He's got a way of annunciating things that makes him sound like sports announcer from the fifties. Or sort of Harry Carayish, which is a pretty specific way of annunciating, but its more like Harry than some cliché grouping of voices. He tilts his head to the side and pulls his mouth out thin before he says anything. The head always goes to the right, too. He'll raise his elbows and fist his hands so that his upper torso forms a sort of "aww shucks" position, and then finally say what he wanted to say, which is almost always something of the gravest depravity, like "I hope you die." It's as if a little toddler stood before you and told you that your pussy smells like lilacs, and you should put it on his face some time soon. Innocent delivery of total smut.

I can see why people sometimes think Ted is the worst person they've ever met. He likes to play devil's advocate. He finds death, corpses, the Nazis and cancer funny. He has an innate ability to pick the one guy with the worst problems out the crowd, the guy in Remission after a long bout with cancer or something, and blurt, "Isn't cancer hilarious?" into his face to make him feel better. Or maybe, "Don't worry man, at least the cancer's not in your cock." Or even, "I wonder what cancer tastes like?" And he really does it to make this person feel better. He once said to The Producer, after she had broken up with her boyfriend, "Don't worry, toots. I bet any guy in this room would put their cock in your ass." She understands his humor, but cancer guy doesn't, so he's sort of shocked, and doesn't know what to make of such a retort. Ted's affable enough, pokes him in the ribs, does that howdy doody head thing, and cancer guy comes around, but there is that moment when we all get nervous and wonder if cancer guy isn't going to pull out a gat and end Ted. That's the thrill right there.

One would wonder why a guy would invite such tension into his life. It's not apparent, really. Ted's the son of a librarian and science teacher (I think). He was raised in the suburbs in a nice home where he was treated with love, compassion, three squares a day and all that stuff. There's no reason for the zany. If that isn't funny, I don't know what is.

--

"So Jimmy and I used to ride our bikes to the crackhouse and get paid to shoot people up with heroin. I was real good at it."

"Really, Ted? That sounds kinda fucked up."

"Oh no, I only did heroin once, and I shit my pants afterward so I never did it again."

He says this while I'm forking a kalamata olive into my mouth. It is not a good sense memory connection, but I chew it, pit it with my tongue and swallow it any way. Don't want to be a pussy in front of the hot punk waitresses with the short skirts and fishnet stockings. That would be disastrous.

We are at a place called Fred 62, a sort of punky, foodie diner in Los Feliz with Ted's girlfriend Sue and The Producer. Ted's waiting on a homemade pop tart ala mode from the kitchen. Something called a "punk tart" a delicacy specific to Fred 62.

Ted looks around at the décor, and seems nonplussed. He says, "I have a much better idea for a diner." Sue winces and laughs a little. She is the most patient woman ever. The Producer implores Ted to continue, and to our delight, he does.

"It's such a good idea. It'll be called 'Himmler's' and all the food will be German, sausages and sauerkraut and stuff. You can drink German beer straight from the tap and the waiters will all be dressed like Hitler youth."

The Producer spits some of her malted shake back into the fluted glass from whence it came. She wipes her mouth with a napkin and when the laughter subsides enough, she asks "No lederhosens or dirndls?"

"Nah, the Hitler youth uniform. It's gotta be authentic. And all Jews get a ten percent discount. They get a little yellow star pin at the door to wear, and if they're wearing it they get ten percent off the check."

The Producer spits again. I wipe a few laughter tears from the corners of my eyes, snort some snot and then ask, "What does it look like inside?"

"I haven't thought about that yet, but I definitely want a big neon Himmler doing the heil Hitler wave thing on the front of it, you know with the little glasses and hat."

Sue pats Ted on the arm and says, "Tell them about the car you want to order."

"Oh!" He opens up his mouth and shows us all a chunk of mashed punk tart and ice cream. "This is grrrrrreat!" Again with the head tilt and howdy doody elbow thing. "So I found this guy who deals in those old Mercedes bodies, the kind Hitler and Himmler and all those high up's rode around in. I'm thinking about having one of the bodies shipped over here and putting it on a Jeep frame. I probably won't put swastikas on it, but I haven't decided yet."

"What a good idea, Ted."

"No wait. It gets better. Then I'm gonna have that guy down in Silverlake who converts car engines so that they run on cooking oil do the engine of my Jeep."

"So you're going to have a green, veggie oil, Nazi swastika covered car?"

"Yeah! And I'm gonna go to KFC for the oil so it'll smell like fried chicken. Maybe I'll finally get a black girl to fuck me. Love those black girls."

Posted by The Bunny at 3:11 PM

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