Ben Affleck got inked

Ben Affleck. Chillin'.

I can be a tad absurd at times.  There, I’ve said it. I can’t take it back. B will probably print that out and have it printed on a shower curtain or something, but no one else will consider it news.  What IS news is that last Thursday I walked down the street in Beverly Hills holding a medium-sized metal chicken named Ben Affleck.  On purpose.  I didn’t even lose a bet.  And I was on a mission to get him a tattoo.  AND since I was in Beverly Hills, not a single person batted an eye at me or my chicken.

If you’ve been here before, you might know the story of Ben Affleck, the metal chicken, who was given to me by my friend Howard in an attempt to distract me from his homicidal tendencies.  He also happens to be a fan of Jenny, the Bloggess, and we were completely obsessed with  Jenny and her chicken Beyoncé (obsessed in a “you’re awesome and funny” way, not in a “we’re going to scour every neighborhood in Texas and find you because we’re sure you want to be our friend and that restraining order was just a mistake” way).  If you have no idea what I’m talking about, go read both of those links and come back.  I’ll wait.

Jenny wrote a book (yay!) and her book tour came to Los Angeles (hooray!) and Soleil Moon Frye aka Punky Brewster was there too (nofingwayYAY!!!).  Clearly I had to go, if only to show Ben Affleck how he came to be mine.  Wait, no, that’s not it.  He’s a metal chicken and doesn’t care about his origins (or that his soul sister Beyoncé is living happily in a back yard in Texas pissing off a guy named Victor).  I had to go because I think Jenny’s the shit and I like to pretend I can be friends with famous people.  And I had to bring Ben Affleck because he needed a neck tattoo.  He’s gangsta like that.

So the adventure began…

I love LA.  This guy’s gangsta too.

Only in Beverly Hills would a “don’t let your dog leave a dookie on my lawn” sign use the word defecation.  This really deserves its own blog post.  Discuss.

Eric & Ben, hanging on Doheny.  Insert cock joke here (go ahead, I promise neither of them will mind).

Stacey.  Trying to look indifferent, but secretly giddy that Ben Affleck was just recognized by some guy walking down the street who may or may not have been clinically insane (it’s tough to tell these days).

The place to BE.

Ben, trying to look artsy waiting for the reading to begin.

On the edge of his my seat listening to Jenny, who was crazy funny in person too.

The. Best. Part of the night:
Me, when it was our turn in the book signing line:  Will you sign Ben Affleck?
Jenny: Of course (signing)!
Me:  Something blathering and embarrassing that was meant to sound cool and impressive but probably sounded more like jfipjekajaahlm shakazulu.
Jenny:  Oh, I used a wet pen. [not even the slightest of pauses]  Now I have to blow on your cock.
Me:  Can we get a picture?

Ben’s new ink:

Then, as we were leaving, Punky Brewster Soleil Moon Frye and her posse were walking by outside.  Eric says “I HAVE to get a picture with Soleil.  My dad’s name is Punky.”  I’m all “shut the crap up” and he’s all “I’m not joking, that’s his nickname” (yes, the tone of this conversation is precisely how you’re reading it, which I know is in the voice of two teenage girls).  So he walks up to her and asks her for a photo.  And you know what Soleil Moon Frye does?  She says “AbsoLUTEly” in a completely genuine, super nice way.  Not that I thought she’d be anything but friendly, but my lord, she might be one of the nicest people ever.  She asked about Ben Affleck (genuinely, not all “why the hell are you holding that chicken).  She took photos with us.  I made more garbled word-like sounding noises and she didn’t laugh in my face.  It was a perfect end to a great night.

I am SO glad I didn’t dress up like Punky Brewster after all.