and you know, I am a big-time Black Lives Matter supporter, which is why I am working to require that whenever a Black person is arrested for sitting down in public the arresting officer hands them a little sticker that lets them know the LA City Council believes that Black Lives Matters,” said Blumenfield, once again waiting for applause.

“It’s so important for all to be allies,” he added after a few seconds of silence before changing the subject to his super cool plan to give all L.A. free Wi-Fi.

“Wi-Fi is a right, right?” he laughed, letting me that would be a good pull quote for the article. I asked him how I would use free Wi-Fi in public if he was making it illegal for me to sit down, but he just looked down at my fresh Sauconys, gave me a wink, and said he thinks I’ll be fine.

LA City Council is going to vote on November 24th to amend 48.15 and criminalize homelessness. Here is what you can do to stop it:

Call or email your city council member and urge them to vote no!

Submit a written comment that you oppose this amendment.

“Kanye, I love you. I’m proud of you. You’re an amazing husband and father…but you better stop all this non-sense kissing up to Trump and running for President,” said a hologram of Kanye West’s late mother, Donda West, who added “You’re acting like a damn fool!” What is wrong with you?” and “I didn’t raise you like this.” 

The holographic message was presented to Kanye West by his wife, Kim Kardashian. The gift was given in response to a gift Kanye presented to his wife: A holograph of her late father sharing a thoughtful message to his daughter, written by Kanye West, congratulating her for marrying Kanye West who the hologram said was the “most, most, most, most, most genius” person on earth.

“You married the most, most, most, most, most genius man in the world, Kanye West”
-Kanye West to his wife Kim as spoken by a hologram of her dead father.

“It was so amazing seeing my father come to life and read Kanye’s words that I thought I’d do the same for him,” said Kim. “We have so much money, I mean, why not just start making holograms now?”

The Avocado asked Kanye West whether he would take his mother’s holographic advice and stop trying to ruin democracy you idiot don’t you realize Trump is counting on you to steal votes away from the Democrats, but West said he wouldn’t.

“That isn’t my mother, it’s just a hologram. My mother is gone,” said Kanye, realizing at that moment how the act of taking the likeness of a loved one’s parent and manipulating it for novelty is, however well-intentioned, is weird as fuck and just should not be done.

“If Kim wanted to say those things to me she should have just told me. She didn’t need to bring my dead mother into this,” said Kanye before sharing a private moment with his wife in which the two finally confronted how Kanye’s increasingly erratic behavior was impacting their family. Luckily, that moment was captured by a camera crew and will air on the Keeping Up With The Kardashians series finale in November, check your local listings.

After Kim apologized for using a hologram of Kanye’s mother to convey a message that she wanted to say to her husband but was too afraid to do so we asked Kanye whether he too regretted presenting his wife with a hologram of her dead father telling her she married a genius.

“No…cause I AM a genius,” said Kanye before going on a 45-minute rant about fluoride in the water supply or something.

David Ryu is the current councilmember for the City of LA’s 4th District. To give you an idea of his political agenda, your landlord probably supports him. 

Now I don’t usually pay a lot of attention to local races, but I took notice of this one because I kept hearing good things about his challenger, urban planner Nithya Raman, from comedians on Twitter. After doing research I found that I liked the fact that Nithya is a young progressive who supports defunding the police and solving LA’s affordable housing crisis. I also found myself attracted to her candidacy because, unlike David Ryu, she has never been accused of raping anyone

“Wait a minute. No one has ever accused her of raping them? In her entire life? Even during college?” I thought to myself when I first heard of Nithya’s candidacy. “How is that even possible? This lady is too good to be true.”

If her lack of sexual assault allegations were not enough, my vote was further sealed when she was endorsed by Bernie Sanders, the moral leader of the modern progressive movement and a man who only endorses progressive stalwarts unless they are running against Donald Trump for President. 

Unfortunately, after doing a lot of research on these two candidates and getting legitimately pumped to vote for Nithya I realized that I don’t actually live in District 4 because Los Angeles’s City Council map is so batshit insane that I am apparently an idiot for assuming that because I have friends in D4 that live less than three blocks north, south, east, and west of me that I too lived in the same district. Well, you know what they say happens when you assume something: You inadvertently realize that the entire system of democracy which governs every decision that impacts your community is broken. 

It turns out that I live in some weird unincorporated island for reasons literally no one can explain to me. And believe me, I tried, going so far as @ing who I thought was Mayor Eric Garcetti but who turned out to be a parody account called @MayorPooPooPeePeeBitchBoy. I also tried Googling the answer but the only thing that came up was more articles about when David Ryu was accused of rape.


So now I’m stuck with a head full of information about Ryu and Raman that I can’t use to vote on and I’ll have to go to my unincorporated grave knowing Ryu collected tons of money from the LAPD before it became unfashionable and is being funded by developers behind an app that makes it easier to evict people or that Nithya is running on a policy of rent forgiveness and is supported by Vanessa Bayer.

LA’s tentacled district map contributes to many of the problems that face our community and the feeling by many that LA’s government doesn’t prioritize them over more organized special interest groups like real estate associations or police unions. District 4 stretches from Koreatown to Sherman Oaks and Santa Monica to Silver Lake with plenty of areas in between left unincorporated or as forgotten vestibules technically stewarded by other councilmembers. The sheer size and diversity of this District’s population make it impossible for any representative to adequately advocate, let alone even be aware, of the unique issues that affect the discrete communities that make up the District. The result is that we get representatives like Ryu who cater to “high-impact” special interest groups like real estate developers, police unions, and landlords that can donate a lot of money.

Nithya, to her credit, has obtained community support from across the District, but the fact that her grass-roots candidacy is so unprecedented is as much an indictment on how LA has structured its government as it is her impressiveness of her as a candidate.

So…I don’t live in District 4 and probably won’t ever meet Vanessa Bayer, but if I did meet her I would tell her I to want Nithya Raman to be on LA’s City Council because she cares about the big problems that face Los Angeles and has a vision for how to fix them. But, because of how LA has drawn this District I know that once elected she couldn’t possibly know all of the small problems that face the diverse communities that make up District 4.

I hope that Nithya Raman wins and that once she is in office she advocates redrawing the City Council map so I don’t have to feel like such an idiot next cycle and the people that actually live within District 4’s nonsensical boundaries can finally get a representative who doesn’t have to go on four fucking freeways to meet all of their constituents.

When eight-year-old Carina Duffy told her mother, Janette, she wanted to dress as someone really scary for Halloween, her mother had the perfect costume idea: Los Angeles District Attorney Jackie Lacey. 

“I was actually thinking of a witch or a zombie,” said Carina, but her mom had already fallen in love with the costume idea.

“Oh stop, no one in Los Angeles is scarier than Jackie Lacey!” Janette said to her daughter who tried to protest but was sent to her room for talking back before she could really make her case. 

Janette, an activist with the Los Angeles chapter of Black Lives Matter who has been organizing protests against Jackie Lacey for several years, immediately started texting her friends the idea. 

As Janette basked in the LOLs she was receiving, her daughter cried increasingly louder until her mother couldn’t pretend to ignore it anymore. 

“Why are you crying?” Janette asked her daughter. 

“I, I, I, I don’t want to dress up as Jackie Lacey. She’s not scary and no one is going to know who she is,” cried Carina. 

“Carina, how can you say Jackie Lacey is not scary? 550 people have been killed by the police since she became District Attorney! She supports the death penalty! She incarcerates children! I literally can’t think of anyone scarier than Jackie Lacey,” said Janette, really working herself up. 

“But no one is going to know who she is!” shouted Carina. 

“Well, you’ll just have to tell them who Jackie Lacey is,” Janette told her daughter, “and that’s the end of this discussion.” 

On Halloween, Carina put on the Jackie Lacey mask her mother had made for her and went with her mother to go trick or treating in one of the fancy neighborhoods. 

“No one is going to know who I am!” complained Carina. “I think you’ll be surprised. People know Jackie is scary,” her mother replied. 

As Carina knocked on the door to the first house, she was taken aback as the middle-aged white woman who answered shouted with glee at the sight of her costume. 

“Oh my god, I love your costume!” 

“You do?” asked Carina. 

“Totally. I love Maxine Waters,” said the white woman, Beth or something. “Reclaiming my time! Reclaiming my–“

“She isn’t dressed as Maxine Waters!” Janette interjected. 

“Oh, of course not, how could I be so confused. You’re dressed as…” Beth squinted at the Jackie Lacey mask, “…Aunt Rachel from Family Matters?” 

“Aunt Rachel?” shouted Janette. 

“I’m dressed as Jackie Lacey, Los Angeles’s District Attorney,” said Carina. 

“Oh, how nice. Is she someone you look up to?” Beth asked as she poured a few regular-sized Hershey Bars into Carina’s pail. 

“Look up to?” shouted Janette. “Tell this bitch who Jackie Lacey is, just like we practiced.” 

Carina looked at her mom through the Jackie Lacey mask, sighed, and then turned back to Beth:

“Jackie Lacey is a dangerous politician who has directly caused the deaths of black and brown people. She supports discriminatory policies like cash bail and the death penalty, opposes marijuana reformsupports the incarceration of kids, and has been widely condemned for advocating for death sentences only against people of color.

“That’s my girl,” said Janette. 

“Oh, okay. Well, Happy Halloween!” said Beth as she gladly turned her attention to a pair of brothers dressed as Optimus Prime and Spider-Man. 

“You did good,” Janette told Carina as they went on to the next house, where Carina had a nearly verbatim conversation with the elderly white man who answered the door, the only difference being he thought Carina was dressed as Maxine Waters and then Viola Davis before Carina went into her explanation:

“Jackie Lacey is a dangerous politician who has directly caused the deaths of black and brown people. She supports discriminatory policies like cash bail and the death penalty, opposes marijuana reformsupports the incarceration of kids, and has been widely condemned for advocating for death sentences only against people of color.

As the night went on, Carina was getting pretty tired of explaining who Jackie Lacey is to boomers and yuppies and being mistaken for every prominent African American woman over the age of 40.

“Can we go home?” Carina asked her mother. 

“There’s just one more house on the block,” Janette replied as she pointed to the big house on the corner. 

Carina approached the door and gave it a few knocks. As she waited for someone to answer she noticed the “Blue Lives Matter” bumper sticker affixed to the car in the driveway. What a dick. 

When the door finally opened, Carina froze. 

“Trick or…,” 

“Why, hello!” said Jackie Lacey. It was her house. How was this possible?

“You’re dressed like me! How wonderful!” the District Attorney said as Carina turned to her mother, unsure if she had planned this. It was evident by her face that she had not. 

“Won’t you tell me about your wonderful costume?” Jackie asked Carina as she poured full-sized M&M packages into her bag.

“I, uh. I am dressed like you because this was the scariest costume my mother and I could think of. We think you are a dangerous politician who has directly caused the deaths of black and brown people. You support discriminatory policies like cash bail and the death penalty, oppose marijuana reformsupport the incarceration of kids like me, and have been rightfully condemned for advocating for death sentences against people of color. You suck.”

Carina never felt braver. Her mother never felt more proud of her daughter. 

As Jackie Lacey stared down at the miniature doppelganger who had just insulted her, she just smiled. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way, dear. Have a nice night,” she said as she closed the door. 

As Carina and her mom started to walk away from Jackie Lacey’s house, Carina started rummaging through her candy bag. 

“What are you doing?” her mother asked. 

“I don’t want Jackie Lacey’s stupid full-sized M&M’s,” Carina said, throwing the candy at the door to Jackie Lacey’s house along with the mask. “And I don’t want to wear this scary mask anymore!” 

As the mother and daughter walked back to their car, they could see Jackie peering at them through her upstairs window as she talked to someone on the phone. 

Less than ten minutes later, Carina and her mother were arrested and charged with trespassing, vandalism, making terroristic threats, impersonating a public officer, and littering. 

Fuck Jackie Lacey.

Jackie Lacey is a dangerous politician whose poor job performance has directly led to the deaths of black and brown people. She is known for supporting cash bail and the death penalty, opposing marijuana reform, repeatedly supporting the prosecution and incarceration of kids, and campaign finance ethics scandals. She has been widely condemned for winning death sentences only against people of color.

BUT WE CAN STOP HER! Vote for George Gascon for District Attorey early or on November 3.

And follow this list of groups working very hard to get Jackie Lacey out of office. Learn more, do more, make L.A. better.

Saturday Night Live has been the gold standard for American comedy for over 40 years and, as a funny and inexperienced comedy writer, is the type of national platform that you should write for. Unless they don’t want you. In that case, SNL hasn’t been good for between 15 and 35 years, depending on your age, and you wouldn’t be caught dead writing there. 

As either a future SNL writer or someone who would never work for that show even if they paid me millions of dollars, here is a 10 point plan for getting hired to write for Saturday Night Live or, alternatively, crafting the perfect tweet about how you would never want to.

Step 1: Be Obsessed With Saturday Night Live Your Entire Life

SNL isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but whether you want to be hired as a writer or tweet @Michael Che about how terrible it’s become, you must watch the show every week. Having a deep knowledge of SNL’s history will help you understand the sensibilities of the show should you be lucky enough to get hired. It will also give you plenty of materials to cite as examples of how the show used to be so much better in the more likely event that you are not hired.  

Step 2: Have An Inflated Sense Of Your Own Talent 

It takes an inflated ego to watch a show that has been a bedrock of popular culture since Gerald Ford was in office and think to yourself that you could do that. But who knows? A. Whitney Brown was too but a man with a dream at one point. But before you commit yourself to submitting a packet of original materials to the show to be judged and potentially mocked, consider the possibility, however remote, that you aren’t funny. 

Take a breath.

Think about it.

Are you really funny or do you just like comedy? When you are around a group of people do they laugh at your jokes or just smile and say “that’s funny” when you make a sarcastic comment or reference The Office? Being funny is hard, but liking comedy is easy. So if, upon deep and devastating personal reflection, you decide that maybe being a professional comedy writer isn’t for you, treat yourself to the consolation prize of Tweeting @ColinJost and telling him that he’s no A. Whitney Brown and never will be. 

Step 3: Prepare A Packet Of Original Material 

Fuck Step 2 and all the haters, you know you are funny and it has been your dream to write for Saturday Night Live since you were a kid. Great, now all you have to do is send them a packet of 3 to 5 sketches. How hard could that be? Just sit at your laptop and let the hilarious ideas start flowing… 

Step 4: Struggle To Come Up With One Original Idea You Unfunny Fuck

It’s been 6 hours since you started work on your sketches but all you have written so far are the words “Pearl Ham” and a rough outline of a sketch involving President Trump learning his son Baron is dating Greta Thunberg. You delete what little you have, knowing that Baron is off-limits, and as you stare deep into the reflective glow of your laptop screen you question your self-worth. As has happened at least a dozen times since you started working on this packet you mindlessly pull out your phone to swipe through Instagram where you see the smiling faces of all of those SNL phonies that you follow living the life you deserve to be living if only you could focus enough to put together something as hilarious as you assumed you could write before you tried. 

After realizing you’ve now scrolled through two years of Beck Bennet’s Instagram photos, you throw your phone across the room and focus back on your laptop. The ideas are in your head and all you need to do is clear your mind and let them flow. You are a funny person and SNL should be glad to have you. It isn’t even that good anymore, so you could definitely get on if only it weren’t such a goddamn bureaucracy old boys club probably. You place your hands back on your keyboard but then almost preternaturally navigate to Pornhub in your browser and spend the next 35 minutes opening adult movies in new tabs, the vast majority of which you never get to before you finish

After cleaning yourself up and taking a quick nap you realize you spent nearly 10 hours on the SNL packet and still have nothing to show for it besides “Pearl Ham” which the more you think about seems unlikely to lead anywhere. At this point, the Klonopin has started to take effect and the near non-stop buzzing of your boss texting you to find out why you didn’t show up for your shift at the hospital has become white noise. “Will anyone ever really love you?” you ask yourself as you tearfully delete “Pearl Ham” and then immediately type it out again. Maybe it could be something?

Step 5: Mail In Your Packet To Saturday Night Live and Wait!

SNL gets hundreds of thousands of submissions by white bearded guys like you every year, so if you don’t hear back from them right away assume that they hated what you submitted and start tweeting about how much you loathe the show. Mention how you thought it was horrible that SNL allowed Donald Trump to host when he was running for President and say something outlandish to prove your point like that it would be like if Hitler went on Mad TV and was in a sketch where he ordered Stewart to invade Poland and Stewart did his “I Don’t Wanna” line. 

Step 6: Holy Shit They Want To Meet You?

It’s been three months since you sent SNL your packet and in that time you have grown steadily obsessed with the cast and writing staff and have sent out thousands of tweets and direct messages letting them know that they are all no A. Whitney Browns and that the show sucks! As you sit at your laptop and discover that Kyle Mooney has blocked yet another of your fucking usernames you get an email alert from a Page at NBC asking to schedule an interview for a writing position at SNL. 

As you read, and then re-read the email, you feel like you’ve entered a fugue state. This could really be it. You start to remember how much the show meant to you when you were growing up and think about what an amazing honor it would be to be part of the same show that launched the careers of Brooks Wheelan and Gilda Radner. You cry and spend the rest of the night deleting all your Twitter accounts and thinking about how much your life is about to change. 

Step 7: Impress The The Head Writers

The bad news is you’re going to have to quit your job and leave your family to move to New York, but as soon as you step into 30 Rock you know it will be worth it. This is where you belong, and assuming they don’t find out you stole most of your packet from sketch examples you found on Twitter or that you have spent the last three months cyberbullying SNL’s cast and writing staff, as well as a few costume designers you found on Instagram, this will be your new home. 

As you sit nervously in a large conference room waiting for Michael Che and Colin Jost to show up, you try your best to compose yourself but the opportunity is frankly too overwhelming. You steal a pen from the desk. It doesn’t even have “SNL” on it. It’s just a BIC, but you take it anyway. As you shove a few loose legal-size notepads into your messenger bag the door opens. 

It’s Colin Jost. And Michael Che. And a Jewish looking fellow who you don’t recognize. And for the next hour you tell them about yourself and how much Saturday Night Live means to you and how this has always been a dream and what an honor it is just to be in the building. Collin and the Jewish guy say they feel the same way. Michael was texting with someone as you went on for maybe a little too long but is sort of nodding his head so maybe he feels the same way too? He’s sort of hard to read.  

After an hour or so of discussing comedy, they thank you for coming and you leave the building. As the brisk air hits your face you call your mom and tell her how well it went and that you’re never going back home. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? Why don’t you wait until they actually offer you the job?” she asks, but you are sure this is the right move. You text your boss at the hospital and tell her that UCLA Medical Center can find a new head of osteopathic surgery, thank you very much. Your wife and children are upset to learn you’re moving across the country, but you have a dream and who are those cunts to tell you that all you’ll ever be is a husband and father just because you’re their husband and father. 

Step 8: Realize You Made A Huge Mistake

It’s been three weeks since your interview and you think it’s kind of rude that no one from SNL has gotten back to you about when you’ll be starting. “They could have really used me,” you think to yourself as you watch tonight’s episode from the new apartment you rented only a block away from the studio. As the episode draws to an end you sit alone and think about how much you miss your children and wife and wonder if this was all worth it. You know it wasn’t. You call Sheila up to tell her that you want her back, but she tells you it’s too late. You hear a man’s voice in the background. You ask to talk to the kids but she says no. “You made your decision,” she tells you as she hangs up. 

Step 9: Confront Those Hypocrites At Saturday Night Live Who Wouldn’t Know Talent If A. Whitney Brown Were Standing Right In Front Of Them

What have you done, you stupid fuck? You had it all and gave it all up to write for Saturday Night Live who doesn’t even want you. But why would they? Why would anybody want you?

You don’t know why, but you run out of your apartment to 30 Rock and get in a line of about two dozen teenagers (Harry Styles was tonight’s musical guest) waiting by the building’s exit for an autograph or picture. You don’t have a plan and the young girls waiting in line with you are not interested in small talk and are making you feel like a creep. Bitches.

At around 2:00 AM you spot the Jewish guy from your interview leaving the building. “Hey! Menasha!” you yell out. He turns around and walks over. “Hey…what are you doing here? Did you want to meet Harry Styles?” 

It’s such a simple question but you struggle to answer it. “No, I don’t care about Harry Styles. Did I get the job?” you ask bluntly. He is very polite about it, but lets you know that you didn’t. 

“But why?” you ask, mouth quivering as the reality that you upended so much of your life for this blown chance sets in.

“Because you plagiarized all of your sketches from the Internet,” he says. 

“That’s not true! The Pearl Ham was mine! Give me another chance,” you beg. 

“And we know you were harassing Kyle Mooney and some of the girls from wardrobe on social media.”  You try to explain, but it’s no use. “Good luck, Dr. Goran. I have to go.” 

Step 10: Tweet About How Much SNL Sucks

It will take several months to convince your wife to take you back, but eventually, she will. Things won’t be the same, but you both think it’s best for the kids to have a two-parent household. 

As you reflect on your ill-fated comedy career and imagine all of the things that might have been, you realize this was all for the best. 

That first Saturday back home you stay up late to watch SNL. You had never heard of the host or musical guest and most of the jokes and references did nothing but make you feel old and like the world had some how moved on without you. You felt the Pearl Spam sketch was inspired though. As the show’s iconic theme plays at its end, your wife comes downstairs. Your relationship with her is still fragile, but she gets warmer toward you with each passing day. She asks you if you are coming to bed soon. 

“Just give me a minute,” you tell her and she gives you a kiss that is so sweet and loving that you realize how lucky you are to still have her in your life. 

As you watch her ascend the steps to the second floor, you log on to Twitter and tweet:

NBC is defending its decision to air a townhall with President Trump at the same time as an already scheduled townhall with Joe Biden, saying “our decision is motivated only by fairness, not business consideration.”

“We previously gave Joe Biden an 8:00 PM start time for a prior townhall, so we just felt, to be fair to the President, we should offer him the same 8:00 PM start time,” NBC Chairman Cesar Conde seriously said. When asked why he didn’t just offer Trump an 8:00PM timeslot any other day, Mr. Conde said he “totally would have” but couldn’t because the remainder of NBC’s prime time scheduled was filled with a fourteen season marathon of the Apprentice set to begin immediately after the Trump townhall.

“The Apprentice is such a classic part of the NBC lineup and we thought it would be nice for the American people to enjoy the nostaliga of seeing “The Donald” fire people in a boardroom during this troubling time in American history. “He is America’s #1 business man, after all!” said Mr. Conde.

We asked Mr. Conde whether he regretted NBC airing the Apprentice for so long because it gave Trump a platform he used to grift the American public into seeing him as a competent business man and thus directly contributed to the hundreds of thousands of people that died as a result of his handling of Coronavirus.

“Nope!” said Mr. Conde from his Westchester mansion.

Désirée Martin lives in Hyde Park and commutes to her office near Pershing Square every day. “It’s exhausting,” said the 32-year-old community organizer, who spends nearly 10 hours a week commuting to and from work. But for residents like Désirée, an ambitious plan by L.A.’s Metro Agency will connect communities without access to light rail to Los Angeles’s growing public transit network. 

“They’re expanding the Metro line to Hyde Park?” asked Ms. Martin. “Shit, I’m going to have to move.” 

Los Angeles’s Metro Rail is undergoing an unprecedented expansion with new routes currently under construction and even more in the design phase. The new rail services are being funded through the “Measure M” permanent sales tax that was approved by voters in 2016.

“We believe Los Angeles should have a world-class, commuter-friendly public transit system,” said Metro CEO Phillip Washington, who expects his ambitious slate of new transit projects to be completed shortly after the residents currently living along the expanded service areas get priced out.

The Avocado spoke to Devin Duplass, a 28-year-old software engineer renting a studio in Santa Monica for $3,800 a month who was excited about the metro expansion. “I would not live in Hyde Park now, but once the new Metro project is completed and they build an Archstone and a few Veggie Grills it may be a more affordable option for guys like me who are rich, but aren’t like super villain rich, which is really what you need to be to live on the West Side. It’s so unfair.”

But for Désirée Martin, who has lived in Hyde Park her entire life, these improvements to her community are bittersweet. “On the one hand, it’s nice to see Hyde Park finally get some much-needed infrastructure improvements. But for those of us who don’t own a home, we’re going to have to move out to like Commerce to afford anything in L.A. County. And Commerce fuckin’ sucks.” 

Proposed Map of LA Transit in 2028


Actress Lori Loughlin and her husband pleaded guilty Friday to charges of fraud in the college admissions scandal, admitting they scammed their daughters’ way into USC with lies and illegal payments.

But the case against Loughlin and her husband J. Mossimo Giannulli remained unsettled after the judge in the case put off a decision on whether to accept the couple’s guilty pleas and the terms of deals they struck with prosecutors. This week, the Judge accepted the star’s plea and sentenced her to two months in prison.

At her sentencing, Loughlin begged the Court to “HAAVVVEEE MERRCY”.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Loughlin, what was that?” asked the Court, confused why the former Full House star said the phrase in a faux-Elvis accent, waited for a reaction that never came, and then raised her eyebrows like “come on, don’t you get it?”

“I said…HAVVVVEEEEE MERRRRRCYYYYY,” said Mrs. Loughlin, still getting no reaction from the judge. “You know, like from the TV show. John Stamos would say it to me–”

“Oh, right. I understand,” said the Judge. “But you really are asking for mercy, right? It’s not just a bit?”

“I am asking for you to…HAAAA–

“–OK noted, Ms. Loughlin. I’ll take this matter under advisement and should have a ruling next week.

“Thank you, your honor,” said Mrs. Loughlin before turning to her lawyer.

“I think that went really well,” she said to her attorney, adding “I think she is going to HAAAAAAAAAVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEE MERRRRRRRRRRRRRRCCCCCCYYYYYYYYYYYYYY on me.”